Why?

I only had a 1/282 chance that my baby would have trisomy 21 when I went in for my nuchal translucency test at 13 weeks.  The chances increase as maternal age climbs, but that's where I was at 35.  Yet when you put the numbers into perspective the statistics are really in a woman's favor at any age because even an event with a 1/100 chance (at age 40), there is still a 99 percent probability a baby will be born healthy.  Those are great odds.  But after Nahuatl's diagnosis, the chance may as well have been 1/∞ because higher or lower chances don't change being that one no matter what the denominator is.  

And if that's the case, what was so special about me?  Why was I that one person out of all those healthy births?  Medical professionals and genetic counselors tell me it was a fluke, but random isn't a good enough answer.  So I scream why without saying anything else.  Or I regress in time looking for something bad I did to deserve what happened to her.  I wonder what I didn't do enough of or if I was too much.  Sometimes I wonder if I was being tested by someone or something.  If it was my life course to make me a better person or an appreciative one. And without answers, I get venomous.  I glare at mothers who smoke while pushing their children in strollers.  I get upset at women who have multiple unplanned pregnancies with different fathers and mothers who walk out on their kids.  It's not that I judge anyone for their choices.  It's that I don't understand why their choices led to a healthy baby and mine didn't.

I think that's why I stopped participating in things I believe in.  I used to care about sustainability and supporting local commerce.  I ate organic and strove for a healthy lifestyle.  I donated to social causes and I kept myself informed.  I wasn't perfect, but I wanted to leave the smallest imprint on our environment and I wanted to be socially responsible.  So I tried.  But now it's exhausting and I find it unimportant.  I can't bring myself to consider the world around me when I see careless people happy. I don't have enough energy to push myself because my stores were depleted when doing what was best for my daughter.  

     

    

The Journey

I spent 5 years planning my pregnancy, 6 months trying to conceive, and over 5 months carrying my baby girl.  I was emotionally ready at 30, but financially unstable and in the middle of a career change.  So when my husband and I made the decision to finally start a family, it was a big deal for us (especially for me).  I spent two years preparing my body - tackling food sensitivities and hormone imbalances, going organic, starting a prenatal vitamin regiment, omitting certain ingredients in skincare, haircare, oral care, cosmetics, and even perfumes.  Then two months before my 35th birthday, I couldn't wait any more. 

It's funny because I spent so much time worrying about being able to get pregnant, that I was shocked by how scared I became once I did.  I was excited over my BFP, but I started panicking soon after.  We planned every aspect of this pregnancy yet I second guessed juggling medical school and motherhood, financially caring for a baby, and being a good mother.  The fears only subsided once I got my initial T21 analysis at 13 weeks (via NT and NIT tests).  At that point, all I could think was that they were going to take my baby away from me.  And it sent an indescribable ache through the pit of my heart as if someone was skinning me and touching my nerves.  I didn't want it to be true, but I knew the amniocentesis would confirm Down Syndrome.

Between 17-22 weeks, I agonized over what to do.  My daughter's kicks were pronounced and frequent.  And through them, I grew closer to the little person growing inside me.  That is when I became a mother and separating my emotions from reason became difficult.  I wanted the best for her.  I wanted her to have the best life.  Not a world full of hospital visits, on-going medical treatments, possible heart surgeries, leukemia, early dementia, or emotional and developmental challenges. I didn't want her wellbeing passed on to strangers when my husband and I died or make future siblings responsible.  I worried about her future, her livelihood, and her health.    But I also wanted my baby and thinking about letting her go was/is torture. 

Knowing what the best thing is for your child is not simple.  It isn't an easy black and white yes or no.  It's personal, varies between parents,  and comes with regrets no matter what choice is made.  In the end, I thought the best thing for my baby was to terminate my pregnancy.  But it came with guilt.  Guilt that I made the choice to end her life.  Guilt that it was most probably my egg that had the meiotic error.  Guilt that I waited as long as I did to try to conceive.  Guilt that my pregnancy was so difficult, I was hardly feeding her (I was barely eating from 6 weeks to 19 weeks).  And guilt that I doubted my love for her when panicking about becoming a mom. 

My therapist says this is normal, but knowing my reactions are expected doesn't minimize them.  It doesn't fill that emptiness that comes when your child disappears.  It doesn't heal.  It doesn't nurture.  It doesn't give me Nahuatl.