The Story of “A” (Part 1)
Choices
Have you ever had to make a really hard choice?
Not… should I sign up for Netflix or HBO?
Not… should I choose the leather or fabric sofa?
I’m talking about the kind of choice that you know will forever affect you no matter what you decide.
And regardless of the outcome it is the act of making the choice that is so very hard.
The two most difficult choices I have ever had to make fall somewhere in between unbearable and excruciating. The first one directly affected several members of my family so, for the moment, I am not comfortable writing about it.
Conversely, the second involved my youngest daughter and I love to talk about her.
And yet, the story of this child began with an unfathomable choice.
How it all began
I met my husband while working for the Cirque de Soleil. One of nine children, I think he always imagined having a large family. Though we didn’t start our family for another seven years, we did so many wonderful things together during that time. In retrospect, I realize that we needed that couple time so that we could fully delve into being parents.
I never once doubted that my husband was going to be an amazing dad. The issue that had me procrastinating was my fear of being a sucky mom. Eventually it was clear that it was time to move past my fears. And so we embarked on the next chapter of our lives.
Our oldest was born when I was 34 years old. Two years later I got pregnant again. This baby would have been our second but I ended up with an incredibly painful molar pregnancy. Because of this I needed to have an emergency D&C(as there was no viable fetus). The doctor gave me a VERY serious warning to avoid getting pregnant for at least 18 more months. Any sooner was to risk another, potentially cancerous, mole.
So we waited. I turned 39 the same month our second child was born. My parents had me when they were 26(late for that era). To say that I was battling with “older parent” issues is an understatement. However, everyone was healthy and we were happy (albeit sleep-deprived). So I set those issues aside and happily transitioned to being a mom of two. We were content and thought that our baby-making days were done.
Surprise!
My oldest FREAKS OUT when I remind her that she was conceived on Valentine’s Day. I am not sure if it is the reminder of how we create them. Or maybe it is the fact that there is an actual holiday to remind her each year. I used to keep that info in my “back pocket” to use when she was being particularly annoying. Now she is super awesome so I don’t need it.
Contrarily, I have absolutely no idea what moment A came into being.
When you are not your own advocate
Regardless of when, two pregnancy tests later, it was time to make a doctor’s appointment. Our family doctor is wonderful but he has way too many patients. So for pregnancies he works with a team of family doctors that overlap to cover everyone. Unfortunately, this means that you might not have him for all of your appointments or even the delivery. While sort of a bummer it was never an issue until I was pregnant with A.
One of my first appointments ended up being with a member of the “team”. I don’t remember her name, but I do remember that she looked really young and, while professional, lacked the warm demeanor that you want in such an intimate situation. The first thing she said was that I should absolutely get an amniocentesis because I was over 35 and therefore the pregnancy was riskier! Dramatic much? What I didn’t realize at the time is that she wasn’t referring to risk for me but was more concerned that the baby would have issues.
This appointment would be one of a few that I look back on and wish I would have handled differently. During these appointments I felt “talked at” rather than “discussed with”. Afterwards I would often feel like I hadn’t asked enough questions. I realize now that I was simply feeling overwhelmed. I was already reeling from the discovery that I would be a mom to “3” but also that I would be giving birth at the ripe old age of forty-two! How old would I be when this child was in her 30’s? And on and on and on.
Now I had this “teenager” telling me that I was so old that I needed to take a test to make sure that everything was normal. I could have said thanks but no thanks. But I didn’t. I went all sheep while she scheduled me for the appointment.
In retrospect, I am not certain that anything would have been different had we been working with our family doctor. I just think that I would have felt more comfortable being my own advocate.
The test!
While I usually have a great memory for past events, I have zero from the time between the doctor’s visit and the scheduled amniocentesis. The test, however, was very memorable…but not for good reasons. It took place in a dark, almost claustrophobically small room. There was a nurse, an amnio technician and a syringe.
Probably to distract me from the 12-foot long needle being inserted into my abdomen, the technician began explaining the purpose of the amniocentesis. How it could detect genetic and chromosomal abnormalities in the fetus. Things such as Cystic Fibrosis, Tay-Sach’s, Down Syndrome, etc. He then added that “armed with that information I could plan an abortion accordingly.” That was when I realized that this test wasn’t for my protection but rather the “viability” of the fetus.
Anyone who knows me can attest to my chattiness. And when I am nervous, I talk even more. But during this appointment, I was practically speechless. I had suddenly realized the real reason this test was recommended and the potential consequences! Depending on the results we might have to decide whether or not to keep this baby!
Cut to the chase…the results!
A few weeks(or days…this period is a bit blurry) later our family doctor asked us to come in to speak with him. I vaguely remember being nervous but not really knowing why. My husband seemed calm but again…blurry. We were barely in our seats when the doctor informed us that our baby was a girl and she had Down Syndrome.
The first thing that hit me was that he told us the sex of our baby! With our two other children we had chosen to wait until the birth for the big reveal. Now he had ruined the surprise! He sort of apologized but also pointed out that he had assumed the other piece of information was more important. He then explained that I was about 9 weeks along and that we had until week 19 to abort the baby should we wish to do so. I don’t recall anymore of the conversation after that phrase.
My next memory is of my husband and I calmly talking in the parking lot outside of the clinic. I can see us at the car but what I remember is feeling like, instead of coming from a potentially life changing appointment, we could just as easily have come from lunch at Subway next door. There was a feeling of not really being there. I think I even laughed at something he said but that seemed out of place for the seriousness of our situation. My husband was saying that the intellectual issues with Down Syndrome didn’t scare him because anyone could learn. He was a school teacher for many years and he taught me to use a computer. So he’s definitely got the skills. I do remember feeling better because he was there and so calm.
So we had about eight weeks to make a decision! The next several weeks would be the hardest of my adult life. Even as I reflect back I remember most of this time as if it was an intense and vivid dream. I cannot speak for my husband but I would pass through sadness, frustration, anger, grief, confusion, guilt and especially depression. All the while living our lives and loving our two other kids. Neither of whom had any idea about the situation.
How did we make our choice?…see Story of A-Part 2
