I’ve never been a huge fan of testing. My husband, who is diabetic, has to do it all the time. Several times a day he pricks holes in his fingers, checking his blood sugar levels. It’s a way of life. I’ve had my share of blood tests, but nothing in comparison to him. There have been few times in my life when I have been ruled by the phlebotomist.
Those times have been most recently characterised by fear and uncertainty, I have to admit; fear of what the results might mean. The tests never had any significance the first time round. Back then, when I was expecting baby number one, I submitted my innocent arm without a second thought. I had no idea what a ‘high risk’ verdict might be, or of how I would feel about the prospect.
After Sam was born, and Down Syndrome was diagnosed, the pair…
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