Russell had left for Phoenix on business the day before. I dreaded him going, fearing we would get the call from the Geneticist and I would be all alone. "She said two weeks," he assured me. It had only been a week, 5 business days since my blood had been sent to San Diego. She wouldn't call. But still, I worried.
The day started off like any other. As usual I was not feeling well, so was lying in bed watching television. I had gotten up to let the dogs outside and when I came back in saw that there was a message on my phone time-stamped 3:26 pm. I didn't recognize the number, but when I listened to the message my heart sank.
"Anne-Marie, this is Dr. B. I have the results of your test in, but I'm getting ready to leave the office. Please call me on my cell phone (she read off the number), otherwise I will call you first thing in the morning."
If the news had been good she would have just said that, right? Giving me her cell phone number definitely wasn't a good sign. I dialed her number with shaking hands. My entire body was, in fact, shaking as I stood in my kitchen leaning against the counter beside the sink. She answered on the first ring.
"The baby does have Down syndrome," she said gently. "Trisomy 21," she added. And then, "I'm so sorry."
I couldn't breathe. I couldn't speak. I began to cry as I braced myself against the counter. I felt the room shift and my legs go weak. "I understand." I said through sobs.
"Is your husband there with you?" she asked, her voice sounding concerned.
"He's in Arizona on business," I was finally able to say.
"When will he be home?"
"Tomorrow night."
"Is there anyone who can be there with you? I don't think you should be alone."
"I'll be okay," I told her, still sobbing and hiccuping. "Are you sure? I mean, is the test... accurate?"
"I feel it is," she said softly. "I'm so sorry," she repeated.
I only nodded. She went on to tell me she wanted to meet with me, discuss my options.
"We're continuing with the pregnancy if that's what you mean," I told her.
"Okay, good. I just wanted to be sure. I have to ask... there are time limits on... termination."
"That's not going to happen."
She said some other things which I don't remember. She repeated herself several times as if she simply wanted to keep me on the phone. Her voice sounded very far away and I could barely hear her over the pounding in my head. I wanted to get off the phone with her. I wanted to cry and scream and I didn't think I could hold it together much longer. I then remembered that the MaterniT21 test now tested for the Y chromosome. "Was there a Y chromosome?" I asked her. I at least wanted to know if the baby I was carrying was a boy or a girl.
"I don't think so, but I'll have to check when I get back to the office in the morning. I'm fairly certain your baby is a girl."
I thanked her, ended the call and stood in the kitchen and sobbed body-wracking sobs that could probably be heard several houses up. I called Russell, who thankfully answered on the third ring. I was sobbing and hysterical and I'm sure he thought something really horrible had happened. It had. "The baby... she thinks it's a girl... has... Down syndrome..." I finally managed to say. There was a moment of silence on the other end of the phone and then...
"It's okay; we'll love her no matter what. This doesn't change anything. It's going to be okay. I love you."
I don't remember much about the next two days. I remember emailing my mother and telling her the news, then texting a few other close family members and my best friend. Russell called my dad and told him. I couldn't talk to anyone in person. For two days I cried non-stop for hours at a time. It truly felt like my heart was being ripped from my chest. I vacillated between extreme grief and extreme anger. I hated everyone who so easily had perfect pregnancies and perfect babies. I hate God for allowing this to happen after all we'd been through for the past 22 years. I then felt like a horrible person for feeling like that and would spend the next few hours feeling the grief, along with guilt, all over again. Dr. B.'s words repeated over and over in my head, and they still do - "The baby does have Down syndrome." I can hear it like it just happened 2 seconds ago. And every time I do I feel the pain all over again. I'm not sure it's something I will ever forget.
I have always wanted a baby who looked like us and I worried that this baby would not. She would look different. Would I even recognize her as my daughter? What about health problems? Would her heart be okay? I'd heard that half of all babies born with Down syndrome have heart defects. And most importantly, I worried about her future. What will happen to her when we are too old to take care of her? Will she need lifelong care? There were too many questions that I didn't have answers to, and I once more felt out of control and terrified.
I also felt like I had failed - I failed myself, I failed my family, and most of all, I failed my baby by conceiving her with my old imperfect eggs.
My parents do not have biological grandchildren and I desperately wanted to give them that experience. I felt like I had let them down. I felt like I had let my husband down. It's my fault I told myself over and over. Will my daughter hate me for bringing her into this world different than everyone else? Would people accept her and love her despite her differences?
I had no doubt about loving her; I already did. But I needed time to mourn the loss of the child I thought I was going to have. I needed time to process everything and at this point I was quite sure I would never recover from this devastating blow.
When I texted my best friend Kim to let her know, she was at work and went into the bathroom and cried with me. She offered to leave work at that very minute and make the 7 1/2 hour drive then and there to be with me. We had already planned our yearly girl's weekend and she would be arriving on Saturday. I assured her I was okay, I just needed time. I warned her that I would likely be the worst company ever, crying at the drop of a hat. "It's okay - we'll just hang out in our pajamas all weekend," she assured me.
One of the vague recollections of those two days after hearing the diagnosis was of Googling pictures of babies and children with Down syndrome. I read blogs and looked at statistics. Everything made me cry, especially when I learned that 9 out of 10 babies who are diagnosed with Down syndrome prenatally are aborted. It was a shocking statistic.
My family respected my wishes for no phone calls, but they did text and email to make sure I was doing okay. They also assured me that no matter what they would love their grandchild unconditionally. Nothing had changed.
But it had; to me, everything had changed. I wanted to shut myself off from the rest of the world forever. I didn't want Kim to come. I wanted to be alone to continue wallowing in self pity and grief, but I knew that wasn't healthy because I could feel myself easily sinking into a pit of depression. I needed her to come and bring me out of my funk. I needed a distraction. I needed my best friend.
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