The Coldest Day in July
Kind of rhymes with Christmas...mastitis!
I turned the heat on and activated my heated seat driving up I-71 to the office on a bright early July morning after visiting my daughter in the NICU. Overcome with a sudden chill, I checked the outside temperature reading on my dashboard - 75 degrees. I stuck my hand out of the sunroof to confirm. Why am I so cold?
My shivers turned into convulsions by the time I pulled into the parking lot of my office 15 minutes later. I never experienced anything like this uncontrollable shaking. Was I having a seizure? A stroke? Blood clot burst? I struggled to hold my phone and dial my colleague to let her know something was horribly wrong and I would not be coming inside. I mustered the strength to call my ob-gyn and book an appointment. They could get me in within thirty minutes at the office near my parents’ house, about ten minutes away. I probably shouldn’t have driven, but made the calculated decision that by the time I called someone to come get me something bad could happen, and I just want to get down the road to my mom’s house so if something bad happened it could happen there. Driving while shaking didn’t really factor into this decision. I wanted my mom.
I managed to make it to my parents’ house, immediately raided the coat closet and wrapped myself in a fleece L.L. Bean hoodie from circa 1994. No one was home so I hunkered down at the kitchen table trying to control my shaking. My mom showed up shortly thereafter. An unflappable medical professional, she didn’t get too worked up about my condition. I felt a sense of relief like I do when there’s turbulence on an airplane - if the flight attendants are calm, I can be calm-ish, right?
She drove me up the street to my appointment, and my ob-gyn confirmed I had a raging fever and mastitis. I’d never heard of mastitis, the painful inflammation of breast tissue that causes high fever, flu-like symptoms like aches and chills, and tender areas of the breast. Now I’ll never forget it.
According to a report in the Journal of Lactation, one in four women experience mastitis during the first 26 weeks postpartum1. I had never been so sick. For the next four days I laid in bed in our guest bedroom, sweating and pumping profusely while watching the series Bloodline on Netflix. Oddly fitting - the opening credits showing an artful stream of flowing blood mirroring the rivers of sweat streaming down my back and chest.
How was I stricken with mastitis? I am pretty sure it was the day I went for four hours between pumping sessions. I pumped every two hours for months after my daughter was born prematurely at 29 weeks and two days. When so much felt out of my hands, pumping made me feel in control, among many other emotions including stress, despair, validation…the list could take up the rest of this post.
I returned to work a week after being discharged from the hospital. I couldn’t stay at home without my baby and needed somewhere else to focus my attention. Plus, I didn’t want to use up all of my leave before my baby came home. This was my choice and my employer worked with me to make it possible, thanks to help from my empathetic mom friend in HR who had a high-risk pregnancy with twins. I went to the hospital first thing in the morning, returned after dinner in the evening, and primarily worked from home in order to pump every two hours. I would go into the office one day a week, hence where I was headed that cold July day.
I don’t know how I did it, but it worked and I am grateful that I had the support. However, I would get these calls every month from the disability insurance provider my company used, The Hartford. They would “check-in” which made me so nervous, like I was going to get caught or something even though I was doing nothing wrong. It felt like an invasion of my privacy during one of the most intimate times of my life. It also made me think of Connecticut and the fictional “Stoneybrook” from the Baby-Sitters Club (Favorite book? The super-special where they go on the cruise). It all comes full circle, and I am currently reading the graphic novel series, Baby-Sitters Little Sister, with this very same 29-weeker who is now seven.
Thanks to Bloodline, antibiotics, and many liters of water, I managed to sweat through this infection and continued pumping/breastfeeding for over 11 months total. When we were thinking about breeding our Vizsla two years ago, a breeder ran down the risks - one of them was mastitis - and I said nope, off the table if that’s a risk. I am not subjecting my beloved dog to that. (Ironically, I got pregnant myself shortly thereafter - the one with the IUD.)
There’s so much I overcame throughout my first foray into motherhood, mastitis being one of them. Writing about these experiences is therapeutic for me. It reminds me of how I persevered, how strong I am, and how capable I am when as a mother that can seem constantly challenged. Writing about this helps me look back and recognize where I could have given myself some more grace, serving as a reminder to do that in the present. Turns out the coldest day in July did come with some gifts.
1. Wilson E, Woodd SL, Benova L. Incidence of and Risk Factors for Lactational Mastitis: A Systematic Review. J Hum Lact. 2020 Nov;36(4):673-686. doi: 10.1177/0890334420907898. Epub 2020 Apr 14. PMID: 32286139; PMCID: PMC7672676.
Photo by Kostiantyn Li on Unsplash
As always, thanks for reading. My son made it home from the hospital Monday after a week-long stay and is happily back to his routines. Your support means so much.
Mastitis isn’t contagious, but this post could be (in a good way!) if you share it.