The Story of Nicholas

Like most stories that are only told orally, there are many details that get left out in order to get the point across before the listener falls asleep.  But sometimes those details hold the most meaning, the most impact.

The story of Nicholas, how he came about, is not one of years of trying to conceive, there was no tragic event, nothing inspiring.  His story isn't about my pregnancy, though that's quite a story all on it's own, or even him specifically.  It's about something a doctor felt the need to mention.  And an outfit.



Once upon a time, in what seems like an eternity ago yet more vivid than this morning, I found out I was pregnant.  My dates were all screwy so my doctor decided it would be best to do an ultrasound to see if I was still pregnant and, if I was, how far along I was.  Fun fact: all embryos are about the same size at the same gestational age during the first 10 weeks, making those measurements pretty accurate for determining how far along you are.

So I went to the scheduled ultrasound with my son's father.  We saw a wiggly shrimp.  The technician kept trying to measure something and looked a bit frustrated.  Then the doctor came.  Said something wasn't measuring right but it was likely nothing.  We were to come back 2 weeks later, putting us at 13 weeks, because by that point what was measuring wrong would have likely cleared up.

I was pregnant with a shrimp!  He was affectionately
called Shrimp for a few weeks until all the pregnancy
symptoms creeped in and he became My Little Parasite.

Two weeks later we returned and we had a new technician who was having the same issue.  This time we knew what she was trying to measure and saw her frustration much sooner.  She then called another one who also seemed perplexed.  Then the doctor came again.

We were told that we now had two (a second one discovered at this visit) potential markers for Trisomy 21, down syndrome.  He calmly explained that it wasn't definitive and that we would need to have a screening test to get a better idea of what where the actual chances and might even need an amniocentesis.  He suggested we do a screening test that was newer than the one our state offered, a two part test that was overall more accurate, because it could give us results faster.  He said we would get the results back, "in about a week, giving you a couple of weeks to decide if you want to terminate."  Fun fact #2: some doctors will not refer to your baby as a baby until after 16 weeks.

His father and I were engaged to be married (complicated story) and we had discussed kids, sort of.  I did not want any children, ever.  I made my desire clear and he decided he still wanted to marry me.  So this pregnancy was a shock to begin with.  At the point of the second ultrasound we still weren't quite over the shock and this news made our lives seem surreal.

For a moment.

I was emotional, after living a life of what I considered screw-ups I felt I had even failed to do the most basic human function correctly.  I remember saying it to him as I wiped the gel off my stomach before leaving that day, "I can't even make a f-ing baby right!"  And in his attempt to comfort me he took me to lunch at a favourite restaurant of mine that was in a mall quite a bit our of the way.

Lunch was spent talking about our usual stuff: common interests, news, school (I was in school at the time) etc.  But there were also lapses of silence where neither one of us wanted to bring up the eventful morning.  I was deep in thought as I am sure he was.  The word "terminate" echoed in my head.

We were both pro-choice, but for different reason.  He was very much a "to each their own" type of person and also believed that as a man he didn't have the right to an opinion on abortion.  For me, I have always felt that something like that can only be decided by the person it will affect the most.  And I never thought I'd be faced with such a choice, I never thought I'd get pregnant to begin with.  And now I had been given the choice.  But I was not sure I could make it.  And I knew the choice was mine to make, that he would not help me make such a choice based on his belief that he did not have the right to an opinion on such a thing.  We were young, 21 and 24, and had not talked about a special needs child since we hadn't even fully digested the fact we were going to have one.  I knew kids with down syndrome survived, I had seen kids of all ages and even adults.  But I also knew they were a lot of work.  Could I force him to live with this life long responsibility?  Would he eventually hate me for it?  And if I did "terminate" would he see me as those pro life extremists for having murdered his child?  Could I even do it?  Did I have the guts to kill something that is alive inside me, growing into a person?  I feel guilty when I realise I've stepped on ants and almost cry if I step on a snail.  This parasite inside me was transforming into a human.  Could I kill it because it might be defective and a lot of work?  I knew those screening tests had a possibility of false positives, though I did not know how much, and decided I would re-visit these thoughts when we had results.  Because at that moment, sipping some lemonade in silence, I thought I could live a week or so without thinking about it.

We left the restaurant and started walking through the mall, hand in hand, and in silence.  We turned a corner that put us right outside a Gymboree.  We had been at this spot many times and never given the store any real notice, neither one of use had young children in our lives that we would shop there for.  But on this day they had some sort of big sale and there were big red banners and someone at the door handing out a special coupon for "only today and only at our store!"  We happened to be close enough to be handed one of these and I half chuckled as I took it.  He stopped and took it from my hand to read and we stood for a brief moment outside this store of over priced children's clothing.  Fun fact #3: children's clothing stores ALWAYS have some sort of sale going.

"Lets see what they have."

The words stunned me and as we walked in I had no idea why we were doing so.  We had just been told that killing this thing inside me might be the best option, depending on some test results.  And I was quickly overwhelmed by this store.  It was small and crowded and full of colour everywhere.  I had not been in a Gymboree in well over a decade and this was unfamiliar to me.  I spotted the section in the back with the newborn things and we made our way back there.  Of course everything was cute and I quickly wanted twins, a boy and a girl, to BUY ALL THE THINGS!!

Something caught my eye off the clearance rack, it was stripped with colours and I picked it up.  It was too cute!  And neutral.  So I picked out the newborn sized onesie to show him and he quickly found the matching pants and handed them to me.  And matching socks.  And matching short-tall.  And he took these items from my hand and headed to the register.

We walked out of the store and continued strolling the mall, happily chatting.  The decision had been made.  We wouldn't buy things for a baby we did not intend to keep.

12 days old and perfect.

The results to the first part of the screening test were 1 in 47 chance of down syndrome, a big positive.  It was devastating at first as we began to cope with the real probability of having a child with down syndrome.  I began researching it and it scared me.  But in my research I also found a lot of incidences of false positives.  A whole lot.  I also had several ultrasounds that showed nothing wrong.  And as we waited for the second part of the test results I became at peace with it all.  I was not going to trust some blood test over what was being seen on a screen.  Everything I read said that ultrasounds showed various markers, not just one or two.

We went in for the 20 week anatomy ultrasound, which showed everything normal, and an echocardiogram at 22 weeks, which also showed everything normal.  This was a big relief.  Not so fun fact #4: Babies born with down syndrome generally have heart abnormalities requiring heart surgery, many times multiple, shortly after birth.

"Terminate"

I don't know if California law requires doctors to advise patients of all their legal options but that word has haunted me for 7 years.  He was born seemingly perfect, not a sign of down syndrome.  And yes, he is autistic, but he is not living a life with poor quality of life.  He is happy.  He plays.  He learns.  He grows.  He enjoys ice cream.  And I wonder what would have happened if Gymboree hadn't been having that sale on that particular day, if we would have been forced to discuss "terminate."