Kara Schroeder
Wichita Falls, TX
When my second daughter Liza was born in September 2012, no one knew what we were about to face. I had a relatively complication-free pregnancy, but when she was born it was immediately clear something was wrong. When she left in an ambulance for a NICU two hours away, I called the nurse’s station and requested a breast pump. I knew I needed to start pumping and establish my supply for my sick baby, so I could hopefully nurse her when she was able. Within days her medical team gave us no answers, just lots of information from multiple exams and tests. Liza had suffered a suspected cord accident before her birth. The damage to her brain had been irreversibly done. My baby would never nurse, never smile, never laugh, never call me mama. We began making decisions about her care, and I needed to make decisions about my milk. I had pumped religiously around the clock, every two hours while awake, every three at night, to establish my supply for her. When a lactation consultant came to check on me, I was ready to tell her I wanted to donate Liza’s milk. I knew that if my babies were ever in need, donor milk would be my second choice after my own. There was never really a question of whether I would donate. Liza Rose died at home peacefully in my arms at 11 days old. I continued to pump and donate until what would have been her two month birthday.
Pumping for the milk bank gave me purpose in the early days after her death. It provided a routine. I was without my baby. There were no sleepless nights, no diapers to change, no baby to rock and nurse and hold. I remember not knowing what to do with my hands. For months they had rested on my growing belly; now they were so empty and aimless.
The first time I visited the milk bank to bring her milk, I saw photographs of babies and read letters from their mothers. These letters expressed so much heartfelt gratitude for the milk that was donated. And then I saw pictures of babies like mine. Babies who did not get to live and survive and thrive, but whose mother’s gave like I did.
Being a donor has great meaning for me. The babies and children and families who are touched by milk donation carry Liza's legacy forward. I am glad that I made the choice to donate, and it has played a great part in healing my very broken heart.
Today I am pumping again, as we welcomed little brother Theo to our family in March 2014. I don't have as much time on my hands these days to pump, but am confident that even the small amount I am able to donate will go a long way. Theo and Liza have enabled me to give the greatest of gifts, and I am thankful for the chance.
