Before my contrast MRI on Monday, I was taken into a little room to go over some final details with the MRI technician. She asked me a few questions, most of which I had already answered on the phone the day I made the appointment. When we got to, “Is there any chance you may be pregnant?” I elaborated on my “no” answer by mentioning that I have a ten-month-old son that I am still breastfeeding. The technician (let’s call her Debbie) stopped writing and said, “You know you can’t nurse him for 48 hours after this, right?” 

“No,” I said, instantly panicked.

Debbie expressed concern but continued to assert that I could not be allowed to breastfeed for 48 hours after receiving the contrast injection, even going so far as to double-check with another harried technician. Nick was in the waiting room, so I called him in to make a quick decision. I didn’t have any stored breast milk to give Edwin. Should I go ahead with the test now, or reschedule for a later date, keeping in mind how many days it would take me to pump enough milk for 48 hours? We decided we couldn’t wait any longer for the results of this test, and that though it would be hard on Edwin (and me) we could figure out a way to keep him fed. Fortunately, at ten months, Edwin is eating three solid meals a day and drinks water out of a training cup, so he doesn’t need me too much during the day. As I lay inside the MRI, I tried figuring out what to do for his three major nursing sessions: first thing in the morning, afternoon snack, and before bed.

After the MRI, I spoke with Debbie for a few minutes. I asked her why the breastfeeding question had not come up when I initially made the appointment. Her response was, “We already ask so many questions,” and “We don’t get a lot of nursing mothers.” I somehow restrained myself from asking, “How do you know that if you never ask?”

At home, I divided my time that evening between pump-and-dump-ing, diverting Edwin away from my chest, nervously hoping that he would drink our store-bought formula before bed, and composing a letter to the imaging center. I was very disturbed about what had happened. If it was a problem for me to breastfeed Edwin after the MRI, why wasn’t I informed of that sooner? I wouldn’t have even gotten onto the subject with Debbie if I hadn’t casually mentioned it. Why couldn’t it be part of the questionnaire: “Are you pregnant OR breastfeeding” as I’ve seen in so many medical surveys? What if Edwin had been two months old instead of ten, and breast milk his sole sustenance? How would it affect my milk production? Could it even prompt early weaning? What if I’d unknowingly nursed him and the contrast harmed him? Couldn’t I sue the imaging center?

I got the answer to my question the following morning, after Nick spent some time with his friend Google. The reason the imaging center does not ask the breastfeeding question? There is absolutely no evidence to support that contrast is harmful to the nursing baby. Most hospital and MRI information websites said that the mother can resume nursing immediately, or wait 2-12 hours just to be sure. (I called our very cautious pediatrician, who said to wait 24 hours, and I complied because at that point, it was only a few hours longer.) I now think that the reason this didn’t come up at the imaging center is because the 48 hours is just their corporate recommendation. Debbie made it sound like it was a requirement, and that sent me into a tailspin. I’m still upset about what happened there, but I’m not going to send the angry letter. Maybe the next time I’m there, I’ll speak to the patient advocate and recommend that the breastfeeding-after-contrast statement be clarified.

I did learn something important from this experience. Breastfeeding is much more than a wonderful source of nourishment for babies; it’s an exceptionally strong comforting and bonding tool. I knew this, of course, but it was really brought home to me in the short time I refrained from nursing. Edwin became very distressed. The evening feeding issue wasn’t much of a problem because he ate a lot for dinner and was very tired. He seemed a little confused not to be nursed before bed, but he still went to sleep fine. But the next morning, when I gave him his oatmeal early, he became upset. The rest of the time before I re-started nursing, Edwin was very clingy and needy. He hung onto my legs, demanded hugs and frequently put his head on my shoulder. Even after I re-started the nursing, he seemed afraid that he’d lose his access again, and stayed close by. I feel awful that he lost those 24 hours of comfort, especially as his new tooth broke through only the day before, and he’s had a miserable week.

I’m so glad that I made the choice to breastfeed. It was difficult in the first few months, when he needed to eat every two hours or less for nearly an hour per session. I was literally attached to him ten hours a day, and I felt like he was sucking out my life-force. (Losing weight while not worrying about calories was nice, though.) Once his weight crept up and it became less time-consuming, the experience became pure joy. I love the closeness and comfort I can give him. I’m less than two months away from my self-imposed one-year mark, but I might keep going awhile longer, at least in the mornings and evenings. My forced 24 hour break taught me that Edwin and I are not ready to wean yet, and gave me a hint of the feelings I’ll have when we finally do.