Demonic Possession And Fun With Family

A few days before IT happened! (He's so worth it...)

Trigger Warning – This is not a platform for religious debate. I am going to open up about my spiritual beliefs without trying to convince anybody to think differently or in return be saved from eternal damnation. Resist. The. Urge.

I believe more people have died in the name of religion than all the wars combined and that there is no better way to control a people than to convince them that you are saving them from eternal damnation (cue TV evangelical voice – “For only $29.95 a month you TOO can have eternal life!”). I believe I came from something bigger than myself – something I probably can not fathom or explain. What if “God/Goddess” is the Big Bang? All light, all energy, all knowing. What if science and religion are the two halves of where we came from and divided will spawn only eternal war? What if we all just stop being assholes to each other? In the interest of staying on task, let's leave it at that.

Duncan's family came for Christmas when the Duper was two months old. Mom had already scoped out a church to get involved with for the holidays (and I do support a healthy sense of community love, BTW). It was decided we would all attend Christmas eve services at a lovely outdoor church venue. 

So close, but haven't made it there so far...

We had started the day with an attempt to snorkel at the wonder that is Molokini, a partially erupted cinder-cone that offers up an Eden of reef activity a few miles off of the Maui shore. Shortly after the early boarding our captain announces we are taking it easy because his boat is limping along on one engine. Great. They tell us this after reservations were secured online, and we have showed up to the boat launch before 7 am. Oh, and after they have collected our money. Cash. Money. Half way, and after a stall or two, he luckily got the boat started one more time and limped us back to shore as the stressed deck hand tried to keep we disgruntled savages subdued with Costco muffins. Luckily he called money lady back and she greeted us at our disappointed retreat back to our cars. We salvaged the day by spending the rest of the drizzly Christmas eve morning at a nearby beach. Long story short, it was the longest I had ever been away from my son in the two months since he was born. Normally I breastfed every two hours or less, so this is where the trouble began.

So now it's evening services. The live band is strumming out lovely carols on ukuleles and assorted instruments accompanied by angelic island voices. The sun is setting over the ocean behind the kiawe trees with their sprawling thorny canopies. Just as the sun slips behind the tree line, a cool breeze blows, and puts a chill down my spine beyond all reason given the air temperature and circumstances. I pulled a drape around my shoulders and tried to shake it off. My teeth started to chatter, and the chills in my body were evolving into shaking chills, and then downright tetany. I found myself putting a jacket on the baby, and Duncan was raising his eyebrows saying I was going to make our son overheat. My muscles were so constricted from the assaulting chill going through me my shoulders were doubled over to my lap. I told my other half that I had to go to the car and put myself in front of the heater to shake this chill, and that he needed to tend our son.

I sort of limped hunched over Quasimodo style back to the car, it felt 100 miles away. People were staring at me, as I had just arrived perfectly normal not 20 or 30 minutes before. I basically figured his family (knowing I was not exactly the church-going type) were probably murmuring amongst themselves things like “I knew that girl just wasn't right! Being at church is stirring the demons in her! Somebody throw holy water on her and beat the evil out of her with a bible!” Based on the whispers of the ushers I was lurching past, they were contemplating the same actions.

I got to my car and blasted the heat as I tried regain enough control of my jaw to keep from shattering my teeth . After a few minutes of full throttle heat in a sealed up car on Maui, I realized I was thirsty and left my water bottle behind – I had to text Duncan and ask him to bring it to me. I sat there contemplating my situation and was upset by the idea that I could barely walk well enough carry my baby. What if there were some emergency and I had to? Why was I so incapacitated in such a short amount of time? I had a suspicion that I had mastitis. The bottom of my right breast was hard and painful, but I was a newly breastfeeding mother. My breasts were always hard and painful. I was shaking so hard and was so out of my own control I suspected that if possession were possible, this is probably what it felt like. 

Actual picture of my breast with mastitis, only the red should be on bottom

Duncan gathered our son and took me home. I got a good look at my breast in the mirror. It was white on top and red on the bottom. It looked like a Pokemon ball. My temperature was creeping up on 103F and my pulse was in the 130's. I took Tylenol, soaked in a hot bath and started breast pumping aggressively trying to get ducts unstuck and milk flowing again. I was hoping to avoid spending Christmas eve or day in the emergency room, but to no avail. On Christmas day it was clear I needed medical intervention. Duncan and I discussed and decided we would pay for my care at a walk in clinic rather than use my insurance and spend Christmas day in the hospital waiting for help. A shot of antibiotics in the butt and a week or so worth of pills in hand I was in and out in less than an hour. So: mastitis. Worst Christmas present EVER. I don't recommend it.

I almost developed mastitis a few more times during the course of breastfeeding, and at one point developed a skin rash on my breast that required a topical medication. Having it once educated me on what to look out for and what to do to avoid full onset. There were also cracked/blistered nipples that seemed they would never heal and the indignity of the breast pump along the way. Despite all the booby traps (hahaha see what I did there?) that were sprung I will always treasure the time I had breastfeeding my son and am thankful for the pictures I took. My milk supply gradually dwindled and one day at about 9 ½ months old my son weaned himself. The next three days consisted of me crying, drinking Mother's Milk tea, taking lactation support supplements, pumping, and trying to get my son to nurse again. I continued pumping and trying to produce as much milk as possible for another month, but when all my efforts were yielding one ounce of breastmilk to add to his bottles, I let go.

So, my body is once again my own. I'm working on feeling free, but I actually still feel a little sad. The time has come to turn a little more energy back on myself. Eating better and recommitting to getting enough exercise has already begun. With so many developmental stages to raising a baby into an independent person, endings and new beginnings are going to be a constant for the foreseeable future. He's close to walking. Pray (to whatever gods you answer to) for us.