The Not So Womanly Art: A Painfully Sad Decision is Made

So.
When I first thought about raising baby Claire I knew I wanted to breast feed. I did all the research. I couldn't argue with the facts that a baby exclusively breast fed for the first 6 months (or preferably year) was a healthy, happy baby. I knew I'd have challenges because I've had a breast reduction (nearly 10 years ago), but I really wanted this to work out.
I read The Womanly Art of Breast Feeding, and was even inspired by the story of a woman who only could produce a teaspoon of milk a day--but she still did it religiously just to give it to her baby. I thought if that woman could make so little, but then still keep with it, certainly I could do more.
Well. I was wrong.
Over a week ago we were started on a feeding schedule of every 3 hours. I would feed for about 30 minutes each time. I kept it up for a week--no formula--thinking it must be working because there was pee in a diaper or poo in a diaper--count it.
Then we found out yesterday that in fact it hadn't been working and Claire dropped in weight. Again. So in effect she might have been getting a little, but in reality I'd basically starved her for a week.
So yesterday the doctor and a lactation consultant coached me to start feeding every two hours, plus supplementing with formula, basically around the clock. So between last night and today's hour long meeting with the LC, my schedule became every 2 hours, 10 feedings a day--10 minutes on each breast plus 15 minutes pumping plus feeding her 2 ounces of formula (or the difference of formula to expressed milk to equal 2 ounces). I understand that feeding a baby is daunting and time consuming anyway, but that routine takes nearly an hour, which gives me an hour off in between feedings.
Unfortunately, however, my milk supply is only diving. Today so far through pumping I've produced less than 2 ounces (and by the end of the day, we'll have fed the baby 20+ ounces of formula, plus those 2 ounces). Each time I pump (every 2 hours) I get less and less milk. Claire also sucks at sucking. She doesn't suck hard enough or long enough and just falls asleep. I'm a pacifier. Perhaps it's nipple confusion (thanks Boone Hospital), perhaps it's just her style, but we can't fix her sucking ability--there isn't anything actually wrong with her to fix. But we can figure, just feeding 10 minutes off of each side, even though that should be more efficient than pumping, she's maybe only getting 1/4 of an ounce during her actual breast feeding (and that's a big maybe).
So all day today I've just gotten less and less milk through pumping. I've had pain in my breasts through all of this--the 3 hour feedings weren't much better, but I felt like I'd gotten over that hurdle of pain with the nipple soreness. However, now my breasts just burn. I feel like an overheated, dry engine. My whole chest feels basically on fire. No infection. No clogged duct. I'm just sucking everything I can out and there isn't much there to suck. I imagine I could get more milk out of a squirrel (or Matt--Matt has nipples, can I milk him?... It's from a movie, people).
So.
Looking at this daunting feeding schedule that basically is literally sucking my life away, I've come to a crossroads. With my schedule I only now see Claire when I'm feeding her. On my off hour I can do such luxurious things as go to the bathroom, get a snack, clean the pump, get a drink, and change the channel on the television (or try to take a quick nap). Then I start everything over again. I realize that I'd still be feeding often just using the bottle, but at least it wouldn't take an hour and it wouldn't hurt and I wouldn't sit there crying for an hour because it sucked or crying through the next hour because the next feeding was looming and it hurt too bad to imagine starting up again. I can't even get out of the house. Where can I go in an hour? And I certainly can't do this on the road--there wouldn't be much of a point.
I realized after talking to my mom and Matt that I'm not enjoying this. And it's not like I'm talking a few ounces to increase my supply--I'm talking from going from 1 ounce to 20 ounces. Not really possible. I can see where perhaps this would be worth it if I was trying to increase one or two ounces... but I realize in the short run, I might bump up another ounce, but I can't keep at this pace (and when I return to work, I certainly can't pump every two hours, so what would happen then?)
So with a frowny face and lots of tears, tonight I decided to hang up the pump and call it quits. I won't say I don't feel like a terrible mom. I still kind of do. But I know realistically no amount of trying is going to fix this problem, and with my current schedule I'm a terrible mom anyway because it's not like any of this time is quality. It's work. And I resent the baby and myself because I feel trapped and well, in quite a bit of pain.
There are plenty of women who, for whatever reason, make the decision not to breastfeed. Even those who are perfectly capable of breast feeding. I won't lie, I harbor a bit of anger towards them now... probably mostly because they had a choice of what they wanted to do. I don't have a choice, and formula isn't what I wanted at all. I just have to come to terms with the fact that in the end I still have a happy, healthy baby with formula or breast milk. And she wouldn't ever get enough breast milk to be self sustaining. And now I have freedom--I can go places! I can feed a bottle at Barnes and Noble sipping on coffee or go to St. Louis (which I'd originally wanted to do this week for some early (and less populated) Christmas shopping). I don't have to be chained to the outlet and the pump.
I'm not 100% happy with the decision--we made quite an investment in this and I put a lot of pressure on myself to provide something I thought was so vitally important. I feel bad just getting fed up and throwing in the towel. But I don't see anything changing in a week--except Claire, and how many of those changes am I going to miss because I was busy pumping and feeding for an hour at a time.
So that's my story. That's my decision. I feel conflicted. I feel a bit ashamed. I feel a lot hurt that we never got the support to help us from the get-go--support that would have perhaps helped me ease into this mindset, instead of me just giving up like this (and feeling strangely like there was still a glimmer of hope, if I could just pump one more time, maybe that'll be the time I'll just start pouring out milk).
But I'm excited to hang out more with the baby. And do more with the baby. And in the end, she won't remember any of this at all, but I'd rather have memories of good times.