The Three of Us by Joanna Coles Page B

outlooks, I naturally become convinced that we cannot escape one of the thousands of cunning inherited diseases, each a deadly reef around which our genes must navigate.
    Over tea later I am skimming idly through the New York Observer when I spot a full-page ad for Sloan-Kettering Hospital. It features a collage of sepia snapshots from a family album. A beaming baby romps in the foreground. Underneath the copy reads: ‘You’ve got your father’s eyes and your mother’s sense of humour. But how do you know you won’t get your grandfather’s cancer?’
    Wednesday, 22 July
    Joanna
    The actual amnio is booked at Beth Israel tomorrow, on condition we attend a ‘genetic workshop’ at the hospital today.
    Our counsellor introduces herself as Elena. ‘Now the first thing to remember is that amnio is optional,’ she smiles, sizing us up. There are four of us altogether, me and Peter – the sole man; a homely looking black woman in an African print dress called Rita, and a large, dark-haired woman with fuchsia lips so startling in her whey-faced complexion that I can’t stop sneaking glances at them.
    â€˜You’re probably wondering what actually happens,’ says Elena. ‘We find the pocket of fluid known as the amniotic sac and extract some fluid with a needle. Ultrasound is used as a guide, so we don’t hit the baby, and I should tell you to bring a bottle of water with you because a full bladder tilts the uterus and makes the ultrasound easier.’
    â€˜Last time I had an ultrasound’, interrupts whey-face, ‘they told me to drink eight cups of water in fifteen minutes. I told them they were going to have an accident on their hands!’
    â€˜Eight cups?’ exclaims Elena. ‘I think they meant eight ounces.’
    â€˜Well, they said eight cups,’ whey-face insists defensively.
    â€˜Well, for amnio’, Elena giggles, ‘one glass is just fine.’
    â€˜Does it hurt?’ demands Rita.
    â€˜No, an anaesthetic is not necessary, the abdomen doesn’t have many pain receptors, it is mostly fatty tissue.’
    We all nod in unison.
    â€˜Excuse me, but did you just say the baby is bathing in its urine?’ interrupts Peter.
    â€˜Yes,’ says Elena patiently. ‘And drinking it.’
    â€˜Oh, gross,’ says whey-face, discreetly unwrapping a boiled sweet, smuggling it to her lips and disguising the whole action with a cough.
    â€˜Maybe Sarah Miles is right,’ whispers Peter.
    Holding up a sheet headed ‘Chromosome Abnormalities in Live Births’, Elena battles on, explaining how the baby’s cells are extracted from the amniotic fluid and cultured to see if all is well.
    â€˜Now, let’s look at what might go wrong with the actual process,’ she says gingerly, glancing round to check we’re all still listening. I am frantically taking notes, Peter looks mildly embarrassed, Rita appears alarmed and whey-face, arms crossed belligerently, has mentally checked out from the whole process.
    â€˜One in two hundred experiences a complication, though that’s a national figure, and here the risk is probably lower,’ Elena continues. I jot this down, vaguely aware this doesn’t tally with my doctor’s figure. ‘It’s very rare, but the baby might be too active, in which case we would stop. And if the uterus is contracting, they may have to insert the needle twice.’
    There’s a scraping noise as Rita pushes her chair back and drops her head between her knees, moaning. Elena passes her a bottle of water. ‘If the baby moves towards the needle they remove it immediately. Or the needle may get stuck.
    â€˜Any time a chromosome is missing there’s going to be mental retardation,’ she adds soberly. ‘Down’s syndrome occurs when there are three number twenty-one chromosomes. The legal limit for abortion in New York State is twenty-four