As a a very young teen mum automatically breast feeding for financial reasons, back in the days when most where bottle feeding and they went to nursery at night; I breastfed a baby born withdrawing from heroin. I got tired of listening to his high pitched incessant crying in pain while mine comfortably suckled.
I was supposed to put mine back in the cot, then pump the leftovers for him, and a nurse would mix it in with powdered feed, and hold the bottle into his cot to feed him.
His mother couldn't feed him and he was just a terribly alone object of pity, changed and fed in his cot, mewling and shrieking, waiting for what my baby left and a nurse to have time to hold a bottle out to him.
One night his pitiful shrieks completely got to me (it's not any sort of normal cry and I can still hear it) and overwhelmed I just picked him up and he instinctively latched on, and the terrible noises stopped, so I let him.
Matron walked in on it and instead of hitting the roof, just said it was about time someone gave him a cuddle. So that was that and an unofficial routine started.
I spent the next three weeks expressing in the daytime and dual feeding at night, and the nurses stopped complaining about what a nuisance binding and unbinding me was.
Matron was a very sensible woman, that baby went on to have a difficult life, re addicted via methadone as a small child, and in and out of care, but he got warmth, cuddled, and fed when he was born into misery and at a time when his mother was unable to.
No regrets whatsoever, I'm glad I was too young to even think about rights and wrongs and just saw need, and matron was wise enough to know how to quietly use the situations we were all in.
( I admit there's an instinct to cross my arms over my breasts when when I see him now as an adult male, but he's a lot bigger these days!)