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I learned the results of our baby's karyotype while I sat at my desk in the tiny clinic office which I share with two other women. "Trisomy 15," the nurse repeated when I asked.
In an attempt to spare my feelings, I suppose, the nurse did not volunteer the information regarding gender of the baby -- so I asked that, too. "Are you sure you want to know?" she responded. Sure, I said. When she said, "It was a male," I felt my breath catch in my chest. I didn't cry, or even really feel like crying; it was actually somehow mildly elating to hear. A boy, I repeated. "Yes, a male," she said.
When I hung up the phone, I turned to my office mates and announced the news to them with a smile; they both looked at me a little oddly. I had no idea how to explain myself to them, so I didn't. Fortunately, they're friends.
Somehow, knowing the gender of this one helps to make it more real. People who've never lost a child cannot possibly understand what it is like to experience that elation and anticipation, only to end up with absolutely nothing in your arms. At least now I know that I was having a son. I really was.
The doctor now requests that both Jim and I have karyotypes done. The nurse briefly explained the term "balanced translocation" to me, and reassured that I would get a better understanding of it all from the genetic counselor to whom she was referring me for an appointment. I already know about "trisomies"; three of one chromosome, instead of the normal two. Having worked with children for so long, I'm familiar with Downs' Syndrome and the cause of it, trisomy 21. Balanced translocations are new to me -- has to do with a parent's own chromosomes being located in the wrong place on their DNA strand or something. At any rate, I've scheduled an appointment to have my blood drawn; Jim is dragging his feet.
For now, we're so worn out from this last loss, we haven't even discussed our future attempts to conceive. While I don't think we're throwing in the towel, I do think that we need a break this time. It's one thing to fall off the horse once and get right back on; when you keep falling off, you have to wonder if you're meant to ride at all.
© Tracy Morris
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