The Story of Oliver

The age-old question of whether the grass is truly greener on the other side rings in my mind when I debate whether knowing the fate of our son was beneficial in the long run—or if it would have been easier not knowing at all.

Like most couples, we were overjoyed when we found out we were pregnant. Call it a woman’s intuition, but I just knew before I even took the test. I remember waking up early, taking it, and running back to bed, waiting for the results. I told myself I’d go back to sleep and check it when it was time to get up—but that lasted all of a few seconds. Seeing “pregnant” flash across the test was an out-of-body experience. I was pregnant. I was actually pregnant.

The weeks that followed were pure bliss. I went to my first appointment and was asked if I wanted to do genetic testing—partly due to my age, but also for the opportunity to find out the gender early. I didn’t even consider that anything could go wrong. I was just excited to know the gender in two weeks.

On December 15th, as I sat at the dining table enjoying breakfast with my husband before work, I received a call from my doctor’s office. “My results,” I thought! The nurse identified me and said, “Your results are showing positive for Trisomy …