What’s Really Important?

When I was pregnant with my first child, I was given a standard Alpha Fetoprotein test. It’s a blood test administered to the mother, designed to detect the possibility of certain birth defects. A high score, I was told, indicated a possible spina bifida, whereas a low score indicated the possibility of Down’s Syndrome.

A few days after the test, I got a call from my HMO. The woman on the other end of the line told me my score was unusually low. The odds, she said, that my baby had Down’s Syndrome was 1 in 90. That didn’t sound so bad until I found out that the usual odds are 1 in 10,000. She would, she said, schedule me for an amniocentesis that would determine if my baby did indeed have Down’s. 

Meanwhile I read up on amnios. I discovered, to my horror, that an amnio can cause a miscarriage.

[SIDENOTE: That was in 1990. Certainly, medical breakthroughs have improved maternal tests and procedures. If your obstetrician recommends a test or procedure, research current risks and discuss them with your doctor.]

Fortunately, the regular appointment with my doctor was the day before the amnio was scheduled. I asked her why I needed to put my baby at risk of a miscarriage to have this procedure done.

She was blunt: “So you can abort if it’s positive.”

“But I’m not going to abort even if it is positive,” I said. “This baby could have all kinds of things wrong with it. It could be blind or deaf. It could have Down’s Syndrome, but this is the baby God gave me, and I’m going to have it.”

I’ll never forget her reaction. Her tone softened. “You’re very unusual,” she said. “People expect perfect babies. If I were you, there is no way I would risk my baby’s life by having an amnio.” This was coming from an obstetrician, a doctor who specialized in this sort of thing.

I cancelled the amnio. My HMO refused me further treatment unless I signed a document that I would not sue if my child was born with defects the amnio might have detected.

In case you’re wondering how it all turned out, my little girl ended up valedictorian of her senior class. She won a full tuition scholarship to a major university, where the lowest grade she received was an A- (and she only got one of those). She had two straight A+ report cards. She was accepted at every university she applied to for graduate school and even was granted a National Science Foundation Fellowship. She’s now working on a PhD in chemical engineering.

It could have gone the other way. She could have been a Down’s Syndrome baby.

In fact, I would rather my daughter be the dumbest cluck who ever lived and go to Heaven than be the most intelligent person ever born and end up in Hell.

God doesn’t give us quizzes. God doesn’t ask how well we did on a high school test. He asks if we gave food to the hungry, drink to the thirsty, clothes to the naked. God is looking for a certain type of person, and when He looks, He’s not checking IQ scores.

That’s why, thrilled as I am by my daughter’s successes, I’m thousands of times more thrilled by her praying a daily rosary and attending weekly Eucharistic Adoration.

It’s something anyone can do.

You don’t even need a PhD.