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Villanova, Pa. — It was the most heart-wrenching moment of our lives, and all I could do was stare at the tissue box.

A week earlier, my pregnant wife, Jennifer, had undergone a routine prenatal ultrasound that revealed “soft markers” suggestive of genetic abnormalities. Now we were in the consultation room awaiting the results of the amniocentesis, which would conclusively determine whether our daughter would be born with Down syndrome.

Of course they don’t put you in the room with the industrial-strength Kleenex just to tell you everything’s going to be fine. After the doctors gave us the news, they casually told us how an in utero diagnosis of Down syndrome meant perhaps a 50-50 chance of miscarriage or stillbirth.

If our daughter somehow made it to full term, her expected life span would be far shorter than a typical child’s, and she’d most likely have a whole host of medical issues requiring a lifetime of medical care. Then consider the cognitive impairments, special education programs and social ostracism. It was a lot to take in.

Hammering home...