Needless
to say, the news I found out was an excuse to use. I was in a
depressive stage already and finding out that my baby may have this
chromosomal disorder and would be lucky to live a year didn't help. I
was in disbelief that they told me I only had a day or two to decide
if I wanted to terminate the pregnancy. I was more than halfway
through, nearly 6 months along! No way! I had already miscarried two
babies (I wonder if there was a possibility that those two had
chromosomal defects). I would rather hold, hug, kiss, and get to know
my precious baby even if it was just for a short while.
I was
told that since I chose to proceed with the pregnancy, the doctors
wanted Jim and I to see a genetic counselor. I also had the option of
having an amniocentesis test done (that's where they monitor the baby
via ultrasound and stick this very long needle through your abdomen
to collect a sample of the amniotic fluid). They said this test would
give me a definitive answer as to whether or not my baby was going to
have trisomy.
The
genetics counselor basically took down a family history from both Jim
and I - parents, siblings, grandparents, etc., and any diseases that
run in our families. We were told that since we had suffered two
miscarriages already and now this possibility, that we just may not
be compatible to reproduce together. It as hard to hear.
It
didn't take too long for the results of the amnio test. My baby was
negative for trisomy. Not only that, but I found out there was less
than a ONE PERCENT CHANCE that she would actually have it. I was so
happy, yet so infuriated at the same time. I was furious that the
doctors urged me so much to terminate the pregnancy when the chances
of the baby actually being born with this condition were extremely
low.
Shortly
after having the amniocentesis, Jim called the methadone clinic where
he had previously been a patient. They told him there was a waiting
list of 6-8 weeks. Six to eight weeks?! That's insane! It makes me
wonder how many people have overdosed and died waiting for a spot to
open up in MAT, MMT, or rehab. It's disgusting.
Luckily
for Jim, because he had been an ideal patient when he was there
before, they called him back (I forget if they called him back a few
hours later or the next day). They told him he could come in I think
that following Monday. Thank God! Hopefully a could both get our
lives back on track!
