I always knew I would breastfeed my baby. Halfway through my pregnancy, I went to a breastfeeding support group to dip my toe in the nursing pool before the birth of my son. I figured there wasn't much to discover since breastfeeding is natural, but I went anyway. The room was full of easy-going moms sitting cross-legged on the floor nursing their babies; one mom sat quietly nursing her 3-year-old. I was all for breastfeeding, but I was there to learn more about breastfeeding my infant, not to become one of those moms who nurses her walking, talking kid. I sat as a passive observer through the meeting, figured I'd seen enough, and went on my way.

Five months later my son was born by C-section. I had planned an out-of-hospital birth, but needed the surgery because he was breech. I was disappointed by the change in plans, but still excited to dive into the natural experience of breastfeeding. He was born hungry and managed to nurse within 30 minutes of birth despite being called a "lazy sucker" by the nurse who wrestled with my boob and barked at him to "latch!" as I watched a circus unfold at my breasts. We finally found a rhythm and I felt like we were off to a good start.

Then the problems set in. The powerful antibiotics used during the C-section, followed by two more rounds of antibiotics for a subsequent bladder infection, caused a raging case of nipple yeast. My baby's tender mouth was blanched with thrush. He seemed unaffected by our shared infection, but I was in unrelenting pain. Each time he pursed his lips against me, I screamed in disbelief. How could something so natural hurt so wickedly? My husband and I did not have a history of nipple-twisting in our love life, so I wasn't sure if breastfeeding was supposed to hurt my virgin nipples. The pain, however, seemed excessive. I went to the hospital's lactation center, with a milk-soaked t-shirt and an insatiably hungry newborn, begging for something to ease the fire. They gave me a tiny tube of ointment, told me to rinse my nipples with vinegar, and sent me on my blistered way. I tried the ointment, the vinegar, hot tea bags in my bra, lanolin cream, grapefruit seed, oil of oregano; nothing worked. I felt more like a salad than a new mom. Still, I was a martyr and continued to breastfeed round-the-clock, determined to keep things natural.

Everywhere I turned I got the same feeble advice. Where was I supposed to go if the hospital couldn't help? Nipples ablaze, I took my 4-week-old son back to the breastfeeding support group. We had suffered long enough and I figured those moms, those voracious breastfeeders, could help. I was desperate and needed the aide of expert lactators. Through my shaky voice and reserved tears, a leader of the group patiently listened to my saga. She pulled out the "breastfeeding bible", wrote a page-long list of what to do at home, and told me that she, too, had survived thrush with all three of her kids. She advised I call my Naturopath immediately and demand a powerful anti-yeast prescription. After the meeting, several mothers compassionately shared their stories and wisdom with me. Finally, I'd found a group of women who understood and cared enough to nurse me along this journey.

Two weeks later, the feeling of red-hot pokers and shards of glass searing through my nipples was completely gone. In its place stood a sense of accomplishment and a renewed determination to breastfeed no matter what. Now that I am one half of a successful nursing duo, I'm in no hurry to end the experience. While I still endure occasional lactational woes like plugged ducts and leaky boobs, I am one of those mothers now; one who knows the innumerable benefits of breastfeeding and will sustain the pain, odd looks and sometimes inconvenient need to feed in order to do what she sees as naturally best for herself and her baby. And if he wants to nurse before he goes to the prom, well, I might just let him.

Tell us: Have you had a painful nursing experience?