When I was a teenager, I never broke out. Maybe one or two pimples here and there, but nothing to write home about. Recently, however, I’ve had a serious of three enormous pimples. They looked more like cysts, actually. I am 31 years old and now I’m finally getting pimples. Oy!
My parents were in Las Vegas at the time, so I called me friend Donna, and begged her to come with me to the Emergency Room, while Wil watched the kids.
“We highly recommend that you stop nursing for the time that you’re on antibiotics.”
“Um, my baby’s never had formula, and I don’t want to start giving it to her now,” I said tentatively. “I know there are antibiotics that are deemed safe for nursing by the American Academy of Pediatrics. Can’t you give me one of those?”
I also asked if I could have IV antibiotics to try to get the infection to go down, but he insisted that the infection was “not that serious” and sent me home on oral antibiotics instead. He also told me to wash my face. Jerk!
“Sounds like that needs to be drained. You’ll need to be on antibiotics. I’ll get you admitted.”
“I am nursing right now, is there an antibiotic that’s safe for nursing I could be on?”
“Sure!” he said “We’ll put you on something that’s compatible with nursing. Let’s get you admitted.
I handed my phone to the receptionist at the E.R. My doctor worked his magic, and I was admitted and had a bed in the hospital within the hour.
The lactation consultant (who happened to be British and had the most adorable accent) came up to my room, and at this point I was in tears.
“They say I have to be on antibiotics and that I can’t breast feed.”
“Well, that doesn’t sound right, now does it?”
She pulled out a giant medical journal and read me five studies indicating that the antibiotic I would be taking is safe for nursing, as my doctor initially said.
“Why are they pressuring me to feed formula then?” I asked.
“Because they don’t know what they’re talking about,” said the lactation consultant in her melodious British accent, waving her hands in the air for emphasis.
“They’re not breast specialists!”
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During my four days at the hospital, I met a really cool and interesting orthodox Rabbi who served as a chaplain there. We talked about Judaism and the search for a Jewish identity. He encouraged me to pursue my Jewish identity and educate my kids about being Jewish. But the best lesson that he taught me was this: I asked him why me? Why did this happen to me?
Why was I here? He said there was a reason that I was meant to be here. There was something for me to learn by being here. I have learned a lot and I am still processing those lessons. One thing I know is I’m glad to be home, and I missed my kids and Wil so much.