“The proof is in the pudding.” The geneticist called immediately after she received the results of our microarray on Evelyn. Her chipper voice sang through the phone. Her smile, held up by enthusiasm, sparkled through her words.
For months, the doctors presumed Evelyn had a genetic condition. Her fate was overshadowed by Sophia’s. She was monitored ad nauseam, like a tiny ant burning under the radiant heat of a magnifying glass in the sunlight. High risk doctors accelerated the alarm, turning our regular OBs into lemmings.
We knew something was different. We knew the pregnancy felt better, healthier, stronger. We knew this would not turn out like Sophia. Our words, protests, concerns, and optimism fell on deaf ears. Time and again we were told Evelyn would have a serious condition. She was expected to have spina bifida, heart defects, trisomy 18–and most likely a serious, rare, unviable genetic condition.
When the phone rang early Friday morning, and the geneticist’s uplifting tone confirmed our long-held suspicions, my tears stained my pant legs, dripping uncontrollably. The salty sobs released the vindication, validation, relief, anger, anxiety–and ultimately the joy–for which we have so longed.
“While the microarray does not test for every possible genetic condition, it tests for a lot. As far as I am concerned, the proof is in the pudding. As long as Evelyn grows and responds well to her therapy, I have no reason to believe there is a genetic component.”
How I wish we could take this back to every doctor who doubted us. How I wish we could see the look on the face of the doctor who expected Evelyn to die within a week of finding her “heart defect”. How I wish we could get an apology for all the trauma, distress, and pain the doctors caused during this pregnancy.
Instead, we move ahead. We know we were right. We know the proof is really in the pudding.