FOLLOW THE SCIENCE

Estella Rosamond Rivera sat in the over sized easy chair and stared lovingly at her new born son. His head was covered with dark hair that swirled around his scalp in peaceful wisps. He was wrapped in swaddling so that only his face was visible. The wrap covered a myriad of problems, congenital deformities of the feet, arms, and back. Still, she loved her child, and held him tenderly against her breast. The child suckled as she stared down at him. The child ate greedily. Estella began to rock gently back and forth, a symptom of her growing nervousness. She hummed a little tune.

It had been a difficult birth. The doctor had warned her. In fact, he recommended that she terminate the pregnancy. All of the odds were against her and the child. Every scan had indicated that something was wrong, that there were--as the doctor delicately put it--problems. Estella did not care. She was optimistic. Medical science was advancing every day, curing diseases faster than they could be discovered, coming up with new treatments. New drugs were always flooding into the market. New surgical techniques were always being perfected. She was certain that science would have an answer for whatever problems might occur. Like everyone else in her society, her faith in science was unshakable. Science would find a way. Science would find a cure.

When the baby was born, it was premature and underweight. His left foot was absent and his right foot was clubbed. The left arm ended at the elbow, and the right arm, somewhat longer, tapered into three bony, twisted fingers that closed like a pincer. The deformities, said the doctor, were severe. He thought the baby was too small to undergo surgery. Perhaps in a few months, when the child was stronger.

The child would be well cared for. Science had long ago eradicated hunger and want. Improved methods of farming and preserving, faster shipping and storage, foods modified for better nutrition--all of these things ensured a healthy diet. Science had led the way to cheaper housing that was friendly to the environment. Science had provided jobs for everyone, and better techniques for educating the masses. Science had erased environmental damage and provided clean water for everyone. Science had virtually eliminated crime, leaving only the pathological to kill; and science had found progressively better ways to treat those born deviants. It was the great triumph of science, that it had ushered in the new society. Everyone was provided for in the world of the rational. Every policy, every decision was guided by the objective world of data and analysis. Everyone knew that judgment was flawed unless it was backed by impersonal facts. Life was better when everyone followed the science.

So Estella sat with her little child, certain of the science that would make her little child whole. Estella believed that the child was growing, getting stronger every day. Soon, she would return to the doctor and request the surgery. Thinking of that moment when her child would be fitted with prostheses and have his hand and foot repaired, she smiled. His spine would be straightened. He would be a normal child. Science would make him just like every other child.

Of course, it would be expensive, but science had progressed so much that the cost of surgery had actually declined in recent years. Estella could pay a little at a time, over many years, until the debt was paid. New prostheses would have to be fitted as the child grew, and no doubt science would make them better over time. Perhaps, imagined Estella, they would even more closely resemble human limbs so that no one would suspect that the child was anything less than perfect. Whatever the cost, it would be worth it to have a normal child, a son who could run and play. She would endure any sacrifice to make that happen.

When she returned to the doctor three months later, she was delighted to learn that her child had gained several pounds. His eyes looked clearer, said the doctor, and the child had gained some color.

“Is he strong enough for surgery,” she asked the doctor.

“No,” the doctor replied. “In fact. there are some issues we still need to discuss.” He shifted his weight back and forth as he tried to explain. “The birth data came back this morning. Science gives the child a very low chance of living any kind of a normal life.”

“Well, I don't think anyone expected he would be a sprinter,” Estella replied. She gazed lovingly at her child, who squirmed happily in the warmth of the doctor's examination basket.

The doctor went on unemotionally. “Analysis of the data concluded that the cost of operating and maintaining health over the life course exceeds the utils that the child will likely generate.”

“I'm afraid I don't understand,” Estella said.

“There is virtually no chance that the child will be a productive member of society,” the doctor explained.”

“But the surgery can make him better,” Estella protested. “Then he will be normal.”

“We have to follow the science,” the doctor explained stoically. “The science says that the cost of surgery and health maintenance is too high. The deformities are just too severe to make it worth investing in the child.”

Tears welled in Estella's eyes. “What are you saying?”

“Science says terminate,” the doctor said. “I'm very sorry. We have to follow the science. It's for best.”

Estella argued with the doctor, pleading her case: the child was innocent; it was morally wrong to kill; perhaps there was a flaw in the data. “Can't we just leave him as he is, then?” she asked. The doctor, kind but firm, showed her the data and the analysis. Everything had been entered and calculated correctly. The conclusion was obvious, even to her. Somehow, that did not make the conclusion less horrifying, or the grief less savage.

Through her tears, Estella Rosamond Rivera watched as her child was ushered away by an unfeeling nurse. The doctor followed in cold silence. In a few moments the injection would be given and the deed would be done. The child would be sacrificed in the name of science and for the good of all.