The doctor explained to her that breastfeeding with her right boob was not possible until the incision healed. She would be able to breastfeed from the left boob.
“What about the medications I’m on?” she asked him.
“Perfectly safe while you’re breastfeeding,” he assured her.
She didn’t trust him, though. She would never again trust doctors.
“What’s it called?”
“The IV antibiotic?”
She nodded.
“Vancomycin,” he said. “I’ll be sending you home with ten days of Bactrim. That’s also safe while breastfeeding.”
She made a mental note to do her own Google research.
“Okay, so that’s promising,” Jeff said when the doctor left.
“Can I have my phone?” she asked.
Vancomycin, Bactrim, vancomycin, Bactrim.She repeated the names to herself so she wouldn’t forget.
He handed the phone to her, and she began her research. At first glance, both medications appeared safe-ish for breastfeeding, but then she saw that Bactrim was discouraged for babies under two months because it can raise bilirubin levels. She didn’t know what bilirubin levels were, which led to another Google search. They were related to the liver. June was older than two months, but Gwen couldn’t risk messing with her liver.
“Maybe you can feed her from the left breast, and we can just use formula as a little boost,” Jeff said.
He sounded entirely too chipper.
“I don’t know if I feel good about feeding her while I’m on these meds,” she said.
“Okay, then formula it is. Easy enough.”
Sometimes she felt like he didn’t understand her at all. When she’d been really struggling with breastfeeding, he’d brought a Costco pack of formula home “just in case.” She’d told him to throw it away, but he hadn’t. He’d just put it in the garage. She’d seen it on their “home goods” shelf, next to the batteries and light bulbs. He was just waiting for her to officially fail so he could swoop in, the hero.
“I think I should just pump and dump for now, then resume breastfeeding when I’m done with the antibiotics,” she said.
“Pump and dump?”
“Pump my milk ... with a breast pump,” she said. Did he not even know what that was? Was it her fault for shielding him from so much of her mental load, or his fault for not making more inquiries? “And then dump it because it may not be safe.”
He looked confused.
“So that my body keeps making milk,” she explained.
“Oh,” he said, still looking confused. “Okay. Yeah. Whatever you think is best, hon.”
“Can you bring my pump from home?” she asked.
She rubbed her left breast, felt its increasing fullness.
“Sure. Where would that be?”
She thought of him rummaging in the cabinet for the Tylenol, clueless.
“It’s in the nursery closet, next to the box of diapers,” she said.
“Okay, yeah, sure.”
