The late term abortion I never had

Memory wall

Have you had to sit down and make a medical decision that could potentially end up aborting the 5 month-old fetus you have declared as your baby?

I have.

It was 1997 and Napier and I were getting ready to leave on our last vacation as a 'just the two of us'. We figured that once the baby was born our lives would be altered forever as three and that no matter how 'romantic' and exclusive the getwaway, once you have a child to care for, you're life, your body and your mind become inexorably linked to them and forever living in a world that would be 'just the two of us AND BABY'.

So you can imagine how unhappy I was when we were called from the OB/GYN's office to discuss a test I had but heard of in passing.

The results of an alphafetoprotein test had come in. This test was also known at the time as "The Triple Test" and it was developed by some R&D company with deep lobbying pockets to, screen for a slew of birth defects, one of them being Down Syndrome.

This test has become the bane of many pregnant women (now it, by the way, known as the Quadruple Test).

If you do not have an exact date of conception, this particular test is notorious for a ridiculous high percentage of false positives

Here from an article that appeared in Mothering back in the Summer 1990:

Recent literature points out that the predictive value of AFP testing is appallingly low. On the first screening, about 5 percent of all women tested received abnormally high readings. However, only 1 or 2 percent of them actually carry babies with neural tube defects. This means that of every 2,000 women tested, 100 will have an abnormal reading, but only 1 or 2 will be carrying a fetus with this congenital defect. For many women with low AFP readings, the risk of having a baby with Down Syndrome (about 1 in 378 for 35 year olds, and dramatically lower for younger women) is lower than the risk of losing a healthy baby through amniocentesis (about 1 in 200).

The question is, why is a test with such a high false-positive rate routinely offered to pregnant women? A woman who wants to know if she is carrying a fetus with problems might be advised to have amniocentesis instead of a test so unreliable that it can neither dispel her worries nor confirm them.

What's more, the high incidence of false alarms is only part of the problem. According to statistics, the AFP test misses about 40 percent of spina bifida cases, 10 percent of anencephaly cases, and 80 percent of fetuses with Down Syndrome. All of which makes a negative result by on means reassuring.

Aside from predictability problems, physical and emotional consequences are at stake. We know that bad news from an AFP test takes its toll on the pregnant woman. What we do not know is just how much interferes with the optimal development of her unborn child. Nor do we know the extent to which it sets into motion something even more insidious: the likelihood of being scared into terminating a pregnancy at the first hint of problems.

Given the test's high fallibility and the fact that it screens for extremely rare defects detectable by other means, it seems that the only group to substantially benefit from AFP screening are those who make their living in the field of prenatal testing. Unquestionably, "failed" AFP tests result in many more candidates for ultrasound and amniocentesis than would otherwise consent to these procedures, in light of their risks and their costs. In the New York City area, each AFP test costs about $60, ultrasound runs around $500, and amniocentesis can amount to a set-back of over $1,000.

The statistical accuracy percentages had not changed much by 1997. What did go up was the cost of re-testing, ultrasound and now the added insult-to-injury of having to consult a genetics counselor because, thanks to this screen, the OB/GYN latched on to the idea that somehow I was a high risk pregnancy.

What's worse? When we were called into the OB/GYNs office, she did so to tell us that she was labeling me a "high risk" pregnancy. This was an "opportunity" for us to start talking about a C-section and, in the case of anything wrong with the fetus, 'options' to handle the situation.

Options in this case meaning abortion.

I was livid. I wanted to take the bitch by the throat and kill her right there instantly. I wanted to hurt her beyond repair.

It wasn't just the fact that there are no histories of genetics problems in either of our families. I did not want to have the test done because I didn't have an accurate date of conception. I had no idea when I became pregnant because I had not a clue as to when my last period had happened. It could have been 4.5 or 6 months before the day, for all I knew, but I could not pin down a date --and that is a HUGE reason for the failure of this test.

Yet this woman who called herself a feminist obstretician didn't want anything to do with that little fact --particularly since that would put her "on call" dangerously close to her wedding date.

Yes people. I was a high risk pregnancy not any other medical reason that we did not know for sure if that baby's birth was going to fall around her wedding date.

To make matters worse, once she labeled us a high risk pregnancy it didn't matter if we moved to another practice. The whole battery of tests would have to be done anew and we would still have the stench of "risky" written all over my medical records.

So now, between a rock and a hard place, we we were forced to talk to a genetics counselor who re-ignited my desire for vengeance.

Because, let me be clear : I did not decide to become a mother because I was told I had a baby.

I am woman and as an autonomous being, I decide is a fetus becomes my baby.

This is not the job of any god.

This is not the job of any man.

This is not the job of any law.

I am woman : Life begins when I make the choice.

I had already chosen this baby as mine. I had already called myself a mother. Not to be, but made. My son's face was all that I awaited. Not motherhood, not 'life' because that already had arrived with my choice.

So when the genetics counselor used the word 'terminate' in his presentation, I didn't want to cry. I wanted to kill to protect my baby, my flesh and blood, my new life.

Even to this day, the thought of losing him hurts like a million knives piercing my heart.

I have two very good friends who went through the horror of ending their pregnancies. A third one went through the horror of birthing a baby that was dead. To a fourth, her apparently healthy baby died hours after it was born of heart failure.

The women who aborted their severely diffective fetuses didn't have greiving counseling because they had abortions. They grieved because they lost their babies. This is a fucking distiction that I still have yet to hear people make when speaking of genetics defects and the decision to abort a fetus.

Who wants to carry to term a fetus that will die within minutes of being born if it does not die from labor? Some do because they need to see the baby before burial and that's their way of grieving. But those who do not choose to take to term a defective fetus, should have the right to do so if that is what's best for the grieving woman. If that is her choice, if she is fine with the decision, WHO ARE WE TO JUDGE?

What made my agony worse was that the chances of aborting my baby due to an amniocentesis or having the amniotic fluid leak imperceptibly until he died were greater than the chances of him having Down Syndrome.

I can't tell you how horrible is the thought of losing your baby to an "acceptable" rate of medical failure.

Yes, because spontaneously abortion your child after an amniocentesis somehow was far more acceptable and less risky than the high failure rates of a screening test.

Friday we got word about the results. Monday we were to meet with the genetics counselor. Tuesday was the second sonogram and if we went ahead with it, then a week after that would have been the amniocentesis and two weeks after that the results --if not surprised with the fatal consequences of the test itself.

Friday we were supposed to get on a plain and head to Madrid.

That week in April of 2007 was one of the longest weeks of my life. It was life transforming to say the least.

For one, it solidified my complete distrust on the US Medical establishment, particularly Obstetrics. It also cemented my complete lack of confidence on the FDA --because their "Pay to Approve" policies were the reason why we have now so many shoddy medical tests and pharmaceuticals rushed into market with the smallest of clinical trials.

Second, that week really made me distrustful of women who cheerlead the growing number of invasive procedures around birth. You cannot be a feminist and blindly accept the current practices of the medical establishment --especially when Obstetrics have turned birth into a disease and midwives are still treated as witches.

Last but not least, that week crystalized my definition of choice and my rock-solid affirmation that it is only up to woman to decide if a fetus will become her progeny.

That Monday I went into the doctor's office into battle mode. Boedica and Anacaona would have been proud.

I went in there to tell them this baby was mine to keep. I went in there to tell them that this baby was not a high risk to anybody. I went in there to tell them to back the fuck off and respect this body of mine and this child of mine.

I walked out of that office with a certainty and a purpose that I had never ever had before in my life. I knew the motherfuckers were wrong. I knew there was nothing wrong with me or my child.

We anyhow had a second sonogram --just because we wanted to see him. And there he was, in all his fetus-ish glory, taking a nap with his thumb in his mouth.

All was well.

And still is. Ten years this August 21st, to be exact.

Bookmark/Search this post with:

| | | | |