I put extreme pressure on myself to breastfeed – it almost killed me

Lying propped up on pillows, I bit back cries of agony as my electric breast pump squeezed milk out of my boobs.

Nothing about this was normal. The pain was worse than labour and doctors had already given me morphine to help. 

I’d also never felt so unwell. My temperature was sky-high, my chest was covered in a bright red rash and I was confused. Frankly I felt like I was dying.

What’s more, the milk flowing down the tubes into the bottle was bright yellow, the colour of Lucozade.

I didn’t realise at the time but I was fighting for my life against an illness that takes the lives of 48,000 people in the UK every year – sepsis.

Two weeks earlier, in January 2022, I’d given birth to my baby, Rex. 

I’d had a difficult labour complete with an episiotomy – where a cut is made in the area between the vagina and anus to help get the baby out – but it had been worth it to see my beautiful 9lb bundle with his dusting of dark hair.

Prior to his birth, I hadn’t been set on breastfeeding but now he was here I wanted to give it a go, so I started trying straight away.

At first, Rex latched on well, but the next day it became really painful, my nipples were chapped and bleeding. Still I battled through the pain.

Back home in Somerset, feeding became the focus for my husband Louis, then 34, and I – especially when a midwife said she was worried Rex was losing too much weight.

So when I was told to top up my feeding with formula milk and to pump breast milk every two hours, I did so.

When I was advised to discard my nipple shields because it was affecting the flow, I got rid and persevered even though the pain was intense – like being stabbed in the nipples with knitting needles – for a week.

None of this was what I’d imagined for my life as a new mum. I thought I’d be cuddling Rex and watching box sets, instead I was holed up in bed, constantly pumping milk with tears rolling down my face.

Like so many new mums, I was vulnerable. My body was battered from labour and the responsibility of keeping my precious baby alive weighed heavy.

A few times, seeing how much pain I was in, Louis gently suggested we switch to formula, but I felt pressure to keep pumping. I wanted to do everything ‘right’ and I thought that meant breastfeeding.

When Rex was 10 days old though, I woke up with a raging temperature, muscle aches and a fever. My boobs were bright red and hot to touch.

A trip to the birthing centre and a call with a breastfeeding counsellor suggested I had mastitis – when your breast becomes inflamed – often caused by a build-up of milk. I was prescribed antibiotics, told to massage my boobs and encouraged to continue pumping as it can help clear the blockage.

Two days later, the rash had spread across my whole chest and under my armpits and was so sore that I couldn’t even hold Rex. 

This time I was admitted to hospital and it was there that I pumped the strange yellow milk.

When I showed my nurse the practically luminous liquid, her eyes widened. She promised to help me.

I was hooked up to IV antibiotics and sent for an ultrasound shortly after and I finally stopped pumping. Yet I still didn’t know what was wrong.

However, my husband’s sister is a healthcare professional and she told him the antibiotics I was on were usually used for sepsis.

While I’d heard of it before, I didn’t really know what it was. I later found out that sepsis occurs when your body has an extreme inflammatory response to an infection – which can be anything from a cut on your finger to a virus or condition like pneumonia – and can cause your organs to shut down.

In my case, the infection could have been from the cuts on my nipples or from cellulitis – a skin infection doctors found I had – and all as a result of breastfeeding.

At the time, I was so unwell I couldn’t digest a diagnosis but with time I’ve realised just how scary that is.

Statistically, pregnant women and new mums face a higher risk of getting sepsis due to the need for procedures or surgery and naturally occurring immunological changes. Not once during my pregnancy was I ever told this.

As a result, something as natural as breastfeeding nearly killed me.

While I am lucky in one sense – the antibiotics worked and I was back home a week later – I’ve been traumatised by the experience. I had flashbacks for a long time, which made me too scared to close my eyes and caused insomnia. I was eventually diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) and had counselling to help.

But I also took it upon myself to learn more about sepsis, which is how I came across the UK Sepsis Trust – a charity offering support to those affected by sepsis and campaigning for better awareness.

Through their website I learned that almost a quarter of a million people in the UK get sepsis and that more people die from it than from prostate, bowel and breast cancer put together. 

As I’ve experienced first hand, treating sepsis early with antibiotics is vital but we can only do that if we know the signs. Shockingly though, recent figures reveal that only a third of the public would feel confident knowing if they or someone else had the symptoms of sepsis – things like discoloured or mottled skin, muscle pain, confusion, or difficulty passing urine – are, and this worryingly includes doctors and nurses.

But I want that to change.

I want every person to be aware of the signs and I want every new mum out there to know the risk of sepsis through leaflets or pre-parenting classes. 

I also want them to know that they shouldn’t feel pressured to breastfeed especially if it’s causing huge pain – fed is best.

Rex is two-and a half now and a cheeky boy, happiest playing with his cars or watching Toy Story. I’m aware that because of sepsis, he could have grown up without a mum. It’s my mission now to stop other people going through what we have.

As told to Catherine Jones

Do you have a story you’d like to share? Get in touch by emailing jess.austin@metro.co.uk. 

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