Older, Wiser and Pregnant
What it means to have a baby at an "advanced maternal age."
by Ondine Galsworth
May 3, 2007
Whether it was the unblocking of my meridians, luck, fate, God or the lack of
MSG in my diet, I got pregnant. First try. Well second try. I had one miscarriage.
The egg never "developed," my doctor said. But suddenly, there I
was, pregnant again and completely aware of how lucky I was.
And how absolutely not lucky at all. On my doctor's advice, I was facing months
of serious genetic testing: to see if the fetus "took", to see if
it had Down Syndrome, Spina Bifida, arms, legs, a heart, a list of birth defects
so long that even the idea of being happy about being pregnant seemed ridiculous.
It was best to tell no one, to keep it private, until all the results were in.
I didn't need a parade of people, who had already seen me through a lot
in life, calling me with condolences in case it all didn't work out. I
didn't need the world knowing that.
So instead of feeling giddy and euphoric, as many newly pregnant women do, I
began to feel like an alien abductee. They (doctors, not aliens) covered my belly
in goo, obtained detailed photos of my innards on a regular basis, pierced my
skin with long metallic instruments that went right into my womb to remove genetic
information, as well as acquiring countless urine and blood samples from my body
that were sent to laboratories. I was a science project.
The Amnio was definitely the most terrifying. Not because it hurts (it doesn't,
and it only takes about a minute). But, one, you are there to find out if the
baby is healthy, and two, there is a slight risk of miscarriage — some
docs say one in 200, some one in 300. Just the thought of screwing up a perfectly
healthy fetus just to see if its viable — it's aThe irony is, I had a great pregnancy. very heavy decision
to make, one that involves every part of your being, intellect, spirit, logic,
heart. I thought I would implode that day. And then the days that follow, you
wait, you have small contractions, you hate yourself for sticking a needle into
your womb, and at the same time you thank God for the test, you know there is
a certain level of abnormality you can't deal with — to carry the
baby for nine months and then to have it born only to then die or suffer.
I'm extremely thankful to my doctors and the
medical community for all of these tests. The odds of having a baby with Down
Syndrome go from one in 1,200 to something along the lines of one in thirty by the time
you hit the big four-o. And even though it is a high functioning disability, still,
you worry, you panic, you feel guilty for caring so much. Then there are the
really severe disabilities, like Spina Bifida, and much worse.
The irony is, I had a great pregnancy: no puking, no hemorrhoids, no constipation,
but I couldn't really appreciate my carefree pregnancy — my anxiety
level was through the roof.
Like a good little trooper I carried around my secret pregnancy and showed up
to all my nerve-wracking appointments. I felt lonely, insecure, self-conscious
and really hungry. Still, I told almost no one. My best friend and mother had
both recently died. The risk of having a baby without your clan, your favorite
women around, also goes way up as you age. This may seem obvious, but it didn't
hit home until I was actually pregnant and gazing at the phone. There was no
close relative or soul sister to call, to just comfort me, to be gentle, to get
me through the really hard weeks.
©2007 Ondine Galsworth and Nerve Media
About the Author
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Ondine Galsworth is working on a novel about her experiences as a go-go dancer
and a book about her new addiction, the rodeo. A New York native, she now lives in
New Jersey.
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