It begins like most love stories—two people meet, hearts race, and suddenly the world feels smaller, warmer, and full of promise. You’re already thinking about forever: the wedding colours, the guest list, maybe even the names of your future children. Then, in one quiet conversation, a word appears that feels almost clinical, almost unromantic, but carries a weight heavy enough to alter the course of your story: genotype.
You’re AS. They’re AS. The air shifts.
It’s here that science and love meet at a crossroads. And as Aproko Doctor explains in his recent video, this is not just a medical conversation—it’s a life conversation. Sickle cell disease isn’t an abstract statistic; it’s a real condition, with real children, real pain, and real consequences. If two AS partners have a child naturally, there’s a 25% chance that child will be SS—born with sickle cell anemia. That’s not a “maybe.” It’s a mathematical probability that plays out in countless Nigerian hospitals and homes every year.
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But here’s the thing: this isn’t a death sentence for love. It’s a wake-up call. A reality check. Because love, while it is powerful, isn’t always enough to protect the future. Knowledge, planning, and courage often have to step in.
I think of Chioma and Femi—two people I met at a sickle cell awareness campaign years ago. They had been dating for four years before they took a genotype test, almost as an afterthought. When they discovered they were both AS, the emotional earthquake was immediate. Friends advised them to break up. Their parents prayed for “a miracle.” But they did something else—they sought knowledge. They sat with doctors. They listened to real-life stories of SS warriors. They cried through the hard facts. And then, they started asking the right questions: What can we do? Are there options? Is there a way to love without risking this pain?
As Aproko Doctor outlines, there are five main paths for couples like Chioma and Femi: adoption, IVF with genetic screening, sperm or egg donation, choosing not to have children, or ending the relationship entirely. Each option is heavy with its own ethical, cultural, and emotional weight. None is easy. But they exist. And that’s the key—choices exist.
In Nigeria, where romantic narratives often place fate above science, having this conversation can feel almost rebellious. But in truth, it’s an act of profound love. It’s saying, I love you enough to protect you from a pain we could have avoided. It’s the kind of love that doesn’t just look at the wedding day but at the decades beyond it—the birthdays, the emergencies, the quiet nights, the unplanned moments life will throw.
And the “AS plus AS” question forces us to see marriage not just as a union of two hearts, but as a partnership of responsibility. Because sickle cell isn’t just about statistics—it’s about the child in a hospital bed at 2 a.m., the mother counting the hours between crises, the father holding his breath every time his phone rings. It’s about the reality that prevention, in this case, is far kinder than a cure.
The latest research and medical advancements have given us tools our parents didn’t have—genetic testing, embryo screening, and more accessible IVF services. But tools are useless without awareness. That’s why conversations like this one, sparked by voices like Aproko Doctor’s, matter so deeply. They move the discussion from hushed, fearful corners into open, informed spaces.
Chioma and Femi eventually chose IVF with preimplantation genetic diagnosis. It was expensive, exhausting, and emotionally taxing—but today, they have a healthy baby girl who will never know the pain of sickle cell crises. And every time they tell their story, they’re breaking another link in the chain of silence that keeps too many people in the dark.
So, can AS and AS marry? The short answer: yes, but only with eyes wide open and hearts ready for the responsibility. The long answer: it’s less about whether you can and more about whether you should, given your willingness to navigate the hard road ahead. Because love isn’t just about feeling—it’s about protecting. And sometimes, protecting means making the toughest choice of all.
