n. pl. ag·o·nies
- The suffering of intense physical or mental pain.
- The struggle that precedes death.
- A sudden or intense emotion: an agony of doubt.
- A violent, intense struggle.
[Middle English agonie, from Old French, from Late Latin agōnia, from Greek agōniā, from agōn, struggle, from agein, to drive; see ag- in Indo-European roots.]
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ec·sta·sy (ěk'stə-sē)
n. pl. ec·sta·sies
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ec·sta·sy (ěk'stə-sē)
n. pl. ec·sta·sies
- Intense joy or delight.
- A state of emotion so intense that one is carried beyond rational thought and self-control: an ecstasy of rage.
- The trance, frenzy, or rapture associated with mystic or prophetic exaltation.
- Slang MDMA.
[Middle English extasie, from Old French, from Late Latin extasis, terror, from Greek ekstasis, astonishment, distraction, from existanai, to displace, derange : ek-, out of; see ecto- + histanai, to place; see stā- in Indo-European roots.]
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OK. There you have it. The above is what I have been experiencing, to varying degrees, for the last week or so. I have chosen to slowly cut back on pumping for breast milk so as to be able to quit my job as a dairy cow by the end of next week and it is A-GON-Y... and also ecstasy.
The first 'cut' I made was to go from 6 pumpings to 5 a day, and that wasn't bad. I have had to skip one here and there before and although I was always VERY ready for that first o' the day session the next morning, I wasn't in pain at all, so this initial cut was not that noticeable. Next, several days ago, I went down to 4. I suffered a lot the first 2 mornings; I had boobs in my armpits, boobs around my collarbone, wet bra, wet tee-shirt, etc., and intense tenderness. But I hung in there, and after those first 2 days, I was fine at 4 pumpings, so yesterday, after almost a week of '4's', I went to 3.
"Oh. My. God. I am not going to make it! I'm going to have to pump milk for the rest of my life. I'll miss dance recitals, football practices, and debate team meets. I'll be late for weddings, funerals, and family dinners. Sure, I won't lose my enlarged breast size, which would be a dream come true, but I'll have to buy stock in Johnson & Johnson to keep me in breast pads for the next 40-50 years, because I can't take this."
Such were my thoughts as I found myself awakened by my motherly processes at 4 AM this morning. It hurt to have my tee shirt on, never mind a BRA! I couldn't even writhe in pain because to move would have used the pectoral muscles located just below my mountains (and believe me, they WERE) of terror!
So, I breathed. In and out, in and out. I tried to relax by ordering myself to do so. I gingerly propped two pillows behind me so as to put myself in a more upright position, thinking it would help if only the lowest part of my breasts were pulled by gravity, and only in one direction. I sat tight. I suffered. After what seemed like 2 hours... (I thought I would be close to 'regular' pump time of 6), I carefully reached over to the nightstand to check the time. 4:37.
I considered myself mocked by Father Time.
I grabbed my book and glasses and headed out for the living room couch. I spent lots of time in the wee morning hours on that couch during my pregnancy, when the discomfort of carrying twins made sleeping a near impossibility. I thought maybe a book and dim lighting would help me with this new pain as well.
I was not so lucky. I finally broke at 5. I couldn't read. The words blurred and rippled across the page. My pain had made me delirious, but I knew enough to realize that if I couldn't stand it until 6 (I couldn't) then it would be best to just pull the trigger(s) and then just go back to bed. So I pumped. Of course, by this time, there is enough to fill 4-6 bottles, but I hold myself to 2, leaving my breasts still very full, but less tender and I was able to go back to bed.
7 AM: I awaken, startled... my husband is in the shower and I hear Jackson crying in the next room. Oh NO!!!! I haven't started the bottles, I haven't made the oatmeal, I have not unloaded the dishwasher and the babies are awake and I am not (really) and I haven't HAD MY COFFEE!!!!! What will become of the WORLD???? I run, albeit clumsily (I don't wake up gracefully, especially when startled) to the kitchen to find that my husband has started the bottles and they are warming away on our stove top. My husband has unloaded the dishwasher. And although he has not made the oatmeal, he has let me sleep. He simply went on about getting ready for work, knowing I don't go get babies until at least 7:30 anyway, and all is well. I collected myself, made the oatmeal, started my coffee and even had a sip or two before retrieving my son who smiled and giggled at the sight of me (that's when I found my sweet daughter still asleep, making her little cooing sounds, butt in the air... a sight I rarely get to see since I stick to my rule of not going into the nursery until it is 'time').
We said goodbye to my husband, Jackson and I, and then watched exactly 2 minutes of Curious George with him cuddled in my lap with his blankie (alone, just like a mother with 'only' a son would get to do) before deciding to get Evelyn up for breakfast.
I am writing this blog post as the twins nap. I am trying to make it another hour before my 2nd (and next-to-last in a day of '3') pumping. I am in agony again, my chest tight as a drum and it hurts to even type, but it keeps my mind off of the pain by about 20%, so that's nice.
If you are wondering where the ecstasy lies in all of this, you have not read very carefully, have you?
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
OK. There you have it. The above is what I have been experiencing, to varying degrees, for the last week or so. I have chosen to slowly cut back on pumping for breast milk so as to be able to quit my job as a dairy cow by the end of next week and it is A-GON-Y... and also ecstasy.
The first 'cut' I made was to go from 6 pumpings to 5 a day, and that wasn't bad. I have had to skip one here and there before and although I was always VERY ready for that first o' the day session the next morning, I wasn't in pain at all, so this initial cut was not that noticeable. Next, several days ago, I went down to 4. I suffered a lot the first 2 mornings; I had boobs in my armpits, boobs around my collarbone, wet bra, wet tee-shirt, etc., and intense tenderness. But I hung in there, and after those first 2 days, I was fine at 4 pumpings, so yesterday, after almost a week of '4's', I went to 3.
"Oh. My. God. I am not going to make it! I'm going to have to pump milk for the rest of my life. I'll miss dance recitals, football practices, and debate team meets. I'll be late for weddings, funerals, and family dinners. Sure, I won't lose my enlarged breast size, which would be a dream come true, but I'll have to buy stock in Johnson & Johnson to keep me in breast pads for the next 40-50 years, because I can't take this."
Such were my thoughts as I found myself awakened by my motherly processes at 4 AM this morning. It hurt to have my tee shirt on, never mind a BRA! I couldn't even writhe in pain because to move would have used the pectoral muscles located just below my mountains (and believe me, they WERE) of terror!
So, I breathed. In and out, in and out. I tried to relax by ordering myself to do so. I gingerly propped two pillows behind me so as to put myself in a more upright position, thinking it would help if only the lowest part of my breasts were pulled by gravity, and only in one direction. I sat tight. I suffered. After what seemed like 2 hours... (I thought I would be close to 'regular' pump time of 6), I carefully reached over to the nightstand to check the time. 4:37.
I considered myself mocked by Father Time.
I grabbed my book and glasses and headed out for the living room couch. I spent lots of time in the wee morning hours on that couch during my pregnancy, when the discomfort of carrying twins made sleeping a near impossibility. I thought maybe a book and dim lighting would help me with this new pain as well.
I was not so lucky. I finally broke at 5. I couldn't read. The words blurred and rippled across the page. My pain had made me delirious, but I knew enough to realize that if I couldn't stand it until 6 (I couldn't) then it would be best to just pull the trigger(s) and then just go back to bed. So I pumped. Of course, by this time, there is enough to fill 4-6 bottles, but I hold myself to 2, leaving my breasts still very full, but less tender and I was able to go back to bed.
7 AM: I awaken, startled... my husband is in the shower and I hear Jackson crying in the next room. Oh NO!!!! I haven't started the bottles, I haven't made the oatmeal, I have not unloaded the dishwasher and the babies are awake and I am not (really) and I haven't HAD MY COFFEE!!!!! What will become of the WORLD???? I run, albeit clumsily (I don't wake up gracefully, especially when startled) to the kitchen to find that my husband has started the bottles and they are warming away on our stove top. My husband has unloaded the dishwasher. And although he has not made the oatmeal, he has let me sleep. He simply went on about getting ready for work, knowing I don't go get babies until at least 7:30 anyway, and all is well. I collected myself, made the oatmeal, started my coffee and even had a sip or two before retrieving my son who smiled and giggled at the sight of me (that's when I found my sweet daughter still asleep, making her little cooing sounds, butt in the air... a sight I rarely get to see since I stick to my rule of not going into the nursery until it is 'time').
We said goodbye to my husband, Jackson and I, and then watched exactly 2 minutes of Curious George with him cuddled in my lap with his blankie (alone, just like a mother with 'only' a son would get to do) before deciding to get Evelyn up for breakfast.
I am writing this blog post as the twins nap. I am trying to make it another hour before my 2nd (and next-to-last in a day of '3') pumping. I am in agony again, my chest tight as a drum and it hurts to even type, but it keeps my mind off of the pain by about 20%, so that's nice.
If you are wondering where the ecstasy lies in all of this, you have not read very carefully, have you?
3 comments:
reading this post almost made my boobs hurt, and i haven't nursed in months. and i think i leaked a little. too funny...congrats on making it this far.
Have you tried cabbage leaves? They're supposed to help with cutting back. Use judiciously, though. http://www.drgreene.org/body.cfm?id=21&action=detail&ref=1814
My quitting was actually quite painless in the long run, but I was also sick with a bad bug, so perhaps that helped the body cut back. I dunno. I was already starting to dry up a bit on my own.
Good luck with it. You can do it. Maybe try a little more slowly? Plus try the cabbage. :)
don't know how i found you, but great blog! i did the cabbage leaves. great for a quick relief, but then they really, really start to stink (don't go grocery shopping and forget to take them out before you leave the house).
i can't tell you what else i did and i went through it twice. your body just does it, somehow, albeit painful. i must admit, your story-telling abilities really made the story quite funny though...i'm sorry to laugh at your expense!!! :)
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