Play date

                                                Abhi’s first play date with Icy.

Abhi was told that they are leaving to Chennai soon to see (me) his paternal aunt’s baby. Abhi loved to travel in trains and his fantasy is to travel in a double decker train. This is the first time ever that something else caught his attention better than the prospect of travelling in a train.

“Does atta have a tummy in her baby…oops…I mean…baby in her tummy?” he lost himself in a fit of giggles. “yes nanna! She has a baby in her tummy” his dad confirmed. “A boy or a girl?” he perked up.

“What do you prefer?” his dad side stepped answering his question. “Of course a baby boy” he said without thinking twice, his wide eyes twinkling with anticipation. “Why?” his dad frowned, pinched up with inquisitiveness.

“Look nanna! I know what to buy if it’s a boy” Abhi replied with a casual flick of his hand dismissing any scope for discussing otherwise. “I can gift him James train, Thomas train and those perfect cars. I can teach him about the parts of train, manual brakes, couplings with magnets, cargo bogies and lots more. We can watch ‘how accidents happen?’ videos from you tube. I am clueless about girls” he nailed it. PERIOD.

“You know what! Karthik tammudu also thinks the same. He says girls like only girls” his dad doled out. “yea” <rolling his eyes > Abhi more than agreed. “But…” his dad continued “you guys could be wrong you know. Nani is a girl. Amma is a girl. Atta is a girl. And they like you” his dad tried to reason with him. Abhi laughed that ‘you-silly-dad’ laugh saying “They are not girls nanna. They are women.”

How can anyone beat that?  It’s like a Yorker. Bowled and sent to the pavilion. However my brother thought that the gender stereotyping is growing out of spiral and is determined to curb it.

“Abhi! Atta delivered a baby girl but she likes you so much. You will love to play with her. She is so tiny you know. I mean really tiny….this small” his dad made animated hand gestures.

“What? A baby girl? Oh no! NO No Nooooo. It can’t happen like this. I am very upset” he said with an almost tearful face. “All my plans are shattered” he wailed like a business tycoon who just lost a fortune. “She does not like trains. I can’t play with her” he complained.

“The baby is very tiny nanna. You have to wait until she grows up to play with her. Who knows! She may also like trains someday” his dad consoled him.

“Tiny? How tiny?” Abhi asked skeptically.

“The size of a rabbit” his dad answered.

“What? Did atta deliver a rabbit?” Abhi asked innocently. Laughing uncontrollably my brother replied “No nanna. She delivered a baby girl who is as tiny as a rabbit”

“A rabbit sized baby? Really? That small?” he was awe stuck.

“yes nanna! You probably haven’t ever seen anybody like that. She is smaller than Aamna and Jeffry” his dad successfully invoked enthusiasm in this revolting kid. 

“okay! Let’s do some shopping for this rabbit baby then” he declared. He spent the best part of the day picking dresses for his cousin which were way far larger for the bub. Finally he zeroed upon a pink onie with a bow and a towel set beautifully gift wrapped with a cute teddie before he called it a day.

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An enthusiastic 7 year old Abhi stepped in to the hospital and stood by my bed. I am taken by surprise by his growth spurt. His porcupine-like-spiky-hair looks a little disciplined by the school, however those dennis-the menace eyes look the same. The last time I saw him he lost his incisors. I noticed gap between his secondary incisors which made him look even cuter. I couldn’t stop myself drifting back to the day when he was born. I was in the O.T when he was delivered. I was the first person to hold him and swaddle him. His rooting reflexes were strong and I had to chide him “I am not your mum. Wait baby. Wait.” And here he stands after 7 years which fly away in no time, eager to hold the baby I just delivered. He felt like my first kid rather than a nephew cos in many ways, though I never expressed, I felt more maternal about him.

“Whoa!!!” he exclaimed falling short of words. “woo hooo” he cried sealing his mouth with his palms, his eyes sparkling as if he witnessed a gem.

“How is she?” I asked encouraging him to get verbal.

“TINY. VERY TINY” he parroted his father’s words. He gently touched her fingers, her head, her cheeks giggling to himself. Icy opened her eyes to see who the heck disturbed her in the middle of her blissful siesta.

“Hey look! She opened her eyes. SHE OPENED HER EYES… OPENED HER EYES…O.P.E.N.E.D E.Y.E.S” Abhi shrieked which startled Icy. He was as hyper as an electron in the E1 state. He tried to snatch Icy from my mum. My heart just skipped a beat. My brother jumped at my rescue. He had to wrestle with Abhi and pull him apart. He was ferried to the canteen to chill off, where he had a milkshake and a chicken puff.

Sometime later, when the electrons from E1 state discharged energy returning to E2, Abhi initiated a sober tete-a-tete with me. “Atta! You better think and plan about her schooling.”

“I was planning to send her to your school. I heard it’s the best” I replied suppressing a smile. You see! When he is sober, he behaves like a grown up and he doesn’t like it when people giggle at him.

“Oh no! Please don’t do that” he warned me. “We are a gang of naughty guys. We tease girls of lower classes. What if she happens to be among them accidentally? I can’t promise you that I can protect her.  ” he confessed sincerely. I literally laughed until my sutures threatened to tear open.

“How do you tease them rey?” I nibbled him to elaborate on those juicy lines.

“When they walk by our bus we comment ‘yeh papa LKG da’ ‘yeh papa ukg da’ like that” he said as a matter of fact.

“kay. Chill abhi. I shall send her to karate classes so that she can defend herself” I replied unburdening him of the responsibility to protect her.

“But that’s such a bad idea” he responded. “In the name of teaching her karate, the master fights with her and makes her cry” he pointed out.

“

Is there any other solution?” I asked naively. He never gives a “no” for a reply.

“Do one thing atta. Send her to a different school. Or send her to school when she is older so that she can skip LKG and UKG” he advised me like a pro. I nodded. “By the time she grows up, I will probably be a man” he doled out unexpectedly. His words sent us all in to a fit of laughter. “Wot? Why are you all laughing? Am I not right?” he complained. We agreed that he is right. He continued “And when she grows up, she has to go through all of this like you” he enlightened me.

“what do you mean? I didn’t get you abhi” I replied genuinely puzzled.

“I mean when she grows up she has to carry a baby in her tummy just like you did” he patiently explained to our ignorant minds. That was the final straw. I laughed and laughed and laughed until I was literally in stiches and those stitches threatened to burst open forever.

A bottle of love

The Stories of sore nipples start with a bite and end with a burp. There is another “B” somewhere in between. Either a ‘bottle’ or the ‘breast’. The choice is the mother’s very own. Few mothers choose to ‘express’ their love and bottle it up. And these expressions are inexpressible.

These stories are often spoken in hushed tones behind closed doors. They never claim the lime light unlike the birthing adventures and the heroic bearing of labor pains. Even if a woman, working and dynamic, does cross the line and dare to speak of her feeding experience, she coats it with a little of butter and sugar, perhaps to enhance the palatability. But if we shed away those rose tinted glasses, feeding pains can be worse than the birth pangs, especially for those who skipped the pains of NVD (normal vaginal delivery) in this era of epidurals and caesarians. However, most mums choose to embrace these pains with tears of joy. And that precisely is why all the breast feeding mothers are hailed super heros without caps and shields.

If I were not a pediatrician, if I haven’t won every seminar during the breast feeding weeks in my post grad years, if I haven’t encouraged women of our RHC to breast feed during my years after my post-graduation, if I haven’t pledged my life to endorse breast feeding to all of my patients, I could have gave up breast feeding with a hypocritical “I wish I could breast feed but I don’t have enough milk.” But I know better. I know that breast milk has no replacement. I know that it is better to shield my baby with the immunity imparted by the breast milk than throw her susceptible to infections stomached by the pretty feeding bottles. I know that the breast fed babies are smarter than otherwise (they have 7 points of IQ higher than formula fed babies).

When I held my baby for the first time, I had zero doubts with cent confidence. Little did I know that the volumes of textbooks could not prepare me enough for the practical. The nursing staff had been great with rooming in and helping the baby to latch. I was ecstatic when I witnessed little pearls of colostrum beading up within an hour of my delivery. The baby latched on perfectly. I wondered if god gives them a tutorial on survival basics before bundling them up.

The baby was all calm and comfy. She was peeing throughout the day as if saying “Don’t worry mamma. I have enough water in my system.” So, I hardly thought of a top up. I was on my feet in less than 24 hours after my c-section despite the pain. I was served palak soup and a glass of milk with a spoonful of galactules. By the end of second day, she needed a top-up despite my 2^nd hourly feeds. It was kind of expected. I asked the nurse to give her 15 ml of formula feed with a syringe. I made sure she is not given a bottle which can potentially confuse her. You see! Sucking at the breast and the bottle aren’t the same and it can end up in nipple confusion. I was served delicious soft solid diet and I kept my fingers crossed for the surge of lactation.

As promised I woke up with a heavy bosom on day 3. I fastened the feeding pillow around my waist and took the baby to feed. She was hungry and very happy at the prospect of a feed, kicking her hands and feet in excitement. She just couldn’t wait. I latched her on. It was then I experienced a pain like never before. I yelped and pulled her off in a reflex. That was another mistake in the hind sight. She held on to the tip of the teat with her gums which worsened the pain. I gave up feeding for time being. The top ups escalated from 15ml to 30 ml and then from 30 ml to 60 ml. By the end of the day my nipples appeared red and sore and my breasts were engorged. The milk inside the glands felt like a bunch of pins and needles, fighting for a let out. I expressed it and bottled it up.  It was a tedious task.  My neck, back and hands started to hurt. ‘How did my mum handle all of this when I was born?’ I thought. I remember one of my friends, Sailaja quoting, “once we experience motherhood, we realize how priceless our mothers are”

The next day I tried again. She held on to the boobs tightly with her gums. May be she felt they might slip away otherwise or that I may pull away like I did before. I howled in pain but this time I didn’t pull away. By the time she is done I was in tears. This went on for a couple of days. I tried to feed her despite my sore nipples hoping that it would get better any time. Unfortunately nipple shields didn’t work with me (Later I learnt my technique was wrong. There was air between the shield and my teat which should have been filled up with milk. So it didn’t adhere well to my skin and the baby was biting at the tip of my teat again). Nor did the breast pumps (high voltages blew them up).  I applied Lanoshish cream to soothe my sore nipples. As the older bites healed, newer ones appeared. What can be worse than a combination of sore nipples with breast engorgement? You can’t feed. You can’t stop feeding.

Two weeks down the lane, I was feeding her round the clock but with great apprehension and with a lot of yelping and howling. Everybody including my mum, dad and hubby recommended a feeding bottle whenever the baby cried. They would often say “perhaps you aren’t secreting enough milk.” That would piss me off for sure. What can be worse than a combination of sore nipples with breast engorgement? This demoralization! PERIOD.  The feeding bottle creeped in to our household despite my disapproval. The baby had a distaste for the formula milk. So, I continued to express and bottle it up whenever I can. I call it “A bottle of love” while the formula felt like “A bottle of helplessness.”

Meanwhile mum brought up the suggestion of “Patyam” – the fancy word for food faddism. “Play along with your parents. Fighting against them makes you suffer alone” advised my fellow pediatrician Dr.Deepthi Florence. Initially Mum suggested me to eat a lot of ginger-garlic, badam, beads and oats, fenugreek and few other galactogogues which enhance milk production to which I agreed. She suggested some kasturi tablets from Ayurveda to which I disagreed. We had tiffs every now and then. The baby developed colic. I found suggestions pouring in. Our cook says “Amma! Avoid lot of dairy products”, The neighbor says “mutton is good for wound healing but chicken makes you hot”, the maid says “avoid brinjal, snake guard, cauliflower, cabbage madamji”, aunt says “avoid gassy foods like dal and green leafy veggies da.”

People seemed to forget often that I was a pediatrician. I have put a strong foot down. I always advised my patients to eat healthy and I have a clear idea on what healthy is! I took milk n badam twice daily. Dates were never to miss. I made sure my diet is balanced with proteins and fibers. The colic regressed on its own despite me sticking on with my NON-PATYAM DIET.

I took the reins under control. It’s time to master the art of feeding. “Practice what you preach” I told myself. I would wait until the baby cries with her mouth wide open. I would protect the tip of the nipple with thumb and index finger as I insert it in to the baby’s mouth. Over a count of 10 the pain recedes. I stare at the ticking minute’s hand of the wall clock. After 20-30 min I burp the child, change her diaper (as her bowel is too twitchy at the moment passing stools with every feed), and then change her to the other side. She would drift to sleep while sucking there. While removing the teat, I would again take care that she doesn’t bite me, by inserting a (clean and washed) little finger in to her mouth. Hurray! I would pat myself on the back after each feed as the baby smiles in her blissful siesta. The baby aroma in her burp is so intoxicating (like entanox- inhalational nitrous oxide) that it makes pains pleasurable.

The baby is now a month old. The pains are history. This experience definitely makes me a better doctor. Maternal instincts spreads the knowledge beyond the horizons of the textbooks. “you are not a complete pediatrician until you experience motherhood” says my fellow pediatrician Dr.Swetha priya.  The feeding bottles are now locked up in the cupboard. They can wait for half a year before I sterilize them again to bottle up my love.

Dear budding mommies, if you want to choose the best for your baby, kindly choose B for breast feeds rather than B for bottles! PERIOD. 

P.S: I resigned my job (I worked as a senior resident of pediatrics in Apollo Cradle, Chennai) to be a full time mom. When I go back to work (that is after six months) I intend to work on hourly shifts. The hospital is quite nearby my residence. I could either come and give her a quick feed or pump and refrigerate the milk.

This article was written on the eve of word breast feeding week august 2015 and shared on the FB page "world of moms." kindly like it.

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