I’ve not posted for quite a while, partly out of lack of desire, partly because I was simply too busy to participate.
I’ve been reluctant to discuss this, because of concerns about security. They better be unfounded.
The title rather says it all, I think. Given the nature of the subject, I figured GD was the only place for it. I’m NOT fishing for sympathy, and think expressing it would be gratuitous for the purposes of this thread. I’ve a rather good idea who would extend it and who would not anyway. Good people of the Dope: I know who you are. The rest? The less said the better.
Last year, my wife and I had a rather rough bout with misfortune, and she was faced with a choice she never wanted to make: Whether or not to terminate a pregnancy. Such is the good health of our relationship that she involved me deeply in the decision-making process, though we both understood explicitly the decision was ultimately hers. She chose to get an abortion, and I did what I could to help her through a difficult time.
Despite us both getting a clean bill of reproductive health, we found it difficult to get pregnant. We waited a while after marriage to start trying, which, in retrospect, perhaps wasn’t wise. My wife is five years my senior (though you’d never know it to look at her), and, as her 39th year began, we chose to seek medical assistance. One attempt with a 50mg qd. course of clomiphene plus IUI did the trick, and our anxieties over our ability to start a family seemed mercifully brief. Worry turned to elation, with all the attendant fantasizing about the arrival of a baby that I’m sure every happily expectant couple indulges in.
The reproductive endocrinologist we worked with advised her strongly to get amniocentesis as soon as that was possible, due to the increased risk for chromosomal abnormalities at her age, but she had a difficult time weighing those risks against the 1-in-200 risk of losing the pregnancy due to complications from the amnio. After a couple weeks of procrastination (during which my anxieties over her reluctance to get the amnio grew to an uncanny degree, though I kept it to myself), she opted first to get a hi-res 3D ultrasound with a Boston specialist who, quite literally, wrote the book on sonography. If that looked good, then she figured it was better not to risk the amnio, and I supported that decision.
It took about a minute of watching the doctor’s face as she moved the probe over my wife’s belly for me to figure out the news would not be good, but it took her at least fifteen (excruciating) minutes of measurement before she shared her concerns with us. Long bones were well under average length for gestational age. There was a considerable asymmetry between the lateral ventricles of the brain. There was marked renal pelvic dilation, indicating a likely obstruction. Lastly, there was a serious ventricular septal defect, in this case a sizable hole between the lower two chambers of the heart. My wife had opted not to learn the sex of the fetus during a previous standard ultrasound, and could not bear to hear it now.
We managed to line up an amnio with my wife’s OB the next day, and got the preliminary results back in a remarkable week, though there was little doubt about what they would reveal: Trisomy of the 21st chromosome.
The following week began the excruciating process of deciding what to do with what we now knew. A consultation with a perinatologist almost made things worse, as all prognoses were in terms of percentages, which now struck my wife as especially devoid of meaning, given her estimated risk of being in this predicament to begin with was reportedly about 1-in-60. The child might have permanent impairment of renal function due to buildup of urine indicated by the distended renal pelves. There might be neurological issues beyond those expected with Down, as indicated by the degree of cerebral lateral ventricular asymmetry. The baby might not survive to term. The baby might die soon after birth. At best, we’d have a baby with Down Syndrome, who would almost certainly need heart surgery to fix the septal defect, but would have few or no more expected health issues, cardiac or otherwise, than were normal for Down. All were possible. Greater prognostic certainty could only be gained by waiting, but every day that went by was a day that made termination more difficult, if we opted for it. Before long, that option would no longer be available, according to the laws of the Commonwealth.
After two days of almost non-stop sobbing, my wife reached her limit. A reasonably healthy baby with Down was one thing, but one with such risk of illness, or even death, perhaps before it left her body, or, maybe worse, shortly after, were too much.
Quickly we made the arrangements, and for two early mornings I drove my wife to the clinic to have her cervix dilated. By the end of the third morning it was done, and I drove her home, vomiting from the general anaesthesia. The nausea went away quickly, but the emotional ramifications did not. There is no denying that a part of each of us felt selfish, and guilty. My wife’s no longer much for organized religion, and I’m not remotely even spiritual, but there’s no question the aftermath of an abortion isn’t necessarily easy, even when a couple has the complete support of family and friends, as we did. My in-laws rather astonished us, actually, with the generosity of their support (which, given their rather conservative Christian roots, neither of us was sure would be provided). Generally, everyone we confided in confessed they were relieved we’d done what we had, under the circumstances. Only we had lingering doubts, which to this day I can’t really explain.
As time has passed, though, those doubts gave way to sad resignation. We don’t regret the choice, though we do regret that she had to make it. We want to be parents, after all. Because the clock is ticking, we barely had time to lick our wounds before we were back to consulting the reproductive endocrinologists again, and getting probed, prodded, and measured as we did before. It’s been high anxiety over Clomid challenges (we qualified for insurance, thankfully, should we need IVF), and a bit of post-traumatic stress over the new appreciation for how risky the whole process can be, especially when you’re older. We’re looking into adoption, too, as one might guess, under the circumstances.
Well, it’s a topic that gets debated a lot. Experience certainly lends a new perspective (though I can’t say I’m fortunate to have it). Perhaps discussing it might be helpful to some.
Ask away.