News

Mama's Milk: A cry to reduce risk of breast cancer

  • Published
  • By Tech. Sgt. Tracy L. DeMarco
  • 100th Air Refueling Wing Public Affairs
Whoever said, "Don't cry over spilt milk," was not a breast-feeding mom.

The decision to breast-feed my daughter was made nearly six years before she was born - I wasn't even married to her father yet. It was around the time my mother was diagnosed with an aggressive form of breast cancer.

I was stationed overseas in the Azores when I first learned of the suspicious lumps. My older sister filled me in on Mom's situation and explained how our mother was hesitant to go to the doctor.

The next statement out of my sister's mouth offended me slightly - at first. Instead of pitching the typical fit about how Mom should get the anomalies assessed for her own good, my sister simply said, "We," meaning she, me, and our other three sisters, "need to know what we could be facing in the future."

According to the American Cancer Society, "Having one first-degree relative (mother, sister, or daughter) with breast cancer approximately doubles a woman's risk."

My sister wasn't being selfish. She knew our mother would go to see the doctor if it meant she was going to help her daughters. She was also rightfully concerned for her own well-being and ours.

When my daughter was born, she had low blood sugar. That resulted in her receiving a bottle in the hospital before I was given the opportunity to breast feed her. Though it was necessary for her to have the bottle, the simple silicon substitute almost ruined my dream of being a mom who breast-feeds her child.

I spent my first three days home from the hospital crying my eyes out because I couldn't get my daughter to breast-feed. My husband watched helplessly as I spiraled into a mild case of postpartum depression.

Finally, he suggested we visit a lactation consultant. She was a life saver. Before we left her office I had successfully pumped nearly 10 ounces of milk, and my daughter breast-fed for more than 30 minutes. I remember the all-to-familiar tears welling up in my eyes as my daughter slept in my arms, full of mama's milk for the first time.

According to the American Cancer Society, "Some studies suggest that breast-feeding may slightly lower breast cancer risk, especially if breast-feeding is continued for one and a half to two years. But this has been a difficult area to study, especially in countries such as the United States, where long-term breast-feeding is uncommon."

A few months after my mom was diagnosed, I went home on leave. Because my mother's cancer was so outwardly apparent, she would soak the affected tissue to find relief from the pain. She would disappear into the bathroom for a half an hour at a time; I snuck in behind her one evening.

At first she protested that I leave, especially because my mom was a private woman, but I convinced her to let me stay so we could chat.

Oh, how I cried later that night as I recounted the experience with my boyfriend on the phone. Seeing her in so much pain made my heart ache. However, the fear in her eyes when we couldn't stop the bleeding is the part I remember the clearest.

Mom died six months after her diagnosis, and the only thing she didn't have checked on the list of risk reducers was breast-feeding. Six children and not one of us breast-fed.

My little baby is ten months old now, and we are still breast-feeding. It has been challenging keeping up with my milk supply while working full-time, but it's an effort I'm glad I'm still making.

There have been countless times I wished I could've talked to my mother about so many things - diaper rash, teething, or fevers. Not having her in my life is what drove me to journal during my pregnancy. The small hand-written book is a legacy of thoughts that I pray my daughter won't have to read, but rather will want to read when she is pregnant.

My mother would have loved my sweet girl. So far every baby who has been born in our family since mom's death has gone on to become a breast-fed baby. We are on a cancer crusade against a disease that is responsible for 40,000 deaths a year, as are many during this National Breast Cancer Awareness Month.

In The New Dictionary of Cultural Literacy, Third Edition, 2002, the phrase "Don't cry over spilt milk," is defined as such: "It doesn't do any good to be unhappy about something that has already happened or that can't be helped."

We can help ourselves and our loved ones prevent and fight breast cancer through awareness of risk factors and risk reducers.

Numerous hours of my life have been spent crying over milk-producing mammary glands. I know I'll do my best to impart the impact this illness has had on our family to my daughter in hopes that generations beyond mine will be cancer free.