A Little Too Much Help

So I got a phone call from the doctor's office on Thursday, telling me that they wanted me to start on antibiotics because of the results of my urinalysis (I had an appointment on Monday and had to pee in a cup for them while I was there). I assumed I had a UTI, so I called them back on Friday to find out more about it. Turns out that it's not a UTI. I tested positive for Group B Strep, so they wanted me to start on antibiotics to treat that. So I asked them why they were going to treat that now, when I'm only ten and a half weeks pregnant ("Isn't that something that you usually give abx during labor for?"). They said they wanted to treat it now, and then, of course, they would have me on abx during labor if my 36-week swab came back positive also.

So, first of all, I'm not going to be getting that 36-week swab because I stop seeing the doctor around 24 weeks, after I have the "big" ultrasound. And, if for some horrible reason, I did have to go have my baby at the hospital, I would not consent to abx during labor for gbs. The chances of my baby getting sick from it are small, and there is conflicting evidence as to whether abx actually help the baby, and, in the event that the baby does get sick, receiving abx during labor can make the gbs resistant to abx, thus increasing the risk that the baby will die. So there's that.

Also, gbs tends to colonize transiently. As in, I may test positive today, and negative tomorrow. So why would I subject myself and my nursing toddler to unnecessary antibiotics in my 11th week of pregnancy, with no apparent benefit?

When I thought it was a UTI, I asked the nurse which antibiotic they had prescribed. My husband is allergic to amoxicillin, and on the off chance that the baby has inherited his allergy, I don't feel comfortable taking that antibiotic while nursing. So then, I get a call back from them a little while later, and they told me that they decided to wait until next month (my next visit with the doctor), to treat the gbs. So it's obviously not all-fire important to treat it now, so why were they rushing me to the pharmacy to treat this right now!! if it's not that big of a deal?

Then, while I was on the phone with the nurse, she also pointed out that I'd had glucose in my urine, and asked if I'd been watching my blood sugars, and she said it in a very implicating way. And you know what is annoying about this? It's that when I really needed their help, they were all like, "Screw you, lady!" and now that I just want to go about my pregnancy, they're determined to get all up in my business. Well, I'm telling you now: butt out.

What You *Really* Need for Breastfeeding

So I had another "first" prenatal with another doctor the other day, and they sent me home with another prenatal pack with info for new moms. I was actually semi-impressed with this pack--there was only one publication that contained formula advertising in it, and I couldn't find anything that was actually published by formula companies. It appeared that the hospital self-published much of their materials, and contained some fairly good information. Unfortunately, I'm pretty sure none of their doctors have actually read said materials, because when I birthed there five-and-a-half years ago, they pretty much didn't do any of the good stuff. Which is why I now homebirth. Different topic, though. Anyway.

So they included a copy of the Babytalk pregnancy planner, which I ignored at first because a)most mainstream pregnancy publications suck, and b) this is not my first time around the block. But, yesterday, in a fit of procrastination, I picked it up. And it was every bit as appalling as I'd expected.

First thing a saw when I opened it was a full color double page spread ad for Similac. Now, I know they have to have advertising, and I know that lots of moms formula feed, and I know that since breastfeeding is free, no one can really make any money advertising breastfeeding, but, still. I'll give them a pass on that, though, for the above reason, and because it's a mainstream publication, and all mainstream publications advertise formula, and all kinds of crap that no one actually needs or use for their babies, but it makes you all warm and fuzzy feeling when you flip through it as a hormonal pregnant woman, so whatever.

What caught my eye, and, consequently, my temper, though, was the breastfeeding supply list. It just screamed "I was written by someone at the formula company!" Here is what the spring/summer 2012 edition of the Babytalk pregnancy planner says you need in order to start breastfeeding (this list can be found on page 39):

• breast pump This purchase can make or break your nursing experience. If you're going back to work full time, you'll need to buy or rent a super-efficient (but pricey) double electric pump. But if you're staying home, a much less expensive manual pump may be fine.
• freezer storage containers or bag 
• 4 to 6 bottles
• nursing pads 
• nursing pillow
• nipple cream
• 2 nursing bras for now (your size may change when your milk comes in)
• can of formula in case of emergency
 (it's always good to have one on hand!)

Okay, so here's the deal. Really, the only thing you need to get started breastfeeding, is a baby and a boob. That's it. It's not complicated. It's not expensive.

You don't need a breast pump. Not at first. If you're planning on going back to work at some point, then yes, you'll need a breast pump. But you don't have to go out and drop $250 on a Medela before you've left the hospital in order to succeed at breastfeeding. If you are having supply issues, your hospital can rent you a hospital grade pump to help your milk come in (and often, your insurance will pay for it). You can also hand express (the first time I tried hand expression, I was actually shocked at how effective it was. So effective that I had clean milk off the opposite wall when I was done). You can use a "much less expensive manual pump" if necessary. Really, though, if you're having supply issues, your best bet is not to go out and buy a breast pump, but to contact your local LLL representative and get help. Immediately.

Obviously, if you don't pump, you don't need freezer containers or bottles, since those would be absolutely useless to your breastfeeding baby. So I'm really not sure why these are on a list of things you need to breastfeed. Maybe they mislabeled the list for "Things You Need for Pumping."

Before my oldest was born, I bought a huge box of nursing pads, because all the lists told me that my breasts would turn into geysers after my baby was born, and I would soak through my clothes, and embarrass myself. I never used them. Not one. Granted, I know some women who do leak, so I'm not saying you absolutely, positively will. not. need. them. I'm just saying, wait. Find out what your body does with milk before you buy stuff that you won't ever use. Like I said before, the only things you need to start nursing is a baby and a boob.

Nursing pillows are--well, I hated mine. Hated it. It didn't sit right, and the baby would slip down between me and the pillow, and it never quite propped him up high enough, and it was so bulky that I could never take it anywhere, and at home I had free access to all kinds of pillows (which I could arrange to work much better than my nursing pillow did), so it was totally a waste of however much money the lady who gave it to me spent on it. Again, I know some women who love their nursing pillows. Wouldn't go anywhere without them. Can't imagine breastfeeding without it. That's fine. But wait. To get started breastfeeding, all you need is (let's hear it, ladies) a baby and a boob.

Nipple cream, of course, falls into the same category as nursing pillows and nipple pads. When I was first starting out breastfeeding, my nipples did crack and bleed and hurt like holy heck. I honestly didn't find that nipple cream helped me (it was a latch issue, and often is. Breastfeeding should. not. hurt.). Half the time I forgot I even had it, so, whatever. Some women probably find it really helpful, so I'm not saying it's not something that you may need. I'm just saying that, well, first of all, if your nipples are cracked and bleeding, or constantly sore, contact your local LLL representative and get help. And second, all you really need to breastfeed is--yeah. You get it. Right?

Nursing bras I can actually understand. I mean, I don't wear them anymore because I can't find one that's comfortable that I don't have to mortgage my house to pay for, and I've found it's quite easy to slip my boob over the top of my regular bra, and pop it back in when I'm done. I'm an experienced breastfeeder, though, and I'm not positive I could have done that with my first couple of kids. Also, I may have ill-fitting bras. But, a nursing bra is not something that you need in order to start breastfeeding. I mean, I don't know about anyone else, but the first two, three, four years weeks after my babies are born, I don't even wear a bra. At all. So I certainly don't require the services of a fancy, expensive bra in order to feed my baby with my boob.

A can of formula is something that a beginner breastfeeder (or any breastfeeder) should never, ever, EVER have on hand. Those first couple weeks of breastfeeding your first baby are, well, hard. I won't sugar-coat that. Depending on how much support you have, you may have people telling you that baby is starving every time he screams, and that you need to top him off with formula to make sure he's getting enough. You'll obsess over diapers ("Is this poop the right color? Is he pooping enough?"). You'll cry because you just fed this kid six minutes ago, and he wants to nurse again. It's a mountain, and if you're going to breastfeed, you'll have to scale it, at least once. Probably. And let me tell you, a can of formula will hold you back. It will sit on your shelf and taunt you. It will remind you of how inept you are at feeding your baby with your boob. It will ask you if you know for sure that your baby is eating enough, and laugh when you stammer back that you th-th-think so. It will glow in the dark when you get up for those great many middle of the night feeds, and remind you that statistically, formula-fed babies sleep for longer stretches of time (it will not elaborate on whether this is actually safe, however). It will sabotage you. 

Incidentally, I find it (kind of) funny that the list of breastfeeding necessities is eight items long. Eight things that you're supposed to need in order to start breastfeeding. You know how long the formula-feeding list is? Six items. Six. Because last I checked, you need a lot more than a baby and a boob to formula feed.

Breastfeeding is--amazing. I've been doing it non-stop for five-and-a-half years, and I'm currently tandem nursing (while pregnant. Do I earn points for that?). I know whereof I speak, ladies. It may take some effort to get started, it may take some fortitude, some determination, some bull-headedness, some focus. But really, it just takes a baby and a boob. That's it. Now go for it!

Sackloth and Ashes

In the circles in which I grew up, the name Jack Hyles was big. Really big. Really, really big. If we had been catholic, he would have been the Pope. If we had been Mormons, he would have been Brigham Young. We were not, of course, associated with any of those sinful cults, so he was simply called "The Founder of Fundamentalism." Or something. His church, First Baptist Church of Hammond, was the bastion of fundamentalism. Books and sermon tapes poured out of our Mecca at an alarming rate, telling us how to live, how to raise our children, how to dress, how to be good, upstanding Christian men, and meek, submissive Christian women. I remember a great many hard-bound books on my mom's bookshelves bearing the names of Jack Hyles and his family members as authors. When I was in middle school, my school (it was a Christian school, of course) took a part-day field trip to a local church to hear The Man himself speak. He was well past his prime by then, and I don't really remember much about him or his sermon, other than the fact that for some reason, I thought he looked a lot like my grandma on my mom's side. On the bus ride there and back, I heard stories of stage antics in which he threw microphones, jumped off pews and pulpits, yelled, screeched, hollered, slammed books down, and did all manner of strange and wondrous things. He didn't do any of that this day, and I must admit, I was mildly disappointed, but he was an old man by then, so I understood. Anyway, he was a really, really, really big deal.

I remember, as a teenager, hearing whispers here and there about The Man, and some supposed sexual forays. My mom viciously discounted these rumors and forbad me to speak of them, saying they were stories made up by jealous men who were trying to destroy the Cause of Christ®, and the great name of Jack Hyles. I accepted this, mostly because I was young and dumb, and honestly, I didn't know enough about sex to really understand the significance of this accusation, other than that it was a Bad Thing. Later on, in college, when I was old enough to think for myself, and understand the import of such stories, I read Robert Sumner's expose of Jack Hyles, "The Saddest Story I've Ever Told," in The Biblical Evangelist. I delved further into Jack Hyles' teachings, writings, life, and family, and his church, First Baptist Church of Hammond (FBCH). I admit it was mostly morbid curiosity, since by this time, Jack Hyles had been dead for some years, but it was also somewhat of a Truth-Finding mission, since I was going through a crisis of faith, of sorts, and wanted to know if all that I had been taught as a child was based on actual Bible, or on some sexual deviant that got his kicks out of making up crazy rules that people had to follow in order to be "godly."

The truth, as I discerned it eventually, fell somewhere in between these choices, although closer to the crazy side than to the biblical side. I've had to reconsider a lot of what I believed about God and His demands, but honestly, I'm totally okay with that. God makes a lot more sense, now that I know Him better. Mom never has come around to the Truth about The Man, or about God (as I see it), so we just don't talk about that stuff. Maybe someday.

Anyway, I say all of that to say that I've happily been out of that world for quite some time now, and all of a sudden it all came crashing back into my reality this past week, when The Man's predecessor and son-in-law, the newest Archbishop of Fundamentalism, Jack Schaap, was ousted from FBCH for some kind of sexual mishap with a teenage girl. And this is what I want to talk about. Because obviously, the Schaap-haters are out en masse vilifying him, posting YouTube links to every crazy sermon and sound-bite he ever made, saying, "Dude! You're surprised about this?" (a la "The Polished Shaft"). And I have to admit, as a Schaap-hater myself, I sort of agree with them. I mean, there is definitely something wrong with the guy. Has been for a while. But of course, when the Schaap-haters come out, the Schaap-lovers come out, and defend him. Tirelessly. Sometimes crazily. They flood message boards and Facebook pages and blog posts with messages of support and love and grammatical malfeasance. And you kind of feel badly for them, because you know they're yelling so loudly because their world is crumbling around them and they're trying desperately to grab at something firm and truthful. At least, that's what I hope is their reasoning. Otherwise, they pretty much just need to be committed and medicated. 

I head him speak a time or two, as a teenager. He was a big deal, like his father-in-law. The only sermon of his that I really remember was something about sackcloth and ashes, and I think he came out on stage wearing sackcloth and ashes to illustrate whatever point he was making. I don't really remember what the point was, but I know he played clips of an Amy Grant music video that showed her dancing around and taking a scarf off her shoulders, and he told us that's why we shouldn't listen to the world's music, because it's all about sex. As a fourteen-year-old teenage girl, I didn't really get it, and I kinda liked the song, but it certainly wasn't a new message (my parents told me the same thing all the time), so I figured he was right, and whatever. Sackcloth and ashes, right? 

Later, I started hearing all the crazy, crazy stuff he wrote and preached about, but by then, I was waaaay out of the movement, so I just kind of chuckled at him and took a moment to be grateful that I was in a much happier, saner place now, and--end thinking about it. So when crap hit the fan at the end of July, and rumors started seeping out of Mecca about the Archbishop stepping down indefinitely for "medical reasons," and the Word About Town was that he was indeed sick, but not of the physical variety, I can't say that I was either surprised or sad. Yes, to my shame, I was just a little bit glad that maybe crazy was finally going to have it's microphone shut off. Hate me if you must, Schaap-lovers. 

So as the story came out (for yea, verily, it always shall), his ailment was one of a much darker variety than stress or Crohn's disease or irritable bowel syndrome. Mostly, it was sex. With teenage girls, apparently, among (I suspect) other things. So this is what I'm getting to with all this. There has been some discussion amongst, well, just about everyone, as to whether or not Schaap's fall should be labelled "Adultery" or "Abuse." Cue angry opinions on both sides, and toss around words and phrases like consensual, molestation, legally of age, old enough to choose abortion so she's old enough to choose sex. Really, I'm not interested in any of these words and phrases, because they have absolutely no bearing on Schaap and his actions. 

Here's the truth, folks: Schaap is a 54-year-old man (I'm using the term man loosely, of course) who was supposed to be counseling a 16/17 year-old girl for sexual abuse (a "bus girl," from what I understand, although the details are hazy on this point). Stop right there and think about that for a minute. A teenage girl has been sexually abused by someone, probably someone close to her, since statistically, that's who it is, and she goes to her pastor for counseling, because obviously, she's troubled about it. She's vulnerable and emotionally fragile and she probably doesn't have a really great support structure at home, if I may be allowed to use stereotypes for a moment, because most bus kids don't. (No, really--what good parent in his right mind would send his kids off on a rickety church bus, staffed by teenagers and over-exuberant college kids, and one old guy (the driver), to spend all day at some church somewhere that he has never seen and knows nothing about?) Her pastor, a man she has been taught to look up to, admire, and trust, a man old enough to be her grandfather, starts to shower her with "attention" and "love." He tells her she is special, and means a lot to him, and she's been dying all her life to hear this. I mean from someone--credible. He hugs her. Maybe kisses her. Suddenly, he's having his secretary transport her across state lines so he can "counsel" her when he's out of town. Did she tell him "No!"? Did she gladly lay down in the bed with him? Does it really matter? Really? No. No, it doesn't. Regardless of what she did, or what she said, every shred of responsibility falls smack at Jack Schaap's feet. He is at fault. He took advantage of her, yea, preyed upon her. He failed to have another woman counsel her (or, at the very least, attend the counseling sessions with her). He is the adult. Regardless of the "age of consent" in Indiana, she could not consent, truly, because she was not in a position to do so. Regardless of whether she is old enough to operate a motor vehicle, or have an abortion, or buy alcohol (oh. wait.), she was not in a proper frame of mind and understanding and emotional stability to truly consent to his advances. She was not some brazen hussy who wooed him with her wily, teenage-girl charms. She was not a temptress or a slut. She was a broken, bruised, and wounded young girl who came to him for help, and found--the furthest possible thing from that. He sexually abused her. Which, whether it is recognized as such by the legal system in Indiana, is, of course, called rape. Ugly word, huh? It takes an ugly man to rape a teenage girl. And Jack Schaap is an ugly, ugly man.

So why do I care? Why am I even talking about this? Because it bothers me. It bothers me that anyone can possibly be placing any kind of culpability on this teen girl, thereby lessening--softening--the ugliness of Schaap's evil deeds. She is a victim, twice over (or many, many times over, possibly). She is a victim. He is evil. He has destroyed her. He has destroyed his family. He has grossly misused the trust that was placed upon him as a pastor, an adult man, and a counselor. He has, I have no doubt, injured his marriage beyond reclamation. Whether his wife stands by him or not, he has damaged that relationship irreparably. He has dirtied his name--the name that his children must now ignominiously bear forever. He has shamed and broken his wife. He has raped this young girl, sexually abused her, taken advantage of her trust. He is evil. He is wicked. He bears all the responsibility. Don't you dare say otherwise, because you know you're wrong.

Sackcloth and ashes, dude. Sackcloth and ashes.