Postpartum.

My woes didn't end with a failed epidural.  Jack didn't nurse much and certainly not effectively for the 24 hours we were in the hospital, an experience I expected but had hoped would not materialize. We also noticed that his lower legs had a significant amount of bowing, that his left arm was not responsive, and that the back of his head was softer than normal(at least for my other kids, though this was not worrisome to the doctors and nurses).  Between those concerns and the consultations with doctors regarding them, a circumcision (ouch!), the typical tests and procedures performed while in the hospital, my excited kids itching to see their baby brother and have him and mom home, and the hormones and sleep deprivation, I was struggling to hang on to my sanity.
I met with a lactation consultant soon before the weekend, who informed me that Jack had only taken in .1 ounce during a 45 minute nursing session.  Another bombshell.  She recommend I start pumping and feed him via a tube and syringe to keep him alive while he got strong enough to access my milk on his own.  The following Tuesday I met with another lactation consultant, who acknowledged his weak suck and let me know that Jack had eaten 1.3 ounces in 45 minutes, an improvement that I clung to but was likely induced by the fact that I was engorged and was expressing milk directly into his mouth while he sucked lazily.  All that and it was still not near enough for him to thrive.  I still had to pump and syringe feed for a time, though I was slightly optimistic it was getting better.

The next day was as depressing as all get out. Jack got extremely frustrated at the breast and would fuss and fret and then just give up entirely.  Not wanting to starve my baby, I'd give him my milk through a syringe and then pump for the next feeding.  It was like rejection over and over and over.
I hung on for another week, met with yet another lactation consultant, who taught me SNS (Supplemental Nursing System) where I would latch Jack on, slide the tube in his mouth, use the syringe to get milk into his mouth when he sucked and use breast compressions so that he could get milk directly from the breast.  A process that required at least ten hands and resulted in very little actual milk transfer so I'd have to go pump again for the next feeding.

This was 2 weeks into Jack's life.  I decided that for my sanity and so that I could be a mother to all five of my children, I had to risk not being able to nurse Jack and give him a bottle.  I knew it was the beginning of the end, but I could not go on like this forever.  I still pumped around the clock and watched as my baby satisfied his little tummy through a bottle.  Still sad about not nursing, I resolved that exclusively pumping was something I could stomach for a while so he could at least get my breastmilk.

That was not to be as well.  I spent my kids' entire Christmas break in agony from plugged ducts, which I had always resolved by nursing my babies but since this baby couldn't nurse(!) I was stuck.  After getting plugged ducts every other day for a week and a half, I resolved that exclusively pumping was not the route to go either.  Formula would have to do.  Eve had thrived on it, so I knew it wasn't poison, but it was still a switch I would have to grieve all over again.  I started out slowly weaning from the pump but had the distinct impression that I should just go cold turkey (well, almost).  I reduced my pumping from seven pumpings a day to 1 a day in a week.  It was sheer hell.  Pain does not end with delivery, that is for sure.

Fortunately, this abrupt weaning turned out to be providential, as Jack broke his leg the day I reduced to one pumping.