Three-and-a-half-year-old Vince has a Boston Marathon medal hanging in his bedroom—marking the moment he crossed the finish line while tucked safely inside his mom Erica’s belly. “It was five days after I finished the marathon that I found out I was pregnant,” Erica tells me. She felt great running that day and all the way through her pregnancy. “I loved being pregnant. Even when my due date passed, I was fine. We were good, the two of us.”
At 41 weeks, an ultrasound showed that Erica no longer had any amniotic fluid. Doctors told her they needed to get Vince moving into the world—now.
Erica wanted a natural birth; she was committed to not using pain medication and wanted as few interventions as possible. But when a membrane sweep and Foley balloon didn’t get labor moving, they administered Pitocin. “My husband went downstairs to the hospital cafeteria and when he returned just a short time later, I was in full-blown labor. I went from zero to sixty with no pre-labor. It was intense.”
The ”C” word . . .
Once Erica was fully dilated, she pushed for more than seven hours. She wouldn’t let doctors even use the “C-word.” She wanted this baby to be born naturally. For hours she could see the top of his head and kept telling herself that she was almost there, she just needed a little more time.
But Vince was stuck; his head was tucked sideways in his mother’s pelvic bone. Then Erica developed a fever. Vince’s heart rate began dropping, and it was clear he was struggling. It was time for a C-section.
When Vince emerged, he didn’t cry. There was a team ready, and they had to resuscitate him immediately. Erica barely got to see him from a distance before they took him to the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit (NICU), with her husband Jeremy in tow. Luckily, her mom was there to continue supporting her while the doctors tried to manage her hemorrhaging. “Taking the baby out is the easy part of the C-section. Putting me back together, that was a lot harder.”
I felt defeated . . .
Even with all the exhaustion and challenges she was facing herself, all Erica could think about was getting to her baby. “I kept asking them when I could go see him. They would try to ‘slow-roll’ me, saying things like, ‘Let’s see when you can sit up.’ When my husband came down to see me from the NICU, I was mad at him for not bringing Vince. But of course, Vince just wasn’t ready, even though I really needed to see him.”
It was 12 hours before Erica was able to see Vince for the first time.
While she understands the importance of the care that both she and Vince needed, she can’t help but lament missing that important postpartum window. She wanted Vince to be skin to skin with her right after birth, to latch and begin their breastfeeding journey as she had imagined. She’s beyond grateful that he’s ok and that he got such excellent care. And yet, she still mourned the loss of the birth she wanted. “I felt defeated,” she told me quietly.
Vince ultimately stayed in the NICU, receiving respiratory care for two weeks. Meanwhile, Erica was discharged after five days. “Going home without your baby—that’s so horrible.”
Donor milk? It was one right thing . . .
Erica spent twelve hours a day in the NICU, nursing her son on demand and bringing the milk she had pumped the night before so the nurses could feed him once she left. After everything she had endured physically, she at first didn’t have enough milk to keep little Vince satiated—especially overnight, when she wasn’t there. She felt immense relief and gratitude knowing that she could supplement with donor milk from our milk bank.
“It was so important to me to have backup! I wanted to breastfeed but with a tough start, it really helped that there was the option of donor milk. My birth, my breastfeeding, nothing went how I wanted it to. With donor milk, I was able to ensure Vince only received human milk, which was a priority for me. It was one right thing.”
Even after Erica brought Vince home, she needed a little “backup” milk to feed him. She received a few bottles each week from us, and just knowing they were in the freezer helped her feel more confident. She had what she needed to feed her new baby the way she felt was best.
The birth “do-over” . . .
Fast forward two or so years and Erica gave birth to a healthy baby girl, Eva. “Eva’s birth was my redemption; I got a do-over.” Committed to natural childbirth, Erica planned a vaginal birth after a caesarean. She used everything she had learned the first time around to change the course of her delivery. She did exercises and worked with a pelvic floor therapist to expand her pelvis. She worked to position the baby at the end in the most optimal way for delivery.
All that hard work paid off, as Erica had the intervention-free delivery she wanted and, most importantly, welcomed a healthy baby.
When the hospital lactation consultant came in the room after Eva was born, she took one look at the nursing duo and laughed, “Oh you don’t need me, you got this.” Indeed, they did. Erica had nursed Vince until she was six months pregnant with Eva, which she believes helped prime her body for lactation. She has nursed Eva for a year now, continuing even when one of her breasts stopped producing.
Vince and Eva are boisterous little people these days. Vince loves hockey, music, and entertaining. Eva, on the other hand, is a fun study in contrasts: a “girly girl” who loves dress-up, yet she rides trucks and does her darndest to keep up with her big brother.
Our stories matter . . .
As we wrapped up our conversation, at least for that day, Erica thanked me. “Thank you for letting me tell my story. I haven’t told it from beginning to end like this—maybe ever. And it really helps. It helps me to share what happened and I hope it helps other people as they experience their own stories.”
I responded with my truth: that there is no part of my work that I treasure more than receiving these stories. Parenting is intense and complicated. Our stories matter. And understanding just how our donor milk fits into these powerful narratives helps us stay true to our north star—the one that keeps us working hard to ensure that babies who need donor milk have access to it.
Be a hero – help fill tiny bellies this holiday season . . .
Every milk donor is a hero — but not every hero is a milk donor. Your gift of $35 provides 20 holiday meals for premature and medically fragile babies fighting to grow and thrive.
Give Comfort. Give Nourishment. Give Hope.
