Mind Over Matter -
The Elusive Milk Ejection Reflex
by Barbara Fisher of
Tigers and
Strawberries Food Blog
(Note from the editor: Barbara needed to
establish her milk supply with a breast pump because her newborn infant
was in neo-natal intensive care immediately after birth. The "milk
ejection reflex" is sometimes also known as the "let-down.")
One may think that writing about breast pumping on a food blog is
weird, but I disagree. Breast milk is the fundamental food of human beings.
It is the only food that is made exactly and specifically for humans, and
it is the only food that is perfectly formulated to the specific
nutritional needs of the littlest of human beings–the newborn infant.
Therefore, it is, in essence, humanity’s most perfect food–and thus, it
makes sense to write about it on a food blog.
Besides–it is one of the largest parts of my reality at this moment,
since I am still on an every two hour pumping schedule in the daytime and
an every three hour schedule at night.
One would think that pumping a human breast would be rather akin to
hooking a dairy cow up to a milking machine: a simple matter of stick the
breast in the pump, turn on the pump and voila! Milk.
Well, no.
Actually–it isn’t even that simple with cows, either. It seems that all
female mammals who are producing milk–or colostrum, which is what they
call the very protein rich-antibody-laden yellow fluid that mammals make
before milk in the first few days post partum–have a reflex called “the
milk ejection reflex,” or MER for short. And the MER is a hormonal
response that releases the milk from the milk glands, provided the proper
stimuli are in place.
Without the MER, you can pump all you want, but you won’t get much milk
or colostrum. You will get some, yes, but not much. That is because it is
meant to help facilitate bonding between the infant mammal and mother, and
while it is a reflex, it is, particularly with humans, intimately tied to
our emotions and our thoughts.
What stimulates the MER into action?
Looking at one’s infant. Looking at their faces as they nurse, and
having them look back. Smelling them. Cuddling them. Being close to them,
in a relaxing nest.
That’s great, if one has a baby present and accounted for.
But if one does not–well, then producing breast milk becomes a case of
mind over matter.
I had barely seen Kat the first night I started pumping my breasts,
which was less than twelve hours after she was born.
I had a glimpse of her face as I pushed her out during labor. Then, she
was very briefly held up to my shoulder while the doctor was stitching up
my little tear, and before the pediatrician took charge of her and whisked
her away to evaluate her health.
That was the last I had seen of her before they had her all strapped
into an incubator, with tubes and needles and machines that go ping all
poked into her, before they transported her by ambulance to Columbus hours
later. I didn’t even get to hold her–I barely got to touch her. Zak, in
fact, being ambulatory, had more bonding time with her than I had at that
point.
I couldn’t very well bring to mind even what her face looked like.
I had no idea what it felt like to hold her, and I had no clue what she
smelled like.
So, I had to get creative.
I sat and worked the breast pump, and after failing to bring anything to
my thoughts of Kat, other than the fearful image of her strapped into the
plexiglas box and hooked up to wires and needles, I began to remember how
it felt to nurse Morganna.
Unfortunately, that memory is fraught with grief as well, so that
didn’t work.
So, what did I do?
Well, lacking my baby or a good image thereof, I thought of one of the
most comforting image I could remember: a mother cat nursing her kittens.
Mother cats get blissful looks on their faces when they nurse their
litters–and the sound of her and her progeny purring is one of the most
sweet and pleasant sounds in the world. (Mother humans get that dreamy
look when they nurse their babies, too–but–I haven’t seen as many human
mothers nurse as cat mothers. That look comes from the hormones oxytocin
and prolactin, by the way, which help stimulate the production of
endorphins, another hormonal soup that helps us bond emotionally with our
babies by making feeding them pleasurable.)
So, the image of a mother cat brought on the MER for me.
That, and the memory of the one time I have milked a cow in my life.
She was a Jersey cow, one of my favorite bovines, for they are pretty
little creatures, with big eyes and dished faces, and gentle dispositions.
They also give really rich, creamy milk. Remembering the smell of the cow,
the smell of the warm milk and the feel of her udder in my hand and her
sun-warmed flank against my face helped me make milk of my own.
Now that I have held Kat a couple of times, and have smelled and
cuddled and kissed her, milk production is going very well. In fact, I am
making more milk than Kat can drink at a time–being as she is tiny and
they are still feeding her primarily through the stomach tube. However,
she is now getting almost all of her nutrition from my colostrum and
milk–and she is digesting it perfectly, and has begun to gain weight on
it. In fact, though she lost an ounce of weight after birth–she never lost
the full 10% of her body weight as generally happens with -all- newborns,
preemies and term babies alike.
I am particularly proud of that because she has been having my milk
since her second day of life.
I like to think it is a combination of my milk and my love that has
helped her thrive so well so far.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Republished by permission from the blog post of 21 September 2006
Adventures in Breast Pumping and New Pictures of Kat;
The Clandestine Acquisition of the Pump & Mind Over Matter
Sponsored Links
|
