baby … A preliminary genetic
profile came back.”
I grew excited. “She isn’t Down’s—”
“Shhhh. I shouldn’t be talking to you about patients. Even babies.”
I nodded, then whispered, “So she’s normal?”
“Not exactly. She is what we call mosaic. That means she has some regular cells and some that are trisomy 21.”
“How does that happen?”
“Down’s is the result of the egg having an extra chromosome. Mosaic, the accident, happens in the second pass when the nucleus
splits incorrectly.”
I nodded, but my face must have spelled confusion.
He said, “The union produces one zygote, yes. It splits into two normal cells. Then one of the normal cells splits incorrectly,
making the body have half normal cells and half with trisomy 21—an extra twenty-first chromosome. What it means is the prognosis
for her intellectual capacity is greater. She could be anywhere from retarded to normal.”
“That’s a long range.”
“True, but it’s still good news. This was unexpected, Cindy. Mosaic is very rare.”
My grin was real. “That’s wonderful.” My expression turned sober. “What does it say about her parents?”
“One of them could be Down’s, maybe not. We don’t know. The only thing I can tell you is that she has both white and black
blood in her.” Our drinks came. “Enough of business. You know very much about me, but I know little about you. Tell me about
your father and your religious stepmother and the rest of your family.”
I was momentarily taken aback. I had expected him to ask about me. Not to do so would have been rude. But I thought he’d start
out with the usual: Why did I decide to become a cop? To ask about my family meant he was curious about
me,
not my profession. So I answered his question. I spoke about Rina and my father, about her influence in my father’s religious
development. I segued to my mother and her current husband, Alan. Then I spoke about how I had grown up without any religious
guidance, so it was a big shock when my father married my stepmother.
The service was slow. Normally, I’d be impatient, but I was yapping so much, I barely noticed. When the food finally came,
I hadn’t even thought about the waiting time. The cuisine was piquant, not unlike Indian and Middle Eastern cuisine, but unique
because of a sour taste from the
injera.
I couldn’t say it was love at first taste, but my tongue wasn’t complaining.
“What do you think?” Koby asked after a few moments.
“It’s good.” I tore off some
injera
and used it to eat the lentils. “Something really primal about eating with your fingers. Like when you were five and playing
in the sandbox, getting your hands all dirty.”
“Enjoy.”
“Thank you. You’ve hardly said a word,” I remarked. “You’re a very good listener.”
“You’re very interesting.”
“Now that is bald flattery.” I hid my face behind my water glass. “I think it’s because you’re a nurse. You’re used to listening
to people.”
“Of course. And you too, no?”
“Yes, that’s true. Ninety percent of what I do is listening to people.”
“I as well.”
“Even with kids?”
He thought about that. “With the small children … The small ones don’t talk much. You make games to get them through the procedures.
We have on staff several psychologists who do this. When they are too busy, the nurses do it. The little girls play with dolls,
the boys … They like to hit and punch. Boys always like to hit and punch. When they are sick and angry, they really like to
hit and punch. I spend a lot of time dodging punches from very angry boys.”
“It must be hard being around sick children all the time.”
He shrugged. “Sometimes. But it is rewarding. Like your job?”
“Yes.” I nodded. “Like my job.”
Koby said, “I change the subject now. The word
‘gursha’
means mouthful, but it’s also a tradition that we Ethiopians do.”
“What’s
profile came back.”
I grew excited. “She isn’t Down’s—”
“Shhhh. I shouldn’t be talking to you about patients. Even babies.”
I nodded, then whispered, “So she’s normal?”
“Not exactly. She is what we call mosaic. That means she has some regular cells and some that are trisomy 21.”
“How does that happen?”
“Down’s is the result of the egg having an extra chromosome. Mosaic, the accident, happens in the second pass when the nucleus
splits incorrectly.”
I nodded, but my face must have spelled confusion.
He said, “The union produces one zygote, yes. It splits into two normal cells. Then one of the normal cells splits incorrectly,
making the body have half normal cells and half with trisomy 21—an extra twenty-first chromosome. What it means is the prognosis
for her intellectual capacity is greater. She could be anywhere from retarded to normal.”
“That’s a long range.”
“True, but it’s still good news. This was unexpected, Cindy. Mosaic is very rare.”
My grin was real. “That’s wonderful.” My expression turned sober. “What does it say about her parents?”
“One of them could be Down’s, maybe not. We don’t know. The only thing I can tell you is that she has both white and black
blood in her.” Our drinks came. “Enough of business. You know very much about me, but I know little about you. Tell me about
your father and your religious stepmother and the rest of your family.”
I was momentarily taken aback. I had expected him to ask about me. Not to do so would have been rude. But I thought he’d start
out with the usual: Why did I decide to become a cop? To ask about my family meant he was curious about
me,
not my profession. So I answered his question. I spoke about Rina and my father, about her influence in my father’s religious
development. I segued to my mother and her current husband, Alan. Then I spoke about how I had grown up without any religious
guidance, so it was a big shock when my father married my stepmother.
The service was slow. Normally, I’d be impatient, but I was yapping so much, I barely noticed. When the food finally came,
I hadn’t even thought about the waiting time. The cuisine was piquant, not unlike Indian and Middle Eastern cuisine, but unique
because of a sour taste from the
injera.
I couldn’t say it was love at first taste, but my tongue wasn’t complaining.
“What do you think?” Koby asked after a few moments.
“It’s good.” I tore off some
injera
and used it to eat the lentils. “Something really primal about eating with your fingers. Like when you were five and playing
in the sandbox, getting your hands all dirty.”
“Enjoy.”
“Thank you. You’ve hardly said a word,” I remarked. “You’re a very good listener.”
“You’re very interesting.”
“Now that is bald flattery.” I hid my face behind my water glass. “I think it’s because you’re a nurse. You’re used to listening
to people.”
“Of course. And you too, no?”
“Yes, that’s true. Ninety percent of what I do is listening to people.”
“I as well.”
“Even with kids?”
He thought about that. “With the small children … The small ones don’t talk much. You make games to get them through the procedures.
We have on staff several psychologists who do this. When they are too busy, the nurses do it. The little girls play with dolls,
the boys … They like to hit and punch. Boys always like to hit and punch. When they are sick and angry, they really like to
hit and punch. I spend a lot of time dodging punches from very angry boys.”
“It must be hard being around sick children all the time.”
He shrugged. “Sometimes. But it is rewarding. Like your job?”
“Yes.” I nodded. “Like my job.”
Koby said, “I change the subject now. The word
‘gursha’
means mouthful, but it’s also a tradition that we Ethiopians do.”
“What’s
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