In the midst of a rather tedious day at work (everyone sick, me pretending to be the receptionist while getting three days worth of work done in one) I got a call from the prenatal testing center. The genetic counselor opened with “I have great news!” so, obviously, I had visions of stellar results and gleeful pregnancy announcement. “Your results are in and the odds of your child having Downs is 1/381.” Uhm. I’m sorry. What? How is that good news? “The cut-off for a positive result is 1/300 and you are above that so your results are negative!” Oh great. Thanks. Glad the cut-off wasn’t 1/400. “Your results for Trisomi 13 and 18 were 1/10 000.” OK. Now those are odds I can work with!
I made an Amnio appointment. I have a few more days to change my mind, but I don’t think I will. C’s odds were 1/160 and there was no hesitation. 1/381 is definitely better, but I still don’t think it’s good enough.
I’m torn about this decision. I had no hesitation when it came to C’s amnio. I had never had one, so I didn’t know about the pain. I didn’t have a child, so I didn’t have a concrete idea of what I would be losing if I had a miscarriage. Now I know, but I also know how much work a child can be, and how much more work a special needs child would be.
I’m sure the results will be good. I have a hunch that this baby is just fine, but I’m not a betting gal and I don’t like the odds we’ve been given. Either that or I can’t handle not knowing. It’s like being handed a big, pretty package, being told that it could either contain something awesome or… not and being handed magic glasses that will allow me to see what’s in the package. Do I use the glasses or wait until the day I’m supposed to open the present? HA! Anyone who knows me, knows I’d look.
So I’m peeking on the package on February 16th at 1:15. Cross your fingers that all goes well.