What's under her?

What's under her?

What's under her?

What's under her?

What's under her?

Back in 2009, I went to the doctor to get some blood drawn.

I was pregnant, not showing yet.

But it was time to get my genetic testing done.

I looked away when the lab tech stuck me with the needle because blood makes me queasy.

The tech started filling vials.

One after another, after another.

I looked up, saw the vials standing neatly in their holder, full of my blood.

There were like nine of them at least.

There are so many, I said to the tech, it's because you're Ashkenazi, she said.

And then I passed out.

Next thing I know, there's a straw in my mouth and I'm sipping orange juice.

Now, growing up, it was drilled into me that being an Ashkenazi Jew, a Jew descended

from Eastern Europe, put you at risk for a lot of things.

Most of them, some version of anti-Semitism.

But what I didn't know was being Ashkenazi also puts you at risk for inheriting and passing

down all sorts of genetic mutations, genes that can lead to disease, goucher disease,

canavan disease, tasax, cystic fibrosis, bloom syndrome, a couple of these I'd never

...