Published: 23 February 2021
Last updated: 4 March 2024
“THERE’S HIS HAND,” the doctor said.
“Look, he’s waving at us,” said my husband, and he smiled at me.
“It’s too thick,” the doctor stated.
I didn’t understand what he was saying. I thought he meant the baby was in a position that made it difficult to measure.
“We expect to see a nuchal fluid value of under two, this is over four.” He spoke calmly.
I started to understand that something was wrong.
“What does this mean?”
My only conscious thought was thank God my husband was here, holding my hand, I couldn’t survive this alone.
The doctor played around with numbers on the computer. “There is a 1 in 2 likelihood of a chromosomal abnormality. I recommend further testing.”
Downstairs in the parking lot after that horrible appointment, I told my husband: “If he’s right, and it’s allowed, I want an abortion.”
“An abortion?” my husband replied. “How can you say that? We saw him. He waved at us.”
I never thought I would have an abortion. It wasn’t that I was against abortion per se; it just wasn’t something that I personally would ever do. Living in an ultra-Orthodox community in Jerusalem, I compartmentalised abortions as belonging to a different world.
FULL STORY My choice (Tablet)
