A Special Beginning: The Pregnancy of Our Son with Down Syndrome
When I first saw the two pink lines on the pregnancy test, my heart filled with a mix of excitement and nervous anticipation. Little did I know that this journey would be more extraordinary and transformative than I could have ever imagined.
In this blog post series, I want to share the deeply personal story of my pregnancy, the birth of my beautiful son, and the day we received his Down syndrome diagnosis. From the initial joy and anticipation to the unexpected challenges and profound love that followed, this is our story.
My hope in sharing this story is to provide comfort and connection to other parents who might be on a similar path. Whether you’re expecting a child with special needs or already navigating this journey, know that you are not alone. Together, we can find strength, understanding, and joy in the unexpected moments of life.
The Pregnancy
I was 42 years old, working as a line cook at a cozy bar and restaurant. It was an exceptionally busy night because the Philadelphia Eagles were playing the New England Patriots in the 52nd Super Bowl. The kitchen was hotter and busier than I had ever seen it. The owner decided to serve dinner buffet style, so we were constantly replenishing dishes. By the time the Eagles walked off the field as champions, I was ready to collapse! My feet were burning, my muscles were aching, and I felt completely exhausted. I decided I needed a break, so I grabbed my purse and headed to the restroom. (No one ever questions why a woman takes her purse to the restroom.) As I reached in to grab my phone, I realized I had stocked my purse a couple of days earlier for my upcoming period. That’s when it hit me!
I started to feel a little woozy, with a million thoughts running through my mind. How was my husband going to take the news? We had been trying to conceive for close to two years and had eventually given up, figuring it just wasn’t in the cards for us. Would he still be on board? Then there were my older children, aged 25, 24, 16, and 14—how were they going to handle the news? What about my job? My age? Could I even still do this? What would friends and relatives say? The thoughts were endless.
When I left work that night, everything was closed—not a pharmacy or convenience store open for miles. With nothing but my thoughts to keep me company on the 35-minute ride home, I imagined a thousand scenarios: the good, the bad, the ugly, and the devastatingly terrible, all running rampant in my mind. Once home, I fought the urge to wake my husband and tell him about the possibility. I decided there was nothing to be done in that moment, so I might as well try to get some sleep.
The next morning, I woke up early and headed straight to the pharmacy. I bought the test, hurried home, and rushed to the restroom. In my heart of hearts, I knew—I knew I was pregnant, I knew it was a boy, and I already had a name chosen. But I needed those two pink lines to show my husband. There was no way he was just going to take my word for it, not after all the maybes of the past two years. And there they were, the confirmation I needed. I shed a few tears of joy and took the test to show my husband. We were going to be parents again!
As it turned out, my husband was just as happy—if not happier—about the news than I was. However, we were not oblivious to the health concerns that a geriatric pregnancy can bring to both the mother and the unborn child. Although I will admit that being labeled “geriatric” was a bit concerning to me—I didn’t feel that old!