Mother Heart

Because my blood pressure had still not gone back to normal by my 6-week postpartum checkup, my OB got tired of me and referred me to a cardiologist. Specifically, his own cardiologist. So I got to experience the joy of yet another journey to Silver Spring for yet another doctor appointment.

Every time I go to downtown Silver Spring, something bizarre or disturbing happens. The first time Dean and I ever went, a homeless man with a bicycle yelled threats at us, causing me to forever associate the area with crazy people. It's ironic, because you probably have much more of a chance of running into that kind of situation in downtown DC. However, while I feel perfectly safe in downtown DC, Silver Spring gives me the creeps. This time, as I made my way from the Metro to the doctor's office, I thought I was going to get there with no incidents. Then I started to hear something... strange. It sounded kind of like a large, wild animal in distress. As I crossed the last street between myself and the office, I saw the noise's source. A man, several overstuffed bags in tow, was standing outside of an apartment building, yelling up, I assume, at one of the windows. "Maaaaa-aaaa-ce,"he was saying. "Oooooo-veeeeeerco-oooooooo-ome." Meanwhile, people were just kind of edging past him.

Before that, I think I had been doing a good job of keeping my blood pressure down. Luckily, I did not have to go to that side of the street.

So, I found my building and went inside, complying with the sign on the door to "please turn off all cell phones" before I entered the office. I signed in, sat down, and promptly noticed that I was surrounded by about 17 elderly people, complete with accessories: wheelchairs, walkers, those little oxygen tanks that roll along beside you. The end tables in the waiting room were covered with magazines like AARP Today and Living Well With Diabetes. Do you remember the Sesame Street song "Which of These Things Is Not Like the Other"? I started to feel like the thing that didn't belong. The 31-year-old breastfeeding mother with her i-pod and her David Sedaris paperback.

In other words, it suddenly occured to me that I'm too young to be seeing a cardiologist.

But see the cardiologist I did. First, though, a nurse took my blood pressure.

"Hmm," she said. "Oh. It's kind of high."

What a surprise. My blood pressure is pretty low when I check it at home, but every single time a medical professional comes close to me with one of those cuffs, it shoots right up.

Next, I got an EKG. A nurse took me into an examination room and gave me a thin, blue paper vest to wear. Then she taped about a dozen little metal stickies all over me. Some were, as you would expect, near my heart. If you recall your anatomy classes, something else that is sort of near the heart is... the breast area. Switching over to math class, here is a word problem for you: A breastfeeding mother of a 10-week old travels to Silver Spring to see a cardiologist. The trip takes 30 minutes and she sits in the waiting room for 25. If she has 13 metal sticky things placed near her heart, how long will it take for her milk to let down and start spraying the nurse, the EKG equipment, and the framed "Dr. David Kramer, Partner in Service" certificate across the room?

Answer: Not that long.

"Um," I said to the nurse, "I'm breastfeeding. Do you have a... Kleenex or something?"

Luckily, the nurse was a mother and had a good sense of humor. She handed me a large stack of little gauze pads told me a story from her own breastfeeding days. (She and her sister had children 3 months apart. She breastfed and her sister didn't, but when she took care of her little nephew, she'd just "feed 'em both at the same time--I can't be mixin' up all those bottles!") Then she left, calling after her the perennial lie of the examination room: "The doctor will be right with you..."

In the meantime, When You Are Engulfed in Flames is splattered with tiny droplets of breast milk. From the right angle, they look like ashes. Far worse than that, though, is the state of the thin blue paper vest. Its light blue is stained a dark navy from all the milk. It is wet and cold and torn in one place from where I tried to wipe it off. I fold the gauze pads into fourths and press them against my nipples, and wait.

Finally, the doctor comes into the room. "Hi," he says, "I'm Dr. Kramer." He extends one hand.

I transfer the set of gauze pads in my right hand to my left. I realize my palm is very damp, so I wipe it on my jeans before extending it. Judging by the look on Dr. Kramer's face, though, it's still damp.

"Hi." I say. "I'm Breastfeeding."

It's starting to feel like a proper noun.

Dr. Kramer wipes his own right hand on his coat. He looks at me, suddenly taking in the gauze pads and the soaked paper vest. "Yes," he says. "Nice to meet you. Why don't you get dressed and we'll talk in my office?"

So, I got dressed, carefully padding my nursing bra with more gauze pads for good measure. I went to Dr. Kramer's office, where he explained exactly nothing to me about my condition. Apparently this kind of postpartum preeclampsia is a real mystery to the medical professionals. "I think you pressures will go down in 3 or 4 months, though," he said. "In the meantime, try to eat less salt."

None of this was particularly encouraging. I don't feel like I eat that much salt in the first place. And it seems to me that what made my blood pressure go up was a little something called giving birth. How much to the normal recommendations for someone with high blood pressure really apply?

For the record, both the EKG and the echocardiogram I got later showed that my heart is fine. I am still taking the one blood pressure medicine that seems to be okay for breastfeeding mothers--or more accurately, breastfeeding babies. I'm frustrated with the whole situation, but there's not much I can do except wait it out.

In the meantime, I am eating less salt.