came up too quick. It’s not though, that’s called ‘bends’. Down’s is a different thing entirely. I’ve met a few people with Down’s syndrome in the past and they all seemed nice enough. There was a lad at school called David and he loved life. I suppose the physical side of things and the learning problems that come with it are pretty debilitating. It’s for life, too. Everywhere on the Internet is suggesting that it would be a good idea to do the test that they can do for it. This needs to be done at the twelve week scan
It’s strange the reason everyone is suggesting that the test is done at that point is so that terminations can still be carried out. I’ve been thinking about this and I think it’s pretty unfair to terminate someone’s life, however many weeks away they may be from entering this world on the account that they might have Down’s syndrome. I’m not comfortable with doing something like that.
I suppose that’s one of the downsides to modern science. Where will it end, though? A missing finger – terminated; a funny looking eye – terminated. I suppose for some really horrible things, like having no arms or legs, it is something to think about … but even that, I’ve seen a guy on the Internet who hasn’t got any and he seems really happy, in fact, he does talks about it and goes swimming. He’s got a little bit of a foot on one side of his torso and makes extra use of that. It’s pretty amazing, really. In the world of 'get rid of the wrong', though, this chap wouldn't be around to go and talk at all sorts of colleges and summits about how happiness is an inside job.
I doubt anyone reading this in the future will have to make such decisions; I suspect that the same science that makes it possible now for people to rid themselves of problems, will have developed to be able to fix any problems before the birth.
I can't think about it anymore.
Monday February 6th 2012
I texted Alison:
Morning Babe, I hope you’re feeling better today. Don’t worry about what you said yesterday, I’m great at judging the murderers on the news when they do press conferences. No way you’re like them weirdos. X
She replied to say she’s booked the doctor’s appointment for tomorrow at ten. I’ve told Jane I’ve got to go for myself. I’m not going to tell her about the baby until I absolutely have to, you hear such horror stories about people getting sacked for having kids.
Tuesday February 7th 2012
I took Alison to see the doctor this morning. We were in there an hour and a half; mind you, only twenty-five minutes of that was actually time spent in front of a medical professional. The rest of the time we were just sitting in the waiting room collecting diseases off all the other people waiting.
We went in and the doctor took a blood sample off Alison and gave her abdomen the once-over with a machine that was hooked up to a microphone. We could hear the baby’s heart beating through the belly. It’s a moment I’ll never forget. It sounded really strong, like whoever it is in there had been running. I suppose it’s hard work making yourself into a person out of nothing, I’d be shagged out, too.
The blood test results will be with us tomorrow, the urine test they ran was also positive. I noticed that it was just one of the mid-range tests we’d seen for sale in Boots, but just in a plain box rather than a full colour one with all the adverts and claims of ninety-nine point four per cent accuracy.
The midwife was nice and put Alison at ease. We left in almost no doubt that we’re going to be parents. She is going to ring us tomorrow and tell us about the process.
She did say that she’d book us in for the ultrasounds, though. I asked when we could find out if it was a boy or a girl. ‘Just twenty weeks, love. Not long if you’re as far along as you think,’ she replied.
She’s right – if Alison’s last period was over two months ago, we’ve only got a few weeks and then we’re at the scan.
The midwife did say we should think about not telling people until the twelve-week point. I looked at Alison and raised an eyebrow at that point. The midwife understood what was happening. I was grassing Alison up to the midwife, that’s what was happening.
Alison ‘accidentally’ spilt hot coffee over me in the cafe after. My white trainers are now stained.
I didn’t bother going back into work today. I rang Jane and said that I had been sent to the hospital for a test and there was a wait. She said it was OK this time, but not to make it a regular thing. I promised not to.
After Alison went to bed, I got on the Internet and started looking at Down’s syndrome information. I couldn’t find any famous people that had it, but there have been some great achievers.
Wednesday February 8th 2012
The midwife called Alison at around ten; Alison, in turn, called me straight away. Jane said I could take the call, but only because I had already answered it. Boris had a celebratory drink of the cooking wine when I told him the news. He’s the only person I’ve told and he’s promised he won’t tell anyone.
I’ve been thinking about Down’s syndrome. Boris, who called it mongaloydolia said that it’s very common in Russia, due to all the metal in the water, put there by the KGB to keep the numbers of people low. He seems convinced that if a baby is named ‘Boris’ as soon as the parents find out they’re pregnant then it won’t occur. He really is an idiot.
Alison wants to tell everyone now, but I’ve insisted we hold off until I’ve told my parents.
I spent the rest of the day checking her Facebook to make sure she didn’t announce it. She hasn’t done as yet.
11.00 p.m.
I can’t sleep. In nine months I’m going to be a father. I work in a kitchen. This is not a good combination.
11.45 p.m.
I keep thinking about having to make a decision if the baby has Down’s syndrome. Alison still doesn’t know I have this worry, she’s not mentioned it either. I keep thinking about David running about on the football pitch and the time he laughed until he had to be helped to get up. I don’t want to have to think about getting rid of David or his little counterpart.
Thursday February 9th 2012
Keith phoned this evening. He wants to go for a drink tomorrow night after work. I suppose I better go or he’ll think something is up and start turning up at my house all the time like he did last time he assumed I’d harmed myself.
I don't really want to have to make the decision re the Down’s syndrome test. I've read there can be some problems with the actual test, which is crazy. How can they have a test that can cause more harm than good? It's completely ridiculous. I suppose it's the same as some of the antidepressants out there that actually have suicide ideation as side effects. I kid you not.
I've decided I'm not going to bring up the conversation with Alison about Down’s syndrome. I'm not sure what her views are on it. I don't want to start a row, I'm still not sure what my own views are. It just feels wrong to get rid of someone just because they have a disability that might make things a bit difficult for us. I'll see if she brings it up.
I think I’ll speak to Keith about it.
Friday February 10th 2012
I went out with Keith tonight. I didn’t tell Alison that’s why I wanted her to go home, but I needed to run things past him. He was shocked when I told him. Then he asked if I was winding him up. He could tell by the look on my face that I wasn’t, though.
‘Keeping it, then?’ was Keith's first question.
‘Of course I’m fucking keeping it!’ I told him. ‘I wouldn’t be telling you about it if we were planning on terminating it,’ I added, using the terminology I learnt from my book.
‘Hard work, there, mate,’ he said.
‘I know. Think it could be pretty cool, though. You could be Godfather if you like?’ I asked.
‘I’m not Christian, though,’ Keith said seriously.
‘You don’t need to be. I don’t even think we do,’ I informed him.
‘Oh, OK. Yeah, I’ll do it. What you having, a girl or a boy?’
‘They don’t tell you until you’re twenty weeks gone.’
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‘Interesting stuff,’ Keith confirmed, taking a sup of his shandy.
I wanted to ask Keith about the Down’s syndrome thing but I got nervous. I didn’t want him to think I was being an arse. Some people get funny about things like that and any questions raised against the government advice that is rolled out at GP’s surgeries and hospitals is considered wrong; it’s all accepted as fact without any sort of scrutiny at all. Keith is one of those people. I’m not. I hate the way we are force-fed lies by the people that are supposed to be our trusted servants. Anyway, I didn’t tell Keith. It’s something I need to sort out in my own head.
That was all he had to say about things, really; he had a few more silly questions throughout the evening, but mainly we just played Call of Duty and talked about that.
It was nice to be out the house, though, and a bit of escapism in a virtual killing game did the trick nicely.
Saturday February 11th 2012
I rang my parents tonight. Mum answered. Dad was outside fixing his shed. God knows what it was he was fixing, as every time I go round he tells me how wonderful it is and that being able to build your own shed is what makes a man.
I invited myself round to dinner tomorrow and told Mum I would be bringing a woman with me. Once she’d stopped screaming with excitement, the questions started. ‘What does she like to eat? What doesn’t she like? Shall we go out? Shall we get a