Читать книгу The Three of U.S.: A New Life in New York - Peter Godwin - Страница 45

I’ve spent the last fortnight tracking down friends who have had amniocentesis. Of all the tests offered during pregnancy, this seems the most invasive, as they puncture the amniotic sac with a needle, and it carries the highest risk of miscarriage. Needless to say if I were two years younger I wouldn’t have to think about it, relying instead on various blood tests. But at thirty-six, though I have no contra-indicators, I am automatically down on the chart as ‘high risk’ and now stand a 1/150 chance of having a Down’s syndrome baby. Another disadvantage to geriatric motherhood.

‘Have you had a chance to think about amniocentesis?’ asks my new doctor, Dr Levy, gently, as we sit in the cubicle, trying to decipher the latest blurry photo from the twelve-week sonogram.

‘Oh God, is it really necessary?’ I grumble. ‘It sounds awful and I feel fine.’

‘Well, it’s entirely up to you,’ he says smoothly. ‘We would advise you to have it, but it’s your choice. There’s only one thing you need to think about seriously. Would a handicapped baby be deleterious to your lifestyle?’

Peter flashes me a look of alarm.

‘If it wouldn’t,’ Levy continues improbably, ‘then there’s no need to have amnio, though you might want to have one just so you know. Some people like to know in advance, so they can prepare themselves.’

Prepare themselves? Ye gods, how exactly?

‘But it sounds so risky,’ I mumble.

He shrugs. ‘It’s not without risk and we go through that with you beforehand. Nationally the rate of miscarriage from amniocentesis is around 1/350. Anecdotally at Beth Israel, the hospital we are affiliated to, I can tell you it’s a lot less.’

‘How many have you done yourself?’ demands Peter.

‘About a thousand.’

‘And how many have gone wrong?’

He puts his hands in his white pockets. ‘Two.’

‘What happened?’ Peter persists.

‘Well, one was an older mother, she was forty-two; and the other, she was about thirty-two, but there were other problems … Look, you don’t have to make your mind up now. Take a week or so and call me back. We do it at fifteen weeks, so if there is something wrong …’ He tails off, but we get the message.

I call friends in England. None of them has had amnio, not even Louisa, who’s now at the same stage and same age.

‘They said it was up to me,’ she says dreamily, ‘and I didn’t feel like disturbing it.’

Regardless of age, an informal survey of my American friends turns up that they have all had amnio, some simply to find out the sex. ‘It’s fine,’ urges Joyce, a brisk TV producer, sporting a floral sarong over her six-month belly. ‘Besides, don’t you want to know what sex it is?’

‘Oh, John forced me,’ cries Lisa, another friend, earnestly. ‘He needed to know if it was a boy or a girl so he could prepare himself.’

They’re incredulous when I tell them I don’t want to know until the birth. ‘It’s like a magical riddle,’ I say, as they laugh and swap uncomprehending glances.

Flora does at least admit she was terrified of miscarrying during the procedure. ‘Make sure you have a doctor with steady hands,’ she e-mails. I try to recall Levy’s hands, they seem plump and creamy, I don’t recall them shaking.