Let the parents decide for themselves if they decide they want and can take care of a child with Down Syndrome, and whatever their choice, it's theirs.
In this case, I think it's a good thing that these tests are available.
I have an adoptive brother who is 24 years old. But he has the mental capacity of a 2 or 3 year old. My parents did not 'sign up' for a special needs child, but they got one 'on accident'.
My brother does not have Down Syndrome, but he lives in a home with others who all have it.
If you ever feel unloved, go to a home where people with Down Syndrome live.
Every time I visit my brother, I'm getting at least a dozen hugs by each of them. Mental disability is called 'limited' here.
I see them dancing along the music with all their love and enthusiasm and not a shred of worry about how they might look.
And I'm awkwardly standing to the side line having serious doubts about who is the real 'limited' one in the room.
Every year on my brother's birthday, they each write a speech to tell him what they like about him, and how much they love him.
Some write it down, some try to memorize it, some just wing it. But it's all heartfelt in a way that I wish I could express myself.
That are some of the upsides of Down.
It's possible for someone with the Down Syndrome to have a normal to high IQ, but this is rare. Most of them are not able to live independently.
For their entire lives, they will need help. My brother and some of the people he lives with have simple jobs. Spikes in boxes. Wrapping things up. Simple farm work. Simple householding and cleaning.
My brother loves his packing job because the trucks come pick up all the boxes when the work is done and he loves trucks. He'll never be able to drive one.
There's always a caretaker in the house. They need help with medicine, bathing, dressing and getting ready for going to work if they can do any.
They are in their mid-twenties and none of them can go out unsupervised, because they do not have the mental capability to stay out of harms way in traffic, and to make it back home.
Some of them can read and write a bit and some can count a bit, but sorting out taxes? Never.
Their immune system isn't as strong as 'normal' people's.
Back in spring, one of the girls was so ill they thought she wouldn't live to see Summer. She miraculously recovered and seems to be doing well. For now.
Nearly half of people with Down Syndrome have heart defects and need multiple surgeries in their life. Thyroid gland related issues are common.
They are all motivated to exercise as much as possible, and treats are kept to a minimum because they put on weight easily.
People with down syndrome do not live as long as people without it. And when they get old, they have a high risk to develop dementia.
Homes aren't perfect. You can search the world for the best one and place your child there. It still won't be up to your standards.
I've seen my parents try. First just for the weekends. Since a few years, permanently.
There's been incidents. People gotten hurt. Things went missing. Innocents accused.
A friend of the family went through a lot to get their daughter in a home. But it didn't work out, and she couldn't stay there. She's in her mid 30s and is living with her parents again. Her parents are getting old and their daughter needs a lot of care.
Sometimes, both need to work on the same day, and there is no other choice but locking up their daughter in a padded playroom and hoping she'll be fine for the hours they're gone.
In contrast with my brother, I was the smartest kid in my class. Teachers told my parents "She's gonna make it far in life!"
When I was around 16, I applied for a school abroad. It was a school held in high regard and I was accepted.
Overjoyed, I showed my mother. "But that's too far away. If you study there, you'll want to live there. Then who will take care of your brother when we are too old?"
My brother brags about me a lot to his housemates. Because I can read and write and because I can drive a car. Even though I barely reach 5 feet and he's much taller than me, he looks up to me.
He comes back from his work and he gives me a music box wrapped in toilet paper, something he has stolen but he doesn't understand that it's wrong.
At times when I visit, he says to me, in his very limited vocabulary, that he missed me, those are the times I think "It's okay, it's fine. It's worth it that I gave up my dreams to take care of you because you can't help how you are."
But a selfish part of myself can't help to think how my life could have been. If.
