- I'm a scientist working in a genetic lab analyzing samples from pregnant people.
- I help determine the viability of a pregnancy and whether there are any genetic conditions.
No one looks forward to me doing my job. I also wish no one needed my services.
Working in the $4, I'm in the business of trying to provide answers during some of life's most difficult situations. Chromosomes help diagnose cancer, developmental issues, and a variety of $4 and $4 conditions present in utero.
Odds are I'll never actually meet the people whose samples I'm analyzing, but I often know a bit of their backstory. One thing is certain to me: These people are grieving as they wait for the results. Their biological samples come to me, and I literally hold their heartbreak in my hands.
I find genetic testing during pregnancy the hardest to process
For me, it's the prenatal cases that tend to hit the hardest.
While there are never any guarantees in medicine, I guarantee you there's never been a pregnant person who wanted me to be a part of their journey. If I'm involved, there's a question — a big one. A question that required a doctor to collect cells from the gestating life and send them for a barrage of tests.
Through scientific and practiced procedures, I culture those cells, allowing them to multiply and grow outside the body. From there, our team can often diagnose a chromosomal or other genetic pathology. While I see my fair share of $4 and $4, it's the products of conception — the catchall term for samples that come from pregnancies that are no longer growing — that stay on my mind.
I have to apologize for the sterility of my language, a consequence of working within the medical laboratory. Personally, it feels more like a coping mechanism. A gestating being is referred to as a fetus. Miscarriages before a specific time are classified as missed abortions. A stillbirth is often called intrauterine fetal demise. All of it is heartbreak.
Working behind the scenes leaves me feeling like a nameless testing machine. Samples are submitted, and results come out, at least most of the time. But I care about other people's heartbreak. Regardless of her name or background, I know there's a mother out there grieving, likely living through one of the worst moments of her life. And I want to give her an answer — something simple and clear, based on genetics, to try to explain what happened.
But the cruel truth is we often cannot provide a clear answer. Science and biology aren't as straightforward as they're presented in high school. Just like most of life, they're complicated.
Becoming a mom changed me
Something shifted in me after experiencing pregnancies of my own. The decision to create a new person is a heavy one, but it's also filled with excitement and hope.
While I know the science of embryonic development, I also know the emotional future you create for yourself and your family. I know the love and care that can manifest even in the very early days of discovering you're pregnant. I know the elation, relief, and anxiety of trying to get pregnant for years and seeing that early heartbeat; it feels both real and unreal in the same instant.
My approach at the lab bench changed after having children. Of course, my colleagues and I have always been respectful. But I give extra care, thought, and tenderness, if that's even possible with cell culturing. I think about the person carrying the pregnancy. I can't reach out and hold their hand, but I will gently hold their heartbreak.