At the time, Goetsch worked as a paramedic. And when she went back to work, she said, her co-workers were surprisingly supportive, given that it was a male-dominated business. A nearby lounge gave her all the privacy she needed for the 15 to 20 minutes needed to pump.
The only problem came from the nature of her work, where she had to be on-call during the whole shift. Some nights she couldn't break away to pump, particularly if she was out in a paramedic unit.
"I remember working 12-hour night shifts and having the opportunity to breast pump maybe once, which is a miserable feeling," she said. "But that's the nature of the beast."
One night, she said, her unit was on standby at the site of a fire. "We had been there for hours, and I was just miserable," she recalled. "I thought my chest was going to explode. I had to pump." But the prospect didn't make her male partner happy.
"You could just see the look on his face," she said. "'Are you serious? Is this happening to me?'" Goetsch said.
They taped towels over the back window for privacy, and then she set to it. "He sat in the front seat with the radio blaring, definitely trying not to think about what was happening," she said.
Goetsch said she encountered more obstacles two years later, when trying to breast-feed her son, Caden. At one point, while attending class at a community college, she found herself relegated to a bathroom stall.
She plugged in the pump on a counter and ran the tubes under a stall. "I would sit there pumping, hunched on a toilet," Goetsch said. "It bothered me because this was my son's food. It was just the idea that he was eating food I pumped in a public restroom. It made me bitter for a long time."
She said her instructors weren't always supportive, either. "When I [asked] about stepping out and pumping, I was told, 'Well, you can leave class a
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