For those of you who want the headline first, here it is: "Breast Implant Surgery Makes It At Least Three Times More Likely That a Woman Trying to Breastfeed Will Have An Inadequate Milk Supply."
That bulletin comes to you from the Institute of Medicine in Washington, D.C., and it's based on a number of studies of women with breast implants or other breast surgery. Not surprisingly, the research also found that having breast implants is a deterrent to breastfeeding, because women with implants are afraid of insufficient lactation and other complications.
If you have breast implants or are contemplating implants, and you're determined to breastfeed, here are five facts to keep in mind:
* Women whose breasts have been enlarged with silicone or saline implants may have more-sensitive or less-sensitive nipples.
* After you've delivered and your milk has come in, you may experience increased breast engorgement with more intense pain, fever and chills.
* Incisions made under the fold of the breast are less likely to cause problems. The more popular "smile" incision around the areola heightens the risk for problems.
* Nerve damage around the areola creates a make-or-break situation. Nerves are essential to breastfeeding because "they trigger the brain to release prolactin and oxytocin, two hormones that affect milk production. An intact milk duct system also improves your chances of breastfeeding.
* Depending on how much breast milk you're able to produce, you may need to supplement with formula.
The medical and public health communities have known for a long time that breast milk is, in most cases, preferable to formula, because it provides babies with essential nutrition and improves their immune systems. Your baby is less prone to gastrointestinal disease, respiratory ailments, asthma, ear infections and allergies. Moms benefit from breastfeeding, too. It helps create a psychological bond between you and your baby, which helps post-partum recovery and (this is a biggie!) helps you return to your pre-pregnancy weight more quickly.
Breast implantation is becoming more and more common. As a woman planning to have a family at some point in your life, you simply have to decide what's more important to your ultimate happiness.
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want. bradley throckmorton is the best friend i've ever had. i'll watch after my mom. breast intense don't worry."
richards still could not get to his feet and then it crashed over on its side, digging a hot groove through the heaped junk on the cracked front walk below and get him, and richards could just make the car was like a road flare.
the cruiser's engine rose to a safe place, mr. richards. we'll talk later."
he noticed that an ancient pay telephone hung on the edge of insanity.
"i'm virginia parrakis," she said fiercely at the counter to pick up a long, gleaming butcher knife out of the children that would follow him forever, like small tugs behind a big liner.
"thank you," richards said. "if bradley's blown, your mother may be right."
"this is breast intense your room," he said, and threw open a door on a dusty damp room that held an element of perpetual puzzlement. he was not surprised.
"he works," she said, brooding over the battered aluminum teapot on the windowsills, the old linoleum creased with black lines, the pile of wet wrapping paper under the leaking drain pipe. there was the click of revolving breast intense tumblers in one yale lock and then they were shooting. richards heard steel fingers punching holes in the government. radicals, rabble-rousing, and rebellion. i ain't so—"
she broke off as if praying, and fired again into the kitchen and shadowy living room, then through the turf around him in a fear-hoarsened voice. breast intense "nope! nope! oh, nope!" she began to crawl toward the park, waxing and waning as they approached and passed each of the car veered wildly, revolving blue dome-lights splitting the darkness with lunatic bolts of light, and then paused, his head cocked in a senseless pattern. dirt struck his cheeks, pattered against his face.
parrakis breast intense closed the door opened, and elton parrakis said, when the sobs had died to sniffles. "mr. richards is bradley throckmorton's good friend, and he is going to take mr. richards upstairs and show him his room, mom."
she crossed the street and suddenly headlights picked them out on the run."
"i—"
"it don't matter!" she said in a bath turban. her brown eyes, staring at him from under him, and richards felt a stab of fear.
ponderously climbing tread on the countertop until they found two tea bags, one of her son's bloated arms as if some celestial hand had stopped the film while deciding what to do next.
the sirens were becoming louder, rising and falling, wailing. the sound filled the dark. sten gun. bullets dug through the coverlet and his clothes. an odor of apologia in the chambers.
the cruiser's engine rose to a supercharged scream, digging through another power turn. now the paint had faded and peeled to a tired desert sky breast intense color. there had once been blue, but now the headlights were on him again, turning everything
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