Let’s talk money.
Oh good lord, the money.
Before we left our first appointment, the RE made sure we had in hand a packet of financial information detailing exactly how much we would be paying for the privilege of trying to science a baby into existence. Almost a month later and I’m still reeling from this packet. My insurance covers absolutely nothing related to infertility treatment. Not even medication. Out of pocket IVF with ICSI at my clinic is about $15,000 with meds. PGS testing is another $4-5K should we choose to go that route. And there’s not even a guarantee that at the end of this shitshow, we’ll have a baby to remind us of how much it was worth it. I keep hearing over and over that IVF Round 1 is usually “diagnostic” to see how you react to the process. That I should just assume it will take 3-4. My husband is one of those freaks of nature that naturally maintains a ridiculously positive outlook while staring down terrible odds. God, I hate him. Not really. But you know. He keeps telling me that if I go into this thinking it will fail, then it will.
But it’s not so simple. I have to let myself be realistic. I’ve always said that hope is the most dangerous drug of all. The more you hope, the harder the crash down to reality is when something goes wrong.
Clearly, the glass is always half empty and waiting for more liquor in my book. Continue reading
I had to. It was too cute. And accurately sums of the life of my dogs over the past year.
ANYWAY. IVF Cycle #1 is officially a go-go. I have an official calendar and everything. I have to start taking birth control pills tomorrow night (my brain STILL cannot wrap itself around this fact even though intellectually I understand why I’m doing it). I get more blood drawn this Friday. And then NEXT Friday is yet another invasive procedure. And then…the injections.
I’m not going to lie. The fact that in a few weeks I’m going to be stabbing myself with a needle on a regular basis scares the ever loving shit out of me. Don’t get me started on the PIO shots that I hear about. Hi husband, here’s a giant 2 inch needle, please jam this in my ass. Thanks, love ya! Ugh. This process is nothing but pure romance, I tell you. Continue reading
This week begins National Infertility Awareness Week. My husband and I are currently a part of the lovely statistic known as 1 in 8. And it sucks. It sucks a lot.
My annoyance today? My mother. Now I won’t sugarcoat it. My relationship with my mother has always been strained at best. I love her. She is my mother. But I don’t like her. And I know somewhere in her mind, she loves me because I am her daughter. But she doesn’t like me too much as a person either. The best we’ve been able to figure is that she has a bit of narcissistic personality disorder going on.
A few weeks ago, Mr. Oh Just Relax and I sat down with my parents and broke the news that there was no way we would ever be able to have a child without serious medical intervention and that we would be starting the IVF process. Without even blinking, with zero hesitation, do you know what my mother’s response was?
“Bullshit.” Continue reading
I skipped the birthday party of a 3 year old today. The son of one of my best friends on the planet. I can’t even bring myself to feel bad about it either and I hope she’ll understand that I love her more than anything, but this whole thing is still very raw to me. It’s just another thing that would make me mentally torture myself with what I’ve taken to calling the “what ifs.”
I’m 31 years old, which apparently in IVF world makes me “young” according to my doctor. So hey, I’ve got that going for me. But it also means I am in the middle of prime baby-having years for all of my peers. This year alone I know 7 women that will be having babies…and those are just the people I like. Don’t get me started on the never ending Facebook pregnancy announcements from acquaintances that make me say “Ugh, shut up” as I scroll past.
So, as all these lovely women prepare to welcome their kids, I have to think…what if. Continue reading
When I was a little kid, we had this awesome (at the time) swing set in our backyard. My older sister and I would takes turns seeing if we could manage to push the other one ALL THE WAY AROUND (spoiler alert: we couldn’t). There was one time, where she pushed me SO HIGH that 5 year old me panicked mid-swing and thought it would be a brilliant idea to let go of the swing. I crashed down to the ground on my back. It’s the first time I can clearly remember having the wind knocked out of me. For a good 20 seconds, I didn’t think I would ever breathe again.
That is the only way I’ve found to accurately describe the feeling I got when the reproductive endocrinologist informed my husband and me that we would never be able to conceive a child on our own. The only way it could ever happen is with in vitro fertilization (IVF). I literally felt like the wind had been knocked out of me.
The first words out of my mouth? “Well. Shit.” Clearly, I am a classy lady and have a way with words. Continue reading