By Ashley Morgan

I always knew I wanted to breastfeed. When I envisioned motherhood, breastfeeding was an important aspect of that. My journey did not turn out the way I initially wanted, but I am proud of how far we made it and proud of my body. To understand my experience fully, let me provide some background.

When I was 21 years old, I was diagnosed with Stage 2B Hodgkin's Lymphoma. I completed six rounds of chemotherapy and reached partial remission, but as I was preparing for radiation, we discovered my cancer had already come back. I needed a stem-cell transplant to survive.

The high-dose chemotherapy used during my stem-cell transplant made me infertile. As a result, we attempted fertility preservation before the transplant, which resulted in one embryo that later did not implant after an embryo transfer in March 2021.

As our list of options diminished, I knew two things to be true: I wanted to carry a baby and breastfeed. These hopes led us to IVF using donor eggs. In short, we would go on to purchase donor eggs to conceive. Of course, this meant I would not have a baby with my own DNA, but the idea of carrying and breastfeeding a baby made that easier to accept.

We fertilized the eggs in June 2021 and were fortunate to get five good-quality embryos. We transferred one in October 2021, and that embryo became our sweet, perfect, healthy baby girl born in June 2022. We couldn't believe the first embryo we transferred stuck. We weren't used to good luck.

During my pregnancy, I prepared for my breastfeeding journey. I was so excited. I couldn't understand why people didn't breastfeed. I mean, come on, it's free for one thing. Plus, it's liquid gold. What's not to like?

My best friend is an IBCLC too. I just knew breastfeeding would be a slam dunk. It's the most natural part of human existence, after all.

My sunny rainbows and blue sky ideals of breastfeeding came to a screeching halt just a couple of days after Millie was born. She'd fall asleep while eating; she lost weight, and comments like "she's starving" were frequently uttered. I felt like a complete failure.

But my Lactation Consultant/best friend came to the rescue. She worked with us for hours on end. She spent days performing weighted feeds, fashioning a tube system called "SNS," and practicing with nipple shields—you name it, she did it all.

I was even more disappointed that we were struggling because I had the best resource just a phone call away, and I was still failing. Looking back, I don't know why I was so hard on myself. I was giving everything I had to my baby. I was glued to the couch, and it seemed like every time we finished feeding, I had just enough time to hobble to the bathroom and grab a cup of coffee before it was time to feed again. I was in pain from a c-section and suffering from postpartum anxiety. Things were getting dark; something had to give.

We began supplementing with formula. It wasn't easy to accept, but my baby gaining weight and getting healthy was more important to me than my pride. We would breastfeed first, and if she still seemed hungry, we'd give her a bottle. It helped so much.

Knowing she was finally getting enough milk brought light back into my life. Of course, I was still sad it wasn't 100% from me, but she was gaining weight and getting good reports from the doctor, and that was enough for me.

We continued trying to breastfeed. We were successful sometimes, but other times she was very impatient and frustrated at the breast. Feelings of inadequacy crept back in. I started pumping a few times a day to make up for the times she wouldn't take the breast. I spent several days with Laura (my IBCLC-BFF) at her house, working on her latch. The moments we had of a good latch and feeding were bliss. I felt so powerful.

Slowly the ratio of breastfeeding to formula bottle feeding switched to more formula than breastmilk. I pumped as often as possible between work and caring for Millie, but my supply never reached quite "enough." Still, I was so proud of what I did give her. Some breast milk was better than nothing, in my eyes.

I am so, so proud of my journey. But I am also sad that it didn't last longer. Those two feelings can coexist. I gave Millie breastmilk for almost seven months. When I think about the days I spent in the hospital fighting cancer, wondering what my body would be able to do in a few years, I know the past me would be so happy that we achieved our dream of carrying a baby, becoming a mom, and breastfeeding.

I can't wait to breastfeed one day again. It was an experience that I wouldn't trade for anything. I owe it all to Laura Silvas, RN, IBCLC, and BFF.

Please share your feeding journey with us! We would love to publish your story on our site. Contact us at Leva.