Racing into the emergency room wasn’t exactly how I’d wanted to spend a Friday date night. Neither one of us could erase the scene of a year ago from our minds. Then it had been, “my baby’s not breathing!” in the crowd of gun-shot victims.

This night, I forced myself to ignore Mr. Ed blaring from the waiting room TV. This time, the baby was alive, but very skinny, and hadn’t pooped for over a week.

I bumped into Jemmi, who used to go to our church. She saw the baby and had to know if we’d had her in the hospital. I assured her yes, but delivering in the hospital doesn’t give you any more sense.

How could I let this happen to my sweet baby? I had been nursing her since birth. Chanya was a sleepy nurser, falling asleep, waking up frequently to suck just a little more. . . never satisfied.

I knew something was wrong with her latch once the milk came in. But I refused to go see the lactation consultant, the wounds from Yasha too fresh in mind. First there was the visit where she had told me she couldn’t help me teach Yasha to nurse. She’d taken one look at the baby and seen what I refused to see–a baby so brain damaged we were lucky she was still breathing. Then I’d seen the same woman a month later, when I donated all that unneeded milk after Yasha died. No, I didn’t want to see her again.

I also didn’t want to pump again, after 7 months of pumping for hours each day. I just wanted to nurse Chanya, thank you.

But she wasn’t getting what she needed. Our baby was 7lbs 15 oz at birth, but now at almost 3 weeks old, she was 6 lbs 7 oz. The emergency room nurse gave us a bottle, and Chanya emptied it immediately, pooping along the way. The Dr. told us that she had better learn to drink from a bottle, and suggested we take her to the pediatrician, any pediatrician Monday morning.

On Sunday, I talked to Lisa and Annette about what had happened. Annette shared that she had a similar problem with her first child. She gave me the courage to go see the lactation consultant; I’d really been considering quitting nursing altogether. Annette told me that it was hard work, but we could teach Chanya to nurse.

Monday morning, we took her to our family Dr. He weighed her, and she was 6 lbs 14 oz, and we calculated that at her smallest, she had lost 18% of her birth weight. I had cut way back on breastfeeding over the weekend, terrified that the milk actually made her lose weight, or that any time spent on the breast was time she could have been getting nutrition on the bottle.

Monday afternoon, I went to the lactation consultant. She weighed Chanya before I nursed her and after to determine how much milk she was getting. It wasn’t much. She gave me a feeding tube–another terrifying tool from Yasha’s life–to help teach Chanya to nurse. She threaded the feeding tube through a bottle nipple and stuck it on a bottle. We placed the other end of the tube against the breast and had the baby suck. It looked like a cumbersome process, and I was given the option of not using it, but just pumping every two hours. I chose to use the tube, and pump.

By Friday, Chanya had regained her birth weight. I saw the same Lactation consultant that I’d seen with Yasha. She remembered me, and told me to forget about the tube, and to squeeze the breast every time I nursed the baby. She also suggested I take a medication to increase my milk supply.

The goal was to get the baby’s strength up to nurse while also increasing the amount of milk available for her.

The last time I saw the Lactation consultant, two weeks ago, Chanya was up to 9 lbs 3 oz. They were very excited, but offered me no timeline as to when we were done with the bottles. I tried to force this, and Chanya started getting skinny again, just last week.

I have to go slow. Excruciatingly slow. I must write down every bottle she takes, every nursing session. I take note of how much milk I pump. I notice how well she latches on, how vigorously she sucks.

This is all consuming. She is worth it. I am glad I didn’t stop nursing. It is still hard.

Chanya is two months old today. She can hold her head up. She smiles and coos at us. She is very loved.

And I will be very glad when this feeding chapter is over.