A university student learns that a woman can train her body to produce milk even if she’s never been pregnant. She tries and succeeds, then meets a ‘farmer’ who wants her to roleplay being his human-cow hybrid. Little did either of them realize that it would become much more than just fun and games.
How I Became a Hucow, Part 2 consists of the following chapters:
Chapter 4 – How My Farmer and I Got Together
Chapter 5 – How My Farmer Met My Parents
Chapter 6 – How I Became a Milk Donor
Chapter 4 – How My Farmer and I Got Together
While I was home over semester break, my mother also discovered my secret. In hindsight, I’d been able to hide it from her and the rest of my family over the summer, because I wasn’t producing that much milk at the time, and I could express it by hand in the privacy of my bedroom. But well before Christmas break, I was making enough milk that that method had become very tedious and I’d moved up to battery-powered breast pumps.
That’s what I’d brought home with me, but they made noise. Not much, but enough that they could be heard in a quiet house. That wasn’t an issue with my roommates because they already knew about my lactation by the time I had to pump at night, and they weren’t loud enough to wake anyone up. It had not even occurred to me to get manual pumps before coming home.
During the day, I played music while I pumped to mask the noise, but I couldn’t do that in the middle of the night. I got in bed and under the blankets when I had to pump then, hoping that that would muffle the noise enough that no one else would hear it if they happened to be awake then. It worked for a few nights.
But one morning my mother kept giving me dirty looks for no apparent reason. When we were finally alone, she said to me, “We need to talk, Ella. I heard you in your room last night. I recognized the sound. You were pumping your breasts, weren’t you?” She was not smiling; in fact, she looked like I‘d betrayed her. I acknowledged that I was, and she asked, “When did you have the baby, and what did you do with it?”
I was horrified that she’d think that, and knew what she must have thought of me. “Oh, no, Mom! There is no baby! I’ve never even been pregnant at all!” I didn’t want to set a precedent telling her that I was a virgin, only to someday no longer be able to say it.
“Don’t lie to me, Ella!” she exclaimed. “Do you really think I was born yesterday? How could you be lactating if you were never pregnant?”
“Mom, I’m telling you the honest truth!” I replied. “I promise you, I’ve never been pregnant. I learned in my physiology class that a woman can lactate without becoming pregnant, and I wanted to experience that. I remember after Liam was born that you continued to produce milk for a couple of years after that, and that really made an impression on me. I’ve always wanted to be able to do that, too, and when I learned I could, I started trying. Not everyone who tries is able to, but as you heard last night, I was.”
My poor mother didn’t know what to think. She had a very confused expression on her face as she tried to process what I’d told her. Then she said, “I don’t understand. Why on earth would you want to make yourself lactate? You’re still a college student!”
“I can’t explain it, Mom. It’s just something that I’ve always badly wanted to do, ever since you were nursing Liam. And now that I am, I’m loving it. I really enjoy the sensations of my breasts becoming heavy with milk and emptying them out again. It makes me feel like a real woman.”
“Assuming you’re being honest with me, it still just somehow seems wrong,” she said. “Wrong as in sinful,” she clarified.
I knew the Bible as well as anyone, having been raised in a conservative Christian family. “I challenge you to find somewhere in the Bible where it says it is,” I replied.
My mother didn’t take the bait. She knew as well as I did there was nothing about that anywhere in Scripture. She changed the subject. “What are you doing with the milk?” she asked.
“Drinking it, mostly,” I replied.
“Ella!” she exclaimed, shocked by my answer.
“What?! There’s nothing sinful about that, either. Recycling it like that helps me to produce more, and it’s actually quite delicious. But I’ve gotten to the point where I’m producing more than I care to drink. I’ve been pouring the excess down the drain, but I probably need to find something better to do with it.”
“I agree; you do,” she said. “You need to donate it to the milk bank like I did. There’s a chronic need for donors, and the milk is absolutely critical for preemies and sick newborns to have a fighting chance. You’ll have to go through a screening process, but you shouldn’t have any trouble. There’s likely a place you can drop it off when you go back to school, and they all send the milk to the same regional processing center.
“But how do you ever expect to find a husband if you’re lactating?” she asked. “I’m sure that would be a big red flag for any man who might otherwise be interested in you.”
“You’re wrong about that, too, Mom,” I replied. “In fact, I have a man very much interested in me, and he knows all about me lactating. I’m very much interested in him as well.”
“He sounds like he must be some sick creep then,” my mother said disparagingly. “Do you let him drink your milk, too?”
“Oh, Mom, must you be so judgmental all the time?” I asked with my exasperation evident. “Yes, he likes that I’m lactating, but that’s almost a requirement for me now. As you said yourself, it would be a big red flag for most men. But otherwise, he’s a very nice guy – a true gentleman. We’re both crazy about each other, but I’ve insisted that we take things very slow, and he’s respected that. We’ve known each other for months now, but we’re not even in a relationship yet, and he’s yet to even touch me. He’s made it clear he wants to do both, but he won’t until I give the okay.”
I thought a moment about the words I’d just spoken. We were both crazy about each other, and it occurred to me that we’d waited long enough. “You know what? As soon as we both get back to school, I’m going to do just that,” I said almost as an afterthought.
“Is he a believer?” my mother asked, wanting to know whether he was a Christian. I knew it was only a matter of time before she asked me this, and she didn’t disappoint me. I braced myself for her reaction to my reply.
“I don’t know, Mom, and frankly, I don’t care.” There. I said it. Out loud, to her face.
“Ella!” my mom practically shouted. “How can you not care about something as important as that? You know full well what the Bible has to say about that: Be ye not unequally yoked together with unbelievers.”
“I know what it says, Mom,” I replied. “It also says things like women shouldn’t wear jewelry or work outside the home, but that’s not stopping you, is it? It says to sell everything you own and give the money to the poor, but yet we’re sitting in this nice house that’s completely paid for.”
“How dare you speak to me that way, young lady!” she hissed at me.
I was determined to stand my ground, which was very uncharacteristic of me. With my voice now trembling, I said, “The truth hurts, doesn’t it, Mom? My point, though, wasn’t to attack you. It’s that every one of us picks and chooses which commands we’re going to obey and which we’re going to ignore. So please don’t be acting all holier-than-thou with me if I happen to ignore a different command than you do. We’re all sinners, and if we’re Christians, we’re also all forgiven.”
She shot daggers at me with her eyes as I said this to her, and even after I finished, but she didn’t have a comeback. She knew I was right.
I tried to lower the tension by speaking quietly and calmly. “Kyle and I aren’t even in a relationship, so I haven’t broken that command yet anyway. And I told you I don’t know if he’s a Christian. He very well might be, and then this whole discussion would be completely moot. But regardless, I’m an adult now, and my sins are between me and God. With all due respect, Mom, I don’t need or want you running interference for him.”
Fortunately, Mom responded well to my attempt to calm things down between us. “Okay, Ella,” she said, also much more calmly. “You’re right. I can’t keep treating you like a teenager. You are an adult now, and you’re accountable to God, not me.
“So his name’s Kyle? Why don’t you tell me more about him?” she asked, genuinely interested.
After I finished talking with my mother, I texted Kyle. Call me when u get a chance. Not urgent. Just want 2 hear ur voice, I wrote.
A few minutes later, he called. “Hey, Kyle,” I said as I answered his call. “Thanks for getting back to me so quickly.”
“Hey, Ella. What’s up?” he asked.
“I just need to talk to a friendly voice right now,” I replied. “My mother heard me pumping last night and confronted me about it this morning. We had quite an argument, first about that and then about other things, including you.”
“Are you okay?” he asked with concern in his voice.
“Yeah,” I said without enthusiasm. “We worked it out, and we’re okay now, but it was very emotionally draining.”
“Why don’t you tell me about it?” he suggested. “I’m not doing anything right now.”
I repeated the conversation to him as best as I could recall, being careful to leave out the part where I’d said I would tell him I was ready for a relationship and physical contact.
“Wow,” he said in reply. “That sounds like it was pretty intense.” I agreed that it was. Then he said, “Well, at least there’s one thing neither of you need to argue about any longer,” and paused, waiting for me to respond.
“Are you going to tell me what it is, or just leave me hanging?” I asked him.
“I think I’ll leave you hanging,” he replied playfully.
“Kyle!” I said in mock exasperation. “Tell me!”
“Okay,” he said laughing. “You don’t need to worry that I’m not a Christian. I am!”
Those might have been the most beautiful words I’d ever heard! I immediately started crying happy tears. “Kyle, why didn’t you tell me?” I asked earnestly.
“Probably the same reason you didn’t tell me you were one,” he replied, still laughing. “With all of the weird shit we’re both into, we probably both just assumed that the other couldn’t be, and we didn’t want it become a point of contention. Am I right?”
“You nailed it,” I responded, now also laughing. “So you’re the authentic kind of Christian, right? The church-going, Bible-reading, Jesus following kind? Please tell me you are!” I practically demanded.
“Yes, of course! That’s the only kind there is, isn’t it?” he replied.
“Well yeah, but not everyone realizes that. I’m just covering my bases,” I said. I paused, and then said something almost involuntarily. My mouth just blurted it out before my brain had a chance to object. “Kyle, I love you!” I said. But my brain was in complete approval of what my mouth had done. In fact, it was right then that I knew I was going to marry him someday.
“I love you too, Ella,” he replied without hesitation.
“When we get back to school, I want us to begin a relationship together,” I added.
“I’m in complete agreement,” he agreed. “But there’s no reason to wait until then; we can start right now.”
“You’re right; we can. Let’s do it!”
“It’s done! We’re official now!”
I suddenly missed him terribly. “I really want to see you on Christmas, Kyle,” I told him earnestly. “Is there any way you can get here?”
Kyle drove an ancient Bronco that he said had been his father’s before he passed away. He kept it for sentimental reasons, but he’d said more than once that it was strictly for local driving only; he joked that he didn’t drive it any further than he was willing to walk. I knew he wouldn’t want to make the drive to my house in that thing.
“I would move heaven and earth to do that, Ella. Fortunately, though, that’s not necessary. I can just borrow a car instead.” We both laughed at that. “Just tell me when and where, and I’ll be there.”
“That’s great!” I exclaimed. “Just please don’t feel obligated to buy me a gift, considering how short notice this all is. Don’t worry about bringing any food, either; there’s always enough to feed an army.”
I got off the phone with Kyle and just laid there on my bed, laughing and crying simultaneously. I don’t think I’d ever felt this happy in my entire life. I must have been pretty loud, because a few minutes later my Mom knocked on my bedroom door and tentatively opened it.
“You okay, Ella?” she asked with concern.
I laughed at that, with tears streaming down my face. “I’ve never been better, Mom! You’ll never believe what just happened! Come and sit!” She entered the room and sat on the edge of my bed, looking at me expectantly.
“After our, uh, discussion downstairs, I really needed to hear Kyle’s voice, so I asked him to call me. I repeated our conversation for him. Then he said, ‘Well, there’s one thing you don’t need to worry about – about me not being a Christian, because I am.’” I interrupted myself to laugh at that, then continued. “Can you believe it?” I asked her incredulously. “It turns out that we were each afraid of telling the other that we were Christians!
“That’s wonderful, Ella!” she said approvingly.
“There’s more. I told him I loved him; it just came out of my mouth somehow. But he immediately said it back to me. Then I told him I wanted us to be in a relationship when we got back to school, and he said there was no reason to wait, that we could do it right then. And so we did! As of a few minutes ago, I have a boyfriend who knows I love him, and who I know loves me!”
My mom was less enthused about that. “I just hope you know what you’re doing, Ella.”
“I’m absolutely certain of what I’m doing. Mark my words, Mom; I’m going to marry that man someday. You’ll get to meet him yourself in a few days. I told him I wanted to see him on Christmas, and he’s going to come here.
“Now, if you don’t mind, my boobs are very full and I need to pump. You’re welcome to stay if you want; it’s up to you.”
Mom replied, “I’ll go downstairs and call the milk bank and see what you have to do these days to get screened. They won’t take your milk without the pumps and containers being thoroughly sanitized, so you’ll have to pour this batch down the drain. I’ll show you how to do that later.” She left the room and closed the door behind her. I sat on my bed with pumps hanging from my boobs as I resumed simultaneously laughing and happy crying.
Chapter 5 – How My Farmer Met My Parents
Christmas dinner was going to be at 1 pm, and it was a three hour drive from Kyle’s parents’ home to mine. He got to spend part of Christmas morning with his own family before he left to be with me and mine. He borrowed his mother’s car since she wasn’t going anywhere that day.
Starting at about noon, I sat by the front window watching for him. At about 12:30, an unfamiliar car pulled up in front of our house and parked. I knew it had to be him, and I bolted out the front door without bothering to put on a coat. I got to the driver’s side of the car just as Kyle was getting out and I practically tackled him, I was so eager to hug him tight. I lifted my face toward his for a kiss, and Kyle was thinking the exact same thing as he leaned down. We sucked face for a good five minutes out there in the cold before coming up for air.
“Well, hello to you, too!” Kyle said, amused at my passionate greeting.
“I’ve wanted to do that for so long, Kyle,” I told him. “You have no idea how badly.”
“I have, too,” he agreed. “Let’s go inside; it’s cold out here, and you don’t have a coat on.”
We walked back up to the house with my arm around his waist and his arm around my shoulders. It felt so right to hold him this close. Inside, I took his coat and hung it up in the front closet, and put the backpack he’d brought on the closet floor. Then I led him by the hand to the kitchen, where my parents were finishing preparations for dinner.
“Mom, Dad, I’d like you to meet my new boyfriend, Kyle Day. Kyle, these are my parents, Bill and Sue Moore.”
Kyle stepped toward my dad and extended his hand. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Moore,” he said as they shook hands. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“Hello, Kyle,” my dad replied. “I wish I could say the same. I didn’t know Ella even had a boyfriend until just the other day.”
“That’s because she didn’t have one until then,” Kyle said, laughing. “It all happened rather quickly.”
Dad was much more in the dark about Kyle than Mom was. He didn’t know anything about my lactation or Kyle’s interest in the same, or else he probably would have chased him out of the house with a shotgun. I interjected and said, “Kyle and I have been working towards this for several months now, Dad. We’ve been getting to know each other as friends first.”
Kyle then turned his attention to my mom. “Mrs. Moore, it’s nice to meet you as well,” he said to her. “Thank you for your role the other day in getting Ella to ask me to call her.”
Mom didn’t know what to say in response to that and looked embarrassed. Of course, it was her giving me grief about him not being Christian that led us to discover that we were in fact both Christians.
“How can I help?” asked Kyle, earning brownie points with my parents just by asking.
“Thanks, but we have everything under control,” my mom replied. “Why don’t you make yourself at home and relax until dinner’s on the table?” she asked rhetorically.
“Come meet my little brother,” I said to Kyle as I pulled him toward the dining room. My 9 year old sibling was in there setting the table. “Liam, this is my boyfriend Kyle. He’ll be having dinner with us.”
“Hey there, Liam,” Kyle said to him as he held out his fist for a bump. “Nice to meet you, bud!”
Liam looked warily at Kyle and simply said, “Hi.”
Kyle pretended to be offended. “Just ‘hi’? You’re not going to give me a fist bump? My feelings are hurt!” Liam reluctantly met Kyle’s fist with his own and resumed setting the table.
I led Kyle back to the living room and we sat down on the sofa together. “I’m not doing so well with your family, am I?” he said more than asked. “Kind of a cool reception from all three of them.”
“They’re all in state of shock that I suddenly have a boyfriend,” I explained. “It’s not personal. I’m sure they’ll warm up to you once they get to know you.” At least I hoped they would, anyway. Then I added, “Actually, I’m in a state of shock, too, but I mean that in the best possible way. Thank you for coming so far to see me and meet my family.”
Dinner went better as my family, and my dad in particular, tried to get to know Kyle better. Kyle was personable and well-spoken and made a favorable impression on them. My father was visibly impressed with Kyle being a semester away from completing his master’s degree and his plans to earn a Ph.D. and become a pharmaceutical scientist.
Being a banking executive, Dad was concerned that Kyle would rack up a massive amount of student loan debt by the time he finished his education, but Kyle explained that his deceased father had taken out a lot of life insurance on himself and money hadn’t been a concern. Further, he said, he was in the process of lining up a research assistant position for himself when he began his post-graduate studies in the fall, which would cover his tuition and pay him a stipend.
“How long will it take you to complete your Ph.D.?” my father asked him.
“Probably four years or so, once I finish my master’s this spring,” Kyle replied. “The process of developing, writing, and defending a doctoral dissertation isn’t based on a set number of academic semesters.”
“That’s a long time to have to get by on just a stipend,” my father observed. He was thinking ahead, wondering how Kyle would be able to support me as a doctoral student should our relationship lead to marriage and possibly children, but of course he wasn’t going to come out and say that when we’d only been in a relationships for a few days.
“As I said, money isn’t really an issue for me, and that’s why I’m even able to do this. I expect to be debt-free when I finish school, and then I’ll be making the big bucks developing and testing new drugs for a big pharmaceutical company.”
My father simultaneously frowned and nodded his head, indicating that he was considering what Kyle had said and approved. “It sounds like you have a good head on your shoulders, young man,” he declared. “I hope it works out for you like you’ve said.”
After that, my parents wanted to hear about how we met and how we’d gone from there to now being in a relationship. Of course, we both omitted any mention of our mutual interest in lactation and hucows. They were both impressed that we’d been so careful to get to know each other first before getting romantically involved. Dad asked him whether he was a Christian, and then some follow-up questions, all of which Kyle answered to Dad’s satisfaction. They asked him about his hobbies and he spoke at length about birdwatching, and also discussed hunting and fishing and keeping his old Bronco running, lest they think he was a girly man. Dad’s also done some hunting and fishing, so they compared notes on those topics.
Late in the afternoon, my parents invited Kyle to spend the night if he wished, which was significant. It was their way of saying that they approved of him being involved with their daughter. But Kyle politely declined, explaining that he really needed to work on his master’s thesis and had only given himself one day off on Christmas Day. I was disappointed, but I completely supported his dedication to his studies.
As the shadows were getting long and we both knew our time together was limited, Kyle said to me, “I know you said no gifts, but I got you a little something anyway.” I playfully slapped him on the leg and scolded him as he got up to get it out of the backpack he’d left in the closet. “It’s something I’ve had for a while, and it just seemed like a good time to give this to you,” he explained.
I opened the package and inside was what looked like a hairband with cow horns and ears attached to it. Kyle was grinning like a fool watching my reaction. At first I was mortified, wondering how I could make Kyle think I appreciated it while also keeping it hidden from my parents. What would they think, and how could I possibly explain it?
Then I realized that I didn’t care. I didn’t have to tell them everything. I could just explain that I liked cows and it was no different than the cat ear hairbands that a lot of girls wore. My mother might put two and two together but I trusted her to keep my secret. Kyle cracked up laughing as my facial expression changed while I thought this through.
I smiled at him, kissed him on the cheek, and put the hairband on my head. “Thank you, Kyle,” I said. “I love it; it’s very appropriate.”
“I’m glad,” he replied, relieved. “I wasn’t sure if you would or not. I know you’re not ready for the whole experience yet, and I don’t want you to think I’m pressuring you.”
“I’m not taking this as pressure,” I told him. “I think it’s cute.” I left it on for the rest of the day and wore it regularly after that, especially while I was pumping milk. My little brother Liam saw it and made a face like it was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever seen, but neither he nor my parents asked me about it, much to my relief.
Kyle reluctantly left for home in the early evening. We shared another long, passionate kiss goodbye, and then he drove off. I came back into the house, and my parents both smiled at me. “I think you found yourself a good man, Ella,” my father said to me approvingly. “He makes quite an impression.”
“Thanks, Dad,” I replied. “I’m really glad you like him.”
Chapter 6 – How I Became a Milk Donor
My mother helped me find the online form to request to be a milk donor. It only wanted some very basic info, but the website said they’d contact me to do a phone interview and request much more detailed info. They’d need my medical history, a doctor’s certification, a blood test, and so on. I had no idea it was such an involved process.
But my mother had told them to expect my application, and they remembered her from over a decade ago when she was a donor, because it was rather unusual for someone to donate milk for two years straight. Therefore, once I submitted the application, they called me later that same day to do the phone interview. First they wanted to verify everything I entered on the online form.
“And your baby was born on December 1?” the screener asked.
“No,” I replied. “There is no baby, but that was a required field, so I had to make up a date.”
“I’m so sorry for your loss,” the woman replied sympathetically. “But we still need to know when you delivered, or miscarried, or whatever.”
“No, you don’t understand,” I replied. “There never was any baby. I’ve never been pregnant. I induced lactation on my own.”
There was a long pause, and then she said, “I see.” Another long pause, and then, “How much are you producing, Ella?”
“Probably about 24 ounces [710 ml] per day, give or take, but I drink some of it myself. I’ve heard doing that helps me to make more.”
“So you enjoy lactating and intend to continue to do this for some time?” she asked.
“Yes, very much so, and I’ve been continuing to produce steadily more over time, so I don’t know where I’ll max out at.”
“Following in the footsteps of your mother, I suppose?”
“Well, sort of, yeah, except that she gave birth to my little brother before she started donating. So anyway, it won’t be a problem when I return to college in a few weeks and will have to start dropping off my milk there, right?” I asked.
“No problem at all. All of the milk collected in the entire state, and parts of some adjacent states, gets sent to the same place for processing, so it doesn’t matter where you drop it off.”
She continued to screen me, asking questions and getting to know me better. I got the impression that she was satisfied with my answers, despite her initial shock that I had intentionally induced lactating and was actively trying to increase my production. They’d apparently never encountered someone like me before, which isn’t all that surprising when you think about it.
Next, I had to complete an extensive medical questionnaire, which I needed my mother’s help to complete since it asked about childhood illnesses and vaccines. I also had to get my doctor to sign a form saying that she didn’t know of any medical reason why I wouldn’t be suitable to be a milk donor. That meant I was going to have to let her in on my secret, too.
I called the doctor’s office to see whether I could just send the form to them and have the doctor sign it, but since I hadn’t been there in quite a while, and they had no record of me being pregnant, the doctor insisted that I come in for an examination first. Fortunately, they were able to get me in while I was still home on winter break.
I showed up for my appointment and the nurse did all of the usual stuff – checking my height, weight, blood pressure, body temperature, and so on, and asking questions about medications and illnesses and lifestyle and the like. Questions about my menstrual period. All completely routine, and no mention of lactation. The nurse said the doctor would be with me shortly and then left the room.
Then Dr. Marshall entered the exam room. We greeted each other and she asked some general questions about my health and how college was going. Then we got to the heart of the matter.
“So, I’m a bit confused about this form you asked me to sign, Ella. It’s for donating breast milk, but there’s nothing in your records about you ever being pregnant. I’m thinking either I somehow got the wrong form, or your Ob/Gyn didn’t inform us about your pregnancy, which would be highly unusual and concerning.”
“No, that’s the right form,” I replied, “and there was no pregnancy. I’m still a virgin, actually.” I then explained to the doctor about my inducing lactation and how much milk I was producing and so on.
“I’ve read about women being able to do that,” the doctor said, “but I’ve never actually had one for a patient before. I’ve never even met anyone who’d done that, as far as I know. I’m no expert on this, but it sounds like your volume is actually rather high for having induced.”
“I know; that’s why I decided I should donate it, rather than letting it go to waste,” I agreed.
“Are you taking any medications or supplements or anything that would cause you to produce that much?” she asked.
“No, I’m not currently on any medication at all,” I replied. “The only thing I’m taking besides regular food and drink are vitamins, and those are normal, over the counter stuff.”
“Are you okay with producing that much milk?” she asked me with a concerned expression.
“Yes, and I wouldn’t mind if it increased even more,” I told her. “I love being able to lactate!”
She then proceeded to tell me about the importance of drinking lots of water and what foods I should be eating and what vitamins I should be taking – all stuff I already knew and was currently doing. I told her that.
She then told me, “All right, Ella. It sounds like you’re doing everything right. I want you to get a blood test, and assuming it comes back normal, I’ll sign the form. However, I want to see you at least every six months while you’re still lactating, just to monitor things and make sure you’re staying healthy, okay? The nurse will come back and show you where to get your blood drawn, and the receptionist can schedule that next appointment for you.”
I thanked Dr. Marshall, had blood drawn, and made the follow-up appointment. The blood test results showed nothing that concerned her, and she signed the form and returned it to me. I submitted all of the required paperwork to the milk bank.
Next, they had me come in person to attend an ‘orientation’, which was really a rather extensive training session for all of the procedures they required regarding personal hygiene; sanitation of equipment, containers, and locations where I’d pump milk; proper milk storage and transport; and so on. They took all of this very seriously, as if babies’ lives depended on it, because they did. I took it just as seriously; I considered it my solemn duty to never be the reason a baby got sick from donated milk or the milk bank had to throw out a batch of contaminated milk. There was a lot to have to remember, though, and I really appreciated that they’d put it all in a document I could reference any time.
By the time all of that happened and I was approved to start donating milk, it was time to return to college. I’d make my first donation at the drop-off center at the university hospital rather than the one near my home.
They required that the first donation be a minimum of 100 ounces [3 liters], I presume to make sure the donor is really serious about it. After that, there was no minimum, but the donation center wasn’t convenient for a student without a car to get to, and the milk had to be kept frozen during transport, so I figured I’d bring it by no more than once a week. I did the math and determined that each week I’d have close to 100 ounces to donate, but if my production continued to increase, that amount would increase as well.
That quickly became an issue with my roommates, because of the amount of space the accumulated milk took in our tiny freezer. From their perspective, we were each entitled to 25% of the space in the freezer, and it made no difference whether we were using that space for food, or breast milk, or rocks. I had to really start minimizing the food I kept in the freezer, especially as it got close to donation day each week. But even that was complicated. A mostly empty carton of ice cream takes up just as much space as a full one.
Ice cream was one of my go-to foods for consuming lots of dairy products, and so Kyle and I began regularly frequenting Hoover’s as well as a smaller ice cream parlor located between our apartments, and I gave up on keeping a supply in our freezer. However, he usually didn’t have any himself; he said he couldn’t afford the time at the gym required to burn off all those calories.