The Lactation Hotline Mishap

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Just a few days after bringing little Emma home from the hospital, I found myself locked in the bathroom at 1:30 AM, trying not to disturb my husband. I was crying out in pain while desperately dialing the number on a crumpled piece of paper I was clutching. I knew breastfeeding might be challenging, but I felt assured when the nurse at the hospital informed me about a 24-hour “lactation hotline” available for support. I usually have a high tolerance for pain, but at that moment, I was at my breaking point.

Earlier that night, I had screamed so loudly while nursing that my husband started to worry. I even considered asking him to rush out and grab some formula, just to give my sore, battered breasts a break during the night feed. But I decided to tough it out and hoped the next feeding would be easier, leading to my frantic call at 1:30 AM.

Finally, someone answered the line.

Strike one: It was a man. A MAN! I thought about hanging up but looking down at my bleeding, tender nipples made me reconsider. Taking a deep breath, I asked to speak with a lactation consultant.

To my dismay, the man informed me that their lines were “backed up” and I could expect a callback in about four hours. FOUR HOURS!

I insisted that he didn’t understand my urgency, but he assured me he did and that someone would return my call as soon as possible. I would have to nurse Emma again before then and just endure the pain.

For the gentlemen reading this, it might be hard to grasp the predicament I was in. Let me try to paint a picture that could help you understand. Imagine waking in the middle of the night only to find that your… well, your nether regions are on fire.

Before you can process the panic, you hear an alarming sound resembling a screaming creature. To your horror, you realize that the only way to silence this creature is to attach it to your inflamed parts. Now, you’re in quite the dilemma.

Remembering there’s a hotline to call for assistance, you dial the number, trembling in pain. A woman answers.

WOMAN: “Hello, Fireball Hotline! How can I assist you?”

YOU: “MY… uh, parts are on fire!!!!!”

WOMAN: “I’m sorry to hear that, sir. Our call volume is currently high, but I completely understand your frustration.”

YOU: “Are you kidding me?! You don’t even have… parts!”

WOMAN: “That is correct. However, I assure you someone who does will get back to you within four hours to help you cool things down. Please hang in there.”

YOU: “FOUR HOURS!? What about the creature?”

WOMAN: “Well, it needs to eat. You might want to go ahead and attach it to your flaming parts, or it will starve. We’ll address your call in the order received.”

Gentlemen, does that clarify things a bit? It’s a lovely situation, isn’t it?

After hanging up, I wanted to set that piece of paper on fire. I wished instead for a hotline where every other woman awake at this dreadful hour, battling the same struggles, could connect. I just knew if we all heard there was a four-hour wait, our collective frustration would unite us—sleep-deprived women storming the lactation hotline’s office, ready to demand, “Are you sure you don’t have an earlier slot?!”

But then, I realized that perhaps they really were inundated. They might have been doing their best to assist other women who, just like me, were awake, alone, and sobbing on their bathroom floors with their babies. We couldn’t band together like a furious mob, but knowing that others were enduring the same struggle made me feel a tad less isolated.

It wasn’t the guy’s fault that he was on duty at the lactation hotline. However, I do have one suggestion for the hotline managers: while I support workplace equality, could you please ensure that a woman is the one handling calls and wait times during those hours? There are just some things only we can communicate to each other.

And I promise, I’ll steer clear of applying for a position at the “Fireball Hotline.” Deal?

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Summary

The author recounts a stressful experience with a lactation hotline shortly after giving birth. In the midst of pain and frustration, she humorously illustrates the struggles of new motherhood and the importance of support from fellow women during this challenging time.

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