To Amnio or Not to Amnio

That really is the question. Since it is not proper to divulge my wife’s age, let’s just say I am over 35 so it has been suggested that we consider an amniocentesis because of her, I mean, my age.

Women are tough. Whoever implied that men might have the tougher role in a pregnancy was an idiot. Knowing the pain my wife is scheduled to endure over the next several months, she has little sympathy for any of my ailments. After I banged my hip on the bed the other day, I lay writhing in pain on the bedroom floor.

"What happened to you?"

"I just whaled my hip on the bedpost. I think I ruptured my uterus."

"Boo-hoo. I have to be gored with a needle through my stomach in a couple of weeks. Get up. And by the way, you don’t have a uterus."

I looked it up. She is right.

Now, in case you do not know what an amnio is, remember in Pulp Fiction when Vincent plunged Lance’s needle into Mia’s heart to resuscitate her? It’s just like that; only the needle goes a little lower into the abdomen. Basically, you become a human shish-ka-bob.

Just looking at the cartoon drawings of this procedure in my pregnancy books made my knees buckle like Joe Thiesman’s leg. So why would one subject themselves to such agony?

Without going into any detail, there are benefits and risks involved and the benefits seem to have an edge over the risks. Even though it sounds dreadful, the pain is supposed to be relatively minimal. In the meantime, as we make our decision, I am going to coach little Zoë on the art of ducking. Just in case.