SCREEN TIME.

Motherhood in an age of reproductive surveillance.

- BY JESSICA WINTER

When the writer Amanda Hess was twenty-nine weeks pregnant with her first child, her doctor, looking at an ultrasound, “saw something he did not like.” He suspected a rare genetic condition; Hess underwent an amniocentesis and then an MRI. She sought out a second opinion—which augured catastrophe and, it turned out, was completely wrong—and a third, steadying one. Her son was eventually given a diagnosis of Beckwith-Wiedemann syndrome, which puts babies at higher risk for hypoglycemia and certain cancers and makes their little bodies grow fast; often, their tongues become too large for their mouths, requiring corrective surgery.

Extensive testing showed no genetic or environmental cause for her son's condition, yet Hess felt somehow culpable. “I worried over what I had done to trigger it, over the dark secret of my body that had determined his suffering,” she writes in her memoir, “Second Life: Having a Child in the Digital Age” (Doubleday). Her apprehensions were reinforced by her medical chart, which logged ominous-seeming F.Y.I.s that included “Advanced maternal age” (she was thirty-five), “Teratogen exposure” (owing to a tablet of the anti-anxiety medication Ativan, taken at the six-week mark), and “Anxiety during pregnancy.” These facts revealed nothing about her baby’s prospects, yet they followed Hess around like a misdemeanor rap sheet. Immediately after her son's birth, by C-section, a labor-and-delivery nurse turned to her—“the paralyzed, split-open, twenty-second-old mother”—and asked, “When did you stop taking the Ativan in pregnancy?”