My doctor eliminated my postpartum breast pain. I ended up in the operating room.

I’ve heard that breastfeeding can be difficult. Of course, many things are difficult,I think. Giving birth is difficult. Wordle can be difficult. But I really had no idea how difficult breastfeeding was until I experienced it myself. My story is unique—most breastfeeding moms don’t end up in the operating room—but it contains a universal message that all moms should hear: Trust your gut. You’ve heard it before, but I’ll say it again because it’s not always easy to do. Postpartum is especially difficult because your body has changed into something you may not recognize.
After having my son, I Know Something went wrong. My obstetrician had been my mentor throughout my pregnancy, but once she gave birth to my baby, I felt like she was no longer interested in my care. Every time I asked for help, her short answers made me feel like she was an inconvenience. I’m a people pleaser, so I didn’t push the issue. I regret it now. As I look down at the wound on my chest, which looks like a saber-toothed tiger attacking me, I wish I was my own advocate.
How did it all begin? In a sense, I am one of the lucky ones. My milk supply came immediately and I was producing a lot of milk. So much so that one lactation consultant called me the “dairy queen.” My baby eats very well. He latched on really well, even though the pain during the first few weeks of latching made my whole body tense up. I have experienced cracked nipples and just using a brush on a washcloth would leave me breathless. However, in the early stages of getting familiar with breastfeeding, this is all “normal”.
Three weeks postpartum, I contacted my obstetrician for a check-up because I had a burning sensation in my breasts after breastfeeding my son. I didn’t have a fever, so her response was basically, “No fever, no infection, and no, you can’t come into my office.” A few days later, I developed a rather large lump in my breast.
According to lactation consultants (and the internet), this is clogged milk ducts. Pretty common for a dairy queen like me. Many mothers I know have experienced clogged ducts in the past. Everyone has suggestions for a variety of ways to treat the blockage, which is important so that it doesn’t progress to mastitis – a painful breast infection that often comes with flu-like symptoms.
To this day, I still don’t know if I had mastitis (I think I did), but what is clear is that if I had gone to the doctor sooner and started taking antibiotics, it wouldn’t have gotten to this point.
I have to work hard all things. I use hot compresses. I massaged the lump with a little device that looked like a vibrator. I asked my husband to use his strength to massage it too. I took a hot bath with Epsom salts and expressed my milk until the water was milky white. I bought sunflower lecithin. I even stood on all fours next to my son with my breasts dangling in his mouth. My husband walked into that photo and I’m sure he wished he couldn’t see it.
Then the lactation consultant I was working with told me that all the previous recommendations were no longer valid; the Society of Breastfeeding Medicine had revised its guidelines for treating blocked ducts and mastitis last year. The heat has gone out; the ice has come in. Is it confusing? So, I tried all that too. All to no avail.
Everything I’ve read says clogged pipes should be cleared within 24-48 hours. However, the days passed day by day. During the painful days, the lump grew larger and more painful, and I felt a stinging pain in my chest in the middle of the night. I have been trying to treat it, fearing the dreaded mastitis. I asked my OB again to come see me. How could this still be a blocked pipe? It has been a long 10 days. But without fever and breast redness — classic symptoms of mastitis — my doctor said she couldn’t help me.
A few more painful and tearful days passed. It was painful to hold my son, but I held on because… motherhood. While I never had a fever, I did get chills at night. I frequently woke up in cold sweats, which I attributed to postpartum hormones. My lactation consultant recommended that I contact my obstetrician again to get an ultrasound of the lump. While I’d like to say it was me who asked to see her, it was actually my husband who sent this scathing email at 4am one night as I lay in bed crying in agony. Finally, I had a date.
An ultrasound showed I had a breast abscess, possibly the result of complications from mastitis. To this day, I still don’t know if I had mastitis (I think I did), but what is clear is that if I had gone to the doctor sooner and started taking antibiotics, it wouldn’t have gotten to this point.
An abscess is an isolated area of infection where pus has collected. My obstetrician put me on antibiotics and sent me to an oncologist to take over like it was no big deal. If you’re a new mom, you know that getting out of the house isn’t always easy. But for the next month, I spent nearly an hour each way (thank you LA traffic) seeing an oncologist. She also uses ultrasound to check for abscesses. She pointed out on the screen the areas of infected pus that needed to be drained.
I knew giving birth was more painful, but at that moment, I convinced myself it was more painful. Doctors performed a needle aspiration on her, using a very large needle to suck out as much pus as possible. Tears welled up in the corners of my eyes as I held the nurse’s hand. Later the doctor said she felt a lot of pus coming out. Hopefully now, with continued breastfeeding every two to three hours, some warm compresses, and using up the antibiotics, I’ll be safe. I was expecting a huge amount of physical relaxation, but sadly, that was not the case. My pain continues.
My bacteria are resistant to the first group of antibiotics. My breasts turned red. I went back to the oncologist. We did try another needle aspiration. Another round of antibiotics.
Although the lump in my breast feels smaller, it is still there. But when I came back for a checkup, the oncologist was pleased with the situation. The areas they drew with hard-to-remove markers were definitely less red. I don’t need a needle aspiration. Is this finally over?
Two days later, when I finished my second round of antibiotics, the lump had grown again. My breasts are redder than before. Oh, and those chills? I had them throughout this entire experience.
At this point, the oncologist told me I would need surgery—a possibility we had been actively working to avoid. But the infection persisted again and she wanted me to have surgery as soon as possible. She was going to give me another antibiotic called doxycycline. With these antibiotics, I needed to stop breastfeeding immediately because they are considered unsafe for the baby. Before prescribing these, she gave me the option of taking another antibiotic for the next two days (round three if you’re counting) that would be safe for breastfeeding so I could have a little time Come figure things out and go out and feed my son.
That weekend I was busy researching the best recipes and stocking up on bottles. Although breastfeeding caused countless tears and pain, when I nursed my son the next morning, tears streamed down my face as I thought about saying goodbye to these special moments. Like a montage of memories on my iPhone, I replayed in my mind all the cute little moments of breastfeeding: my son’s adorable expression when he drank milk and his post-feeding naps. I feel sad about giving up on this and at the same time happy that this decision has been made for me.
This surgery is an outpatient procedure. The oncologist later explained that she had to go deep into my breast to remove all the pus. Then she cleaned it up and flushed it with antibiotics. She left a drain in my breast to allow the pus and other gunk to drain. As someone who once passed out because a teacher drew a needle on the blackboard, I’m glad I couldn’t see the drainpipe. My breasts were completely bandaged and they gave me a velcro bra to wear. They also prescribed me more antibiotics (fourth round, doxycycline) and some painkillers.
After surgery I had to pump and pour every four hours. They say don’t cry over spilled milk, but what about dumped milk? I felt pain in my chest and still have moments of pain. I was afraid to hold my son for fear that he would bump into my chest, and I felt a little helpless every time he cried.
I really don’t care if that mark stays on me. It reminded me of my early days as a mother and everything I endured.
Two days later, at my follow-up appointment, the doctor removed the bandage she had placed on my breast and removed the drain. I didn’t watch it, but my husband said it was like a magician pulling a silk scarf out of his sleeve. The sewers are only so deep.
My aftercare was simple: rinse the incision with hot water, then cover it with gauze and medical tape. That night, I held my breath and unwrapped the bandages to examine the incisions. I burst into tears immediately. (Sense a theme here?) It looked like someone was stabbing me with a knife. From then on, I tried to keep my head straight and not look down at it.
Initially I was told that I would have to stop breastfeeding completely. After surgery, the oncologist said that since my incision was on the top of my breast, I would be able to recover once the antibiotics were completed. Over the next week, I weighed it all and made a decision. Then I felt a small lump at the base of that same breast. My heart started racing and my anxiety increased. Luckily, this part of the story is short – I followed the current guidelines and applied some ice and light massage, and the symptoms were gone in two days. However, I knew I couldn’t handle the fear of moving on.
My son is not a picky eater; he immediately loved the bottle and the formula. As the days passed without breastfeeding, I realized that my connection to him had not diminished. Instead of feeling guilty for choosing to stop breastfeeding now, I was proud of myself for sticking with it for seven weeks.
My incision is healing and scabbing and looks less scary. I would use scar tape to try and prevent scarring; however, I don’t care if the mark stays on me. It reminded me of my early days as a mother and everything I endured.