November 24, 2009 2:08 AM
Sarah Palin: on Trig and Down syndrome
Another of those incidents of foreign reporting outshining the Tired Old Media we used to depend on in the US. This from the UK Times - an excerpt from Going Rogue:
November 22, 2009
Sarah Palin: my life with a Down's syndrome child
In her memoir, US vice-presidential candidate tells of the problems and the joy of living with her special needs son
A couple of years ago I began to notice some peculiar yet familiar physical symptoms, like the smell of cigarettes making me feel more nauseated than usual. For a few weeks, I brushed these aside. Then I began to suspect something.
There was no way I could buy a home pregnancy test in Alaska. I was the state governor. The supermarket cashiers would know, the people in the queue would know, and the next thing I'd see would be a headline. There were still a few things that I thought were not for public consumption, at least not at first.
My chance came when I flew to New Orleans to speak at an oil and gas conference. I asked my security guy to drop me off at a pharmacy. Back at the hotel, before my speech, I followed the instructions on the pregnancy test box. Slowly a pink image materialized on the stick. Holy geez!
Todd and I had always dreamt of a big family, and he, especially, dreamt of having another boy -- bookends for his three daughters.
Related LinksI quickly prayed about this surreal situation. First, that I'd even be able to fathom it. I was happy but I could hear the critics:
"She'll be distracted from state business."
"She won't be physically up to the job."
"That's what we get for electing the first woman governor."
I sighed and stared at the ceiling. These are really less-than-ideal circumstances. And for a split second it hit me: I'm out of town. No one knows I'm pregnant. No one would ever have to know.
It was a fleeting thought, a sudden understanding of why many women feel pressured to make the "problem" go away. Sad, I thought, that our society has elevated things like education and career above the gift of bringing new life into the world. Yes, the timing of this pregnancy wasn't ideal. But that wasn't the baby's fault. I knew, though, what goes through a woman's mind when she finds herself in a difficult situation. At that moment, I was thankful for right-to-life groups that affirm the value of the child.
I didn't want to tell Todd on the phone, and when I arrived home after the conference he was away. Between my job and his we kept missing each other, so it was a few weeks before we were in the same room and I told him about the baby. He was ecstatic. For him, it's always been: the more, the merrier.
We kept our news to ourselves. We had always been private about our pregnancies. Our lives were an open book in virtually every other way, so for us this was just a special, sacred time, the one thing it seemed that just we two could know and enjoy together.
At 12 weeks, I saw my doctor, Cathy Baldwin-Johnson, or CBJ, as we called her. She looked at me kindly.
"Well, you're 43, so there's a higher chance of certain abnormalities."
Then she showed me some statistics, one of which said I had about a one in 80 chance of having a child with Down's syndrome.
I wasn't worried. I was healthy as a horse, with four perfectly healthy children. Besides, my sister Heather already had a special-needs son, Karcher, who had autism. He was our family's angel boy. In our family, we always said God knew what he was doing when he gave Heather the child with special needs. She was the one with the tender spirit who could not only handle but even thrive with a child with "challenges".
CBJ said she'd like me to have an ultrasound scan, so I walked into the office across the hall. The technician was a sweet, funny older lady who'd been doing the procedure for decades. She prepped me, and we joked about a lot of things while she pressed the wand across my belly.
Then she got a little quieter. Suddenly I flashed back to a grim ultrasound I'd had years before, when a stoic doctor had said: "There's nothing alive in there" -- a miscarriage.
Then the technician smiled. "I see boy parts ... would that be good?"
"Yes, that would be perfect!" God is so good, I thought. He knows what's best.
She kept passing the transducer across my abdomen, more slowly now. It seemed to be taking a long time. "Oops, sorry. Not sure on the boy parts after all. Your baby might be a girl."
By then she was taking so long that I didn't care whether it was a boy or a girl. A healthy fourth daughter would be great. Yep, just fine. Please tell me all is fine.
Then the technician said: "The baby's neck is a little bit thicker than what we would normally see . . ."
My first thought was, 12 weeks along and you can already measure the baby's neck? Amazing! Then, a bit more sombrely, I remembered that somewhere along the line I had heard that that was a sign of Down's syndrome. A whisper of fear tugged at my heart, but I brushed it away with a thought: God would never give me anything I can't handle. And I don't think I could handle that.
God knew me: I was busy. Got to go-go-go. I'd always yapped about how lucky I was that my kids were all healthy over-achievers, self-sufficient. Now, I thought, I've got a tough job and other kids who need me. I just couldn't imagine how I could add a baby with special needs and make it all work.
Unless He knows me better than I know myself, I thought a bit dismissively, God won't give me a special-needs child.
CBJ called the next day. Combined with my age, she said, the ultrasound pictures meant there was now a one in 12 chance the baby had Down's syndrome. "So?" I thought. That still means about a 90% chance everything's fine.
"There's a doctor in Anchorage I want you to go see, a geneticist," she added. "I'm also offering you an amniocentesis" -- the common prenatal test for genetic abnormalities.
I had always flippantly declined the amnios before, thinking they didn't matter, since I confidently asserted I would
never abort anyway. But this time I said yes. This time I wanted information. If there was something wrong, I wanted to be prepared.
Todd was out of town on the day of the appointment, so I visited the geneticist alone -- through a back door, under my maiden name. I felt a bit of fear. Three days later, I was in my Anchorage office when CBJ called from her office in Wasilla, my home town. I still remember what time it was: 2:22pm.
"I have the amnio results," she said. "I think you should come to my office ... Can you come now?"
"No, no, just give me the results over the phone," I said, indulging in a little denial. If I just steeled myself, I thought on some wishful level, if I just took the medicine straight, maybe God would reward my guts with good news.
CBJ hesitated, then said, "No ... I really think you need to come out here."
"Cathy, I've got so much to do here today. It's okay ... whatever it is, it's fine, just go ahead and tell me now."
"Okay," she said softly. "This child will be born with Down's syndrome -- " "I'm coming to Wasilla," I interrupted and hung up the phone.
I was shocked beyond words. Shocked that this was happening. How could God have done this? Obviously He knew Heather had a special-needs child. Didn't He think that was enough challenge for one family? I drove the 45 minutes to Wasilla gritting my teeth. I'm not going to cry. I'm not going to cry.
My stoicism in difficult times had always bugged and puzzled my friends and family. Bristol, my eldest daughter, once asked: "Mom, why don't you ever cry? The rest of us are watching some movie, crying our eyes out, and you're just sitting there."
Though I didn't tell Bristol this, I choke up all the time -- at The Star-Spangled Banner, at any military event, seeing newborn babies -- but secretly, where no one can see. Maybe it was because I'd grown up hunting and fishing with the guys, throwing elbows on the basketball court. Even when my heart was breaking on the inside, I just never wanted to seem weak. Now, as I pressed the accelerator past the speed limit towards Wasilla, my eyes stayed dry and my mind raced.
Maybe the test is wrong. Maybe my results are switched with somebody else. Maybe it's a mistake. God ... are you listening?
But when I got to CBJ's office, she showed me the pictures. There was an extra copy of chromosome 21.
"It's a boy," she said.
"A boy? You're sure? Thank you, God." For me, that was a glimmer of light, and I let it warm me as CBJ walked out of her office and returned with a book for expecting parents of babies with Down's syndrome. I thanked her and laid it in my lap, unopened.
I just wasn't ready; my sisters were the ones who could handle this, not me. Did I have enough love and compassion in me to do this? Don't you have to be wired a little differently to be gifted with the ability to raise a special-needs child, a child who isn't "perfect" in the eyes of society? I didn't know if I should be ashamed of myself for even thinking these things.
I read that almost 90% of Down's syndrome babies are aborted -- so wasn't that a message that this is not only a less-than-ideal circumstance but also one that it is virtually impossible to deal with? Now, just a couple of hours into this new world, I could not get my arms or heart around it. That fleeting thought descended on me again, not a consideration so much as a sudden understanding of why people would grasp at a quick "solution", a way to make the "problem" just go away. But again, I had to hold on to that seed of faith.
Todd finally returned a few days later. He plopped down on the bed, still in his winter coat. I handed him the ultrasound pictures, and that's when the dam broke. I could let my guard down.
"It's a boy," I said between the tears. "It's definitely a boy."
He looked up at me, and his eyes filled with tears. "See, Sarah? God knows what He's doing! This is great."
I stood beside the bed. I didn't know how to say it any other way but straight. "The baby has Down's syndrome."
Todd didn't speak. I remember him lying back on the bed, holding the ultrasound pictures and flipping through them. He'd look at one, put it in the back of the stack, look at the next. Over and over, silently, as though looking for answers.
Finally I sat down next to him. In his subdued way, he did not offer a reaction. So I had to ask. "Well ... what do you think?"
"How can they tell?" he asked quietly. "Are they sure?"
"Yes. There's an extra chromosome."
He set the pictures aside and turned his face towards mine. "I'm happy, and I'm sad," he said.
I thought it was pretty perfect the way he said that, because that's the way it was. That's the way I felt, too.
Todd said, "It's going to be okay."
I asked if he had the same question I had: "Why us?"
He looked genuinely surprised by my question and responded calmly: "Why not us?"
Read more at UK Times.
Posted in Down syndrome, Pro-Life Issues, Sarah Palin, Special education | Permalink
Comments
How very much I appreciate Sarah Palin's honesty about her pregnancy and the pure feelings of how she felt and then when she learn her sweet baby would have Downs Syndrome. All of her thoughts, feeling and reactions were so honest and pure. I had those same feelings. My first born had a Cleft palate and Cleft Lip....In the years that followed he had many corrective surgeries. Our daughter was born "PERFECT" until @ 3 months were found out she was blind a"Rubella Baby" and then @ 6 discovered she was "Retarded" That was the term 40 years ago. 40 years ago there was no sonograms. No Amnio tests. I felt like Sarah, but 40 years ago no one talked about "Feelings"...My children are now 40 and 42. They both still live at home and both still have "Special Needs" I am 67. Life has been hard and at times very sad...But God in His AMAZING MERCY AND POWER AND GRACE has brought us through some very tough times...Unlike Sarah we don't have a family of support. There are just the 4 of us. Other family members live far far away and we don't have much contact with them. I very much appreciate Sarah Palin and pray God will use her in a mighty way in whatever Leadership position He gives her....
Posted by: Rebecca Wold | November 24, 2009 2:51 AM
Read the article! Beautiful piece! One question though (and I am a Palin fan, but this one piece of the story left me wondering). If Sarah was in labor at the convention (which the book excerpt did not make clear- Braxton Hicks can be confused for real contractions), why didn't she go get checked out at a local Texas hospital? As an expectant mother, I can understand the drive to do anything possible to be home with my own familiar doctor and hospital, but I still wonder if in the same position if I would not have at least gone for an exam? Maybe too, she would have been media mobbed and had a hard time having any privacy in Texas or just plain didn't know a good doctor down there?
Not saying she's a bad mom, just wondering if there is any further enlightenment in the book about her birth experiences. Maybe as a 5th time mom, she knew her body well and could tell that the delivery could wait until she was back in Alaska? I don't know... just wondering:).
Posted by: Sarah | November 24, 2009 10:18 AM
I read this article over the weekend. It is very beautifully written and her feelings are expressed very articulately. As a mom with a 4 year old Down Syndrome child, I went through many of the same feelings and fears. I shared it with my father and he admitted that he "cried like a baby" when he read it! I can't help but contrast her big heart to her son and to people with disabilities to our current President. Our country obviously chose the very closed and little heart. How sad for us all!
Posted by: Julie | November 24, 2009 10:49 AM
OHHHHHHHHHHH I loved this article! What a sweet REAL woman she is. :) I can't imagine how scary it was to keep all of this inside for 7 months...
Thanks for sharing. I need to get the book.
Posted by: Lisa | November 24, 2009 5:02 PM
