And there was a point in time, in my early teens, where I wasnâ€™t even sure I liked them, but mostly, it was just that I didnâ€™t ever see myself as a mom. A wife, yes. Sure. A mother? Not so much.
And then something happened.
I met someone about a month before my 38th birthday, and decided/realized rather quickly, that if ever there was a guy to make me â€śtake one for the team,” he was the guy. He didnâ€™t have any children himself, and at 40, heâ€™d figured if it hadnâ€™t happened by now, it probably wasnâ€™t going to.
Then along came me. And after some months of dating, and some discussion, we came to the agreement that weâ€™d like to make something happen.
But first, an appointment with my doctor, who gave us the go-ahead, and warned that it might take us a few tries to conceive unsuccessfully before “intervention” was required â€” normal for a woman “my age.”
That was her advice in April. I was pregnant by June.
It was expected, but unexpected. My partner and I were thrown quickly into the maelstrom of impending parenthood: monthly/bi-weekly/weekly doctor’s appointments, ultrasounds, blood and urine tests. (Thank God for the Canadian health care system.)
On Friday, September 13, 2013, I learned that our baby tested positive for 4 out of 5 markers for Trisomy 21 â€“ the genetic mutation responsible for Down Syndrome. This meant that there was an 80% chance that my child would be a Special Needs child. A week later, after meeting with a couple of geneticists, and one amniocentesis, the diagnosis and sex of our baby â€“ a little girl â€“ were confirmed.
At a final face-to-face meeting to discuss how to cope with our daughterâ€™s condition moving forward â€“ a meeting I have dubbed â€śthe abortion sell,â€ť my partner and I met with the lead doctor/geneticist and her assistant. The discussion started with an apology, as if our baby had died. We were then apprised of the options for termination (either D&C or induction. Really? WTF?)