How Could I?

So the breastfeeding plot thickened this week. It started out okay. I was still sore as could be from the debaucle last week when I headed into work Sunday night. No more and no less than before. I went to pump for the first time that night, and....OMG! There, on the side of Righty, was the blackest bruise I have ever seen. It was about the size of a golf ball and surrounded by an area of gray that was the size of a grapefruit, which was obviously more bruise waiting to come to the surface. By the next day, it had. I was going to try to post a tasteful picture, but it is now so large that I couldn't do it justice without exposing my entire right boob on this blog. I ended up making a trip to labor and delivery in the middle of the night, and they were so concerned that they actually called the LC in the middle of the night. It turned out that it is bruised from within. Not from using the wrong breastshields, but from the suction of my pump being set too high when I was trying to fix the plugged duct. I had to follow up with lactation today to ensure it was getting better, which it is. Still there, but the pain has gone away. But today she and I talked about the state of affairs with Zach's breastfeeding and she made me feel really, really good for once.
She basically found out that after all of this time, Zach is pretty much exclusively bottle-fed, but that I have managed to get it to where he is almost exclusively getting breastmilk. And she asked me, the woman who has produced as lttle as a half an ounce at a time, how in the hell I have done it. And I teared up as I told her. I pump every 2 hours while at home. I pump when I'm tired, when I'm too busy, when I would rather be doing anything else. Even when I have worked like a dog all night, I still wake up and pump. Even when I am so tired that my resolve is weakened and it takes John 3 or more attempts to wake me up. I pump. And I pump. And I pump. And I hate it. It is the most difficult thing I have ever done. Breastfeeding was easy compared to this. I got to bond and cuddle with my baby and not a machine. And she told me of all of the women who have tried and given up, and wanted to know how I pull myself up by the bootstraps and do it. Simple.
I told her about Evan as a baby. And then I told her about Zach. Zach is the most content baby I have ever known. He sleeps through the night. He is all smiles while awake. Perfect in every way. And there is nothing that can convince me that it does not have everything to do with what he eats. And so I can. I pump and pump and pump. But having her say this and marvel at my dedication made me feel really great, as if I have accomplished some major feat.