Lactation Education

Because Scott and I live so close to Vermont, and because I am giving birth in January (according to WMUR, the “most likely month for an ice storm”), we chose Brattleboro Memorial Hospital as the place where I will give birth. Well, I chose it, and Scott had no objection. Although it’s a smaller hospital than the one in Keene, it has something that even Dartmouth/Hitchcock in Lebanon, which resembles a large shopping mall, does not: five lactation consultants (most city hospitals have two or three). Vermonters are dead serious about breastfeeding, and I am fully confident at this point that if I were to start nursing my child in the middle of a public street, I would not only be warmly encouraged but would possibly get my picture in the paper, the way that dogs dressed in cute rain outfits or children holding flags eating ice cream do.

I was excited to get the chance to take the “Breastfeeding Basics” class because all of their other childbirth classes are on Wednesdays at 6:00, when I usually teach. This time, I got to be the student, because Veteran’s Day fell on a Wednesday. I like to think of myself as the kind of student I would want to have: making eye contact with the teacher, asking good questions, fully invested in what I am being taught. I couldn't wait to take on that role again.

Some background on Brattleboro: it’s pretty crunchy, even by Vermont standards. And not exactly hippie-ish, but a lot of transplanted New Yorkers and other city folk who left the city life to start organic farms or art studios or become aromatherapists. I am in no way complaining about this; it means a marked absence of big box stores, a fantastic farmer’s market, decent restaurants, and an unusually active downtown, even in the evening. It means you can bring your dog practically anywhere and you can get good falafel to go. If I want to find a fair trade, organic hemp baby sling suitable for men or women, I can find one in five minutes, right between the human-rights themed bookstore and the Indian grocery. Not too bad for a small, relatively rural area.

The one problem I have with the place is that everyone seems to be an expert in something and they want to share this expertise with you. When I decided last year to start up ice skating again for exercise, I went to the (very nice) Brattleboro rink. No sooner had I tentatively made my way around the rink a few times when I was stopped by one of many skaters who commented on my technique (or lack thereof): “You’re really just walking on the ice. You should be gliding, one foot at a time, like this.” He meant well, but after showing me the right way to do it and critiquing my attempts, he went whirling into the center of the rink, where the other skating whizzes (including what appeared to be a woman in her eighties) were spinning and twirling. I circled around the ring a few times with my halting steps, and then I left.

Breastfeeding class kind of felt like that, because most of the people there were not first-time moms—one woman had her last baby 20 years ago—and they seemed to want to share their experiences rather than learn. I had also been hoping for more celebration and anticipation on the part of my fellow pregnant women, but everyone looked either bored, or stressed, or unhappy. Most everyone was quiet and seemed self-conscious, but I wasn't sure why--for me, it was a comfort to be in a room with other pregnant women for a change. Only one of the younger moms, a pretty redheaded woman due the same week that I am, was smiling and seemed excited to be there.

Most of the class centered around the idea of “latching on,” which is how the baby attaches to the breast. Apparently, if this is done wrong, the baby does not get enough milk and, in the words of the lactation nurse, it can cause “damage” to the breast. She showed us an Australian DVD of the proper procedure, wherein enormous-breasted Australian women with 1980s hairdos and great accents fed their babies with an impressive confidence. It actually took only a few minutes to show us this “nipple tuck” technique, and the rest of the time the nurse made sure we understood the benefits of breastfeeding. We had the chance to apply our knowledge using baby dolls with the kind of open mouths you see on blow up dolls in adult stores, but the only one who truly opted to do this was the transgender partner of the older woman (whom she referred to as "he," so I will here) who had been doing Suduko with the fake baby swaddled on his shoulder up until that point. We all appreciated his participation, as the nurse had been trying to urge us to get involved and try it out.

What I learned: How to do the “nipple tuck technique. And that I am not a good student, but the kind of student I dislike. I don't really want to think about what that means for my teaching, but I will have to at some point. After I master the breastfeeding thing.