We visited plenty of doctors, midwives and specialists. Then we landed waiting in an exam room at a Detroit obstetric clinic. The director of the clinic, as part of our evaluation, wanted us to meet a genetic specialist. It was our last consultation before we made our decision.
The genetic specialist sat down in front of us. She was our age, 30-something, dressed like a flight attendant in a navy business suit and pumps. On her lap was a laminated spiral-bound notebook.
She flipped quickly through the pages and read us standardized genetic diagrams. We stared at the information, trying to grasp the meaning. Her eyes never left the script.
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