The day my parents went in for my sonogram, their hearts were full of joy and excitement. They were eager to find out my gender and celebrate the new life they were bringing into the world, but they would leave that appointment distraught.

They were quickly met with what my mom described as a “very abrasive” doctor. Instead of joyful news, they were told that my heart had a spot — something called an echogenic focus — which some doctors consider a soft marker for Down syndrome.

My mother later documented the experience in her journal. She wrote:

“He said our chances of a Down syndrome baby were doubled and asked if we wanted amniocentesis — because we only had a couple more weeks if we wanted to terminate the pregnancy (have an abortion).”

As someone who has personally faced the temptation of abortion, I can’t imagine what my parents must have been going through at that moment. I found all of this out years later — when I was unexpectedly pregnant with my first daughter. My mom shared her journal with me then.

Reading her words and realizing that a doctor once considered me worthless over a possible diagnosis was devastating. What made it worse was learning that the diagnosis they used to devalue me had less than a 1% chance of being accurate. Yet even that small possibility was enough for a medical professional to immediately suggest ending my life.

Later in her journal, my mom wrote about the chaos that followed the appointment:

“I felt so discouraged. Then, at choir practice, Nurse Eva — whom we knew from church — said she had seen the records and noticed there were no structural abnormalities. She was so kind to intervene during a time of such stress. She spoke to the doctor we were supposed to see and told him how abhorrently his colleague had treated us. Dr. McCurdy called and told us there were no other indicators, and that even with the odds doubled, the total chance was still less than 1%.”

My mom never considered abortion — not even for a moment — and I’m so thankful for that. But I know hundreds of women never had a “Nurse Eva” in their lives like my mom did.

Seeing my mom — a devout Christian and unapologetically pro-life — recount how this diagnosis impacted her and my dad was deeply moving. She told me, “Eva was a delivery nurse we knew from church. And Dr. Shah was my obstetrician. If we hadn’t known Eva, hadn’t been able to access a second opinion, or didn’t have the strong belief system we did — we easily could have been influenced by that first doctor. And for something that was less than 1%!”

Even now, I can’t wrap my head around how a doctor could so casually suggest ending a life with a 1% chance that something might be different.

When my parents were told there was a 1% chance I could be born with Down syndrome, they left the room in fear — not because they didn’t love me, but because of how that 1% was presented. It wasn’t just a medical statistic; it felt like a warning. What if, instead of being met with a question like “Are you sure you want to continue?”, they had been met with reassurance — something framed in possibility, not panic? What if the first words they heard were, “No matter what, this child has value”?

Every life — regardless of ability, diagnosis, or disability — is intrinsically valuable. For a doctor to suggest, within hours of seeing my sonogram, that the possibility of Down syndrome made my life less worthy is not just heartbreaking — it’s dangerous.

That kind of medical bias devalues anyone who doesn’t meet arbitrary standards of “normal.” It sends the message that life is only worth protecting if it’s predictable, healthy, or convenient.

According to the National Institutes of Health, “Down syndrome is the most common chromosomal disorder, affecting approximately 1 in every 700 births. A systematic review of published literature in the U.S. estimated that termination rates range from 67% to 85% after a prenatal diagnosis.”

We live in a society that loudly proclaims inclusivity, yet the conversation seems to fall silent when it comes to the most vulnerable. Not only those within the womb, but especially those with disabilities. It’s a heartbreaking contradiction.

It can be extremely dangerous — and even life-threatening — when doctors begin to play God. Time and time again, women have shared hundreds of sworn testimonies saying they were pressured to end their child’s life after receiving a diagnosis. These aren’t just isolated moments — they reflect something much deeper happening within the medical system.

Emma Mellor said that she felt pressured during her entire pregnancy with her daughter Jaimie. She made it clear that abortion was not an option. “In all honesty, we were offered 15 terminations, even though we made it really clear that it wasn’t an option for us,” she said.

Even in stories like Emma’s, we can clearly see how the pro-choice side often emphasizes this dangerous idea of “choice.” But when “choice” looks like repeated pressure, it’s not really a choice at all.

When Jaimie was born, Emma was told “she had Down syndrome — but was otherwise healthy.” That simple sentence may seem harmless, but it carries a heavy message: that Down syndrome and health can’t coexist. This reinforces the harmful idea that a diagnosis like hers cancels out the chance for a full, meaningful life.

Medical bias doesn’t always come in the form of overt discrimination or outright statements. More often, it slips in quietly, through subtle comments or repeated suggestions over weeks and months. Instead of hearing about resources and support, expectant parents are walked through long, detailed explanations of how difficult, painful, and even miserable their lives could become if they continue the pregnancy.

Bias isn’t always in what’s said — it’s in what’s left unsaid.

We shouldn’t sugarcoat the challenges that can come with a difficult diagnosis. But when the story being told is one-sided, it reflects a much larger problem: society’s deeply rooted belief that disability equals a life less worthy.

Medical professionals are trained to offer “non-directive counseling” during prenatal testing. But when we see that 65 to 87% of children diagnosed with Down syndrome are being aborted, we have to ask: is that really what non-directive counseling looks like?

Expectant parents deserve better. They should never be pushed into decisions based on fear. They deserve to hear the truth — the full truth — not just the parts shaped by bias or silence.

As Christians, we are called to truly believe in the dignity of every human life. Our compassion must extend to the womb, especially when a child is labeled as “different.” Because every life — regardless of the odds — is worth fighting for.

We cannot claim to be true followers of Christ if we do not embody the true meaning of love. We must challenge medical bias by being an advocate for every life, no matter the circumstance of conception or the diagnosis in the womb.

Proverbs 31:8–9

Open your mouth for the mute,

for the rights of all who are destitute.

Open your mouth, judge righteously,

defend the rights of the poor and needy.

Gwyn Andrews serves as an intern at Family Research Council.