Decision-making made easy, not!

Modern Day Practice by Heather Landis

One of the things we're dealing with right now is the whole "we have no idea what's wrong" situation, because finding out what's wrong seems to be a moving target, and and it's an expensive one.

Rundown of a conversation I had with the doctor's office:

Me: I need to know how much this test will cost me in the event nothing is covered by insurance.
Receptionist: Well, the test is $732, and the accompanying doctor's appointment is $132, but those aren't counting any anesthetics or medical equipment that might be used.  One woman's test ended up costing her $1600.
Me: So, somewhere between $900 and $1600. Okaaaay.

I understand that things happen during appointments, but to have such a scary-big range for a test that does not actually *do* anything beyond maybe provide answers (either, "there is something wrong, here it is!" or "there is nothing wrong with these bits of you, keep guessing!  That'll be $1200!" or it could simple be, "there's nothing wrong with you, that'll be $300," which is a Big Difference)...it's a hard pill to swallow.  I've done some digging and it *seems* like my insurance will cover the x-ray portion of the test, but nobody seems exactly sure what percentage of that cost the x-ray is.  I contacted the special department the hospital has just for procedure cost estimates, and a few days later I got an estimate in the mail for....a children's feeding tube procedure, because for the second time, someone screwed up what I actually needed.  I will probably be re-routing myself to a Charlottesville clinic once this procedure is over.  Insert eyeroll to heaven.  My eyes may never come down at this rate.  ENJOY THE VIEW, EYES.

I went to the bookmarked adoption agency page and read the process over again.  We could pay to create a dossier and application with that kind of money.  We can't do a home study in our current house due to the lack of more than one bedroom, but we could get a piece of the initial pie out of the way with the dossier, I thought to myself.  But what if the HSG dye test were to actually tell us the problem?  What if it dislodged something microscopic and our problem was suddenly solved, as people say the test sometimes does?  What if we don't sell our house fast and we're stretched thinner?  What if we wait AGAIN to do this test and somebody we love DIES and then we have a kid who never gets to know them?  I mean, really.  Endless possibilities.

There is no right answer here.  There is no clear path.  We can't pick all of them -- we can't go the potential IVF route, have it fail, and then have money for adoption.  Not easily, anyway.  (Can anybody?)  The main point here is, I feel like if anybody out there is stressing over what path to take, what road to embark down...don't feel bad that you can't go down both and you're stuck trying to figure out where your line in the sand is.  You're not alone.  It's maddening and it will leave you talking yourselves in circles if you try to come to the rational Best Choice, because It Does Not Seem To Exist.

Current decision procedure: homemade raspberry-basil popsicles + sitting on back stoop, circling and circling.  Because what else can you do?

I want you to rub butter on my foot

Rhian Davie

The Office is over.

That show carried me through a lot of life.  Not in a "getting me through" way, just in a "it was always...there" sort of way.  Even our honeymoon was spent listening to hours of the That's What She Said podcast as Patrick and I drove from Richmond to Montreal and back.  "Bears, Beets, Battlestar Galactica" is a phrase routinely uttered in our house.  Ditto for "Look at what I am doing and go tell somebody it!"  

In my mind, the show always ended with Michael going off to marry Holly.  I pretty much stopped watching after that, sort of like quietly leaving a place when it's just right, to remember it perfectly the way you left it in that wonderful moment.  But even so, it was still nebulously there, and now...it's over.

Welp.  I could get all teary like I did watching the last episode.  Or I could just send it off in my mind the Michael Scott way.



In the end, Michael is happy and has the family he always wanted, and that is all I ever wanted from this show.  So goodbye Toby.  Goodbye Office.

Working for happiness

Weekend in a nutshell: wherein getting Reading Rainbow shirts and my favorite magazine in the mail make for a happier span of days.  Also, mountains and hiking.  And sleepy corgis. 

Grainy vain selfie

Still, cute Corgis aside, sometimes, you just need a taco night out.  This weekend was one of those times, even as we puttered about with gardening and hiking and whatnot.  We're continuing to push through with the various annoyances in selling our house and to scrabble our way back to living lives we want to live.  So much of this process over the past year and a half has been about scrabbling to get back to being happy with our lives.  It feels like we have to work at it, really work at simply getting back to where we felt we were back when we lived in the Fan District (it's funny -- we always moan about having ever, ever left Floyd Ave, because that seemed to be the tipping point where everything went massively south -- but truth be told, there are some things that would have gone south anyway, obviously).  But, c'est la vie.  The things we want now are so simple-seeming to us that when we achieve them, they're going to feel all the sweeter.  RIGHT?  At least, that's what I keep telling myself because what else am I supposed to tell myself?  The things we want in life probably suck and we don't want them anyway?  No, that will simply not do.  We want good, simple things and they seem so close to being attainable that it's maddening. As Patrick put it the other day to summarize, all we want is a little farm with a kid, and maybe to go adventuring once in a while.  That's it.  That's really it. (Not to sound like a whine to the universe there, but we aren't kidding: that's pretty much it.) 

So: We'll make it.  We will.  These things cannot be maddeningly out of our reach forever, right?  I have to hold onto that, because otherwise, this long scrabble-slog will feel even worse.  I'm an incredibly cynical person so my hanging-onto-the-cliff-ness here is about the best I can do.

So we go out for tacos and just repeat the mantra: We'll make it, we have to, we will.   Until then, it's tacos and rainbows and mountains and hope.  I know experiencing hardship can make the good things feel better in the long run, so I'm holding out that such will be the case.

Sugar lump

(Video provided as today's soothing balm -- Futurama is therapy.)
I'm trying to be super calm about all the boo-hiss-type things that have happened in the past week or so.  After all the waiting, the RE's office I was referred to (the only one in this area!) put me down for the wrong test, and of course my simply going over to the hospital where the *correct* test would have been done wasn't an option (no room), I was stuck gritting my teeth as they said nope, we'll just wait until your *next* cycle to try it.  And gritting my teeth as I realized the price I was quoted was for the *wrong test* too.  And in general just gritting my teeth. This would have been okay except that the same day, we were also scrambling to suddenly put our house on the market (long story -- being landlords has been hell on earth, and when an opportunity arose for everyone to leave and us to sell the house, we took it).  We still have to go back to RVA a few times for house-related stuff (see: landlording being hell on earth -- I don't want to be more specific about this special hell until it's all in the past).  So basically things went from "hey, feeling hopeful, maybe we'll get an answer!" to "I AM ACTUALLY SHAKING FROM STRESS AT THIS POINT."
Also, to the insurance lady I talked to this morning explaining how I need a pre-authorization proving I need this pre-diagnostic test: it's kind of not cool to tell someone that they might not need this test and "sometimes these things just work themselves out -- sometimes doctors put the cart before the horse, you know"  I'm sorry, are you my doctor?  No.  Are you a reproductive endocrinologist?  No.  You're a gatekeeper; you're not the one who gets to say that my problem will just work itself out.  Getting this kind of runaround is nothing particularly new to me, but it's frustrating nonetheless.  It's like everyone wants to talk me out of it.  It's probably got to do with that stupid The Secret stuff -- maybe I just need to make myself a proper vision board!  If I create a fertility Pinterest board THAT'LL DO IT!  Clearly I'm just trying too hard to, you know, use what little healthcare is being provided for me about this, and I should really just sit back and let it work itself out.  Hell, why do I even try at all, man?  Why get out of bed in the morning?  Why fill the car with gas?  Things work themselves out.
This post is super negative and grimace-y.  I'm sorry Internets.  Someday when my house is sold and I'm not dealing with crisis after crisis and arguing with insurance ladies about my reproductive health, I hope my outlook will be a little less rage-y.  Until then, you're stuck with me in boxing-glove mode.

Just to love, and be loved in return

Omelette from Madeline Sharafian on Vimeo.

Sometimes I have to remind myself that above all, I want to be remembered as someone who loved well (in addition to being remembered for my brave and selfless exploits in the Robot Wars, obviously).  Too often I'm not very good at expressing my love and appreciation and admiration of people.  Sometimes, a little video reminding me of the simple pleasure of loving others openly and simply makes me all teary-eyed.  (Newsflash, I am a sap for anything that anthropomorphises a dog.  That Peachtree commercial where the dog loses his home?  Oh my god.  Make me leave the room.)

I'm always fearful that I'm somehow a total shit at showing that I care about people.  Loving others is great.  I need to be better at it.  It's pretty simple.  Why does it always fall to the bottom of the pile of Things To Focus On in life, then?  Just cooking someone a meal to pick them up -- that's so simple.

(Seriously, this is what happens when I watch an anthropomorphic dog cartoon.  It's like, this is Hayley on regular internet videos, THIS IS HAYLEY ON FEELY-FEELING-Y ANTHRO DOG VIDEOS WAAAAAHHHHHHH.)

Anniversaries, or, I Ramble A Lot

*
You seem like you’re so restless, young at heart

Who gave you reason?

You should be out driving people wild

Who gave you a reason?

Patrick and I celebrate 3 years of marriage this May.  Then there's the HSG test I get to have the same day (thank you, doctors, for pulling that date out of your magical hat), and the fact that we've hit the 2 year mark on this whole trying-for-a-kid thing, which I know is NOT THAT BAD, but still feels sucky.  Then there's the fact that I'm also hitting the 6-month mark of leaving unadulterated, unpretentious fun Richmond for the Blue Ridge Mountains/Southwest Virginia.  I feel like all of these converging "anniversaries" pull me in different directions at once.  Elation.  Joy.  Pain.  Confusion.  Loneliness.  Boot-strap-y-ness.  It's kind of a lot of ~things~ and ~feely-feelings~, you know?

You’re only meant to hurt once in a while

Who gave you reason?

You’re only meant to cry once in a while

Who gave you a reason?

You got a shock to your system

Pull yourself out of it

I know that shock to your system

Knocked your heart right out of sync

I have been trying very, very hard to find the Good in living out here, away from Richmond.  There are times when this is pretty easy.  Take the Greenway for example.  This city has a huge bike path that spans miles!  I can hop onto it and bike to work without fearing bad drivers.  It is gorgeous and lovely.

Then there's the fact that while we live in a tiny tiny tiiiiiny cottage in which we are just ever so slightly cozy-cramped, we live on a lovely little hill in the trees and when I walk the dogs, this is what I see down the street:

Then there's my job, which rocks, and the people I work with, who are also great, so I can't complain there (which is good, since it would have sucked to move for a job and then hate it!).  Day to day, I've got it pretty damn good.  I get to teach people things and learn and be a nerd without selling anything.  

What you are

What you are

What you are

What you are


What you are is lonely

Of course, there are times when it's harder to find the good.  There have been times when loneliness strikes like a deer bounding into a lane (because I see the signs, I know it's going to happen, but when I suddenly feel despair over not being close to people, I'm surprised and swerve all the same)...plenty of times I've wanted to fall back into familiar patterns with friends, to go to a kickball game or meet at the Byrd, to pick back up where I left that life off.  But, it's gotten better the last two months-ish.  Much better, in fact.  

The most difficult thing about moving here has been the lack of young-ish people -- this city is a HUGE retirement city (it's in the top 10) and even going to UU and Secular Humanist groups has resulted in simply meeting a lot of much, much older people, and occasionally people with kids (even they seem to be in the minority compared to the older population at these groups).  Older people are great, but I don't see us calling them to hang out at a BBQ, you know?  Oh RVA, you and your hipster young professional population, you were a treasure trove!  SWVA young people who aren't college students anymore but don't have a gaggle of cute organic free-range kids where are you hidiiiiiiing?** 

You must rely on love once in a while


To give you reason


You must rely on me once in a while


To give you a reason

You got a shock to your system


Pull yourself out of it


I know that shock to your system


Knocked your heart right out of sync

Leaving RVA was a shock of cold water that I never really saw coming, even though I probably should have.  Dealing with infertility was a train I did not hear on the tracks.  But right now, even though I have a not-dreadful-but-not-particularly-pleasant appointment on our wedding anniversary (so, you know, no pressure to not ruin the day with bad news, right?) I feel tremendous joy and love thinking about the 7+ years we've spent together, and about the years we have ahead of us with the little farmette we want to start and the hipster-mini-farmer life we will build here.  I am trying to cultivate those feelings of joy and love, to pull myself up and out of it and rely on them rather than letting my fears and occasional sadness buoy me, because those feelings make really, really shitty life rafts.  Love seems to work better.  I'm trying to let it knock my heart back into sync.

It may also help that I have tickets to see David Sedaris in RVA come October, so there's a mini-vacation in my future.  Also, I have every intention of hanging out on the James this summer, because some things you just can't give up entirely, even if they mean driving 3 hours to do it.

~*~

*Also, as an added PS, can we talk about the perfection that Heartthrob is?  I've been belting it non-stop.  It's like the perfect blend of 80's and now, and the lyrics are just like a quiver full of sharp little arrows.  It is perfect.  Amen.

**This gets sticky too, of course.  One doesn't want to congregate solely towards people without kids.  Balance is important.  On the other hand, we *do* need friends without kids, too.  But then, we're not in young-party-hardy mode either like 99% of the time, so again, it's just a matter of finding where on earth our people are hiding.  I'm getting there and I realize these things take time and gumption.  I am in fact making progress.  :)

National Infertility Awareness Week: For Good, Not Griping

This week is National Infertility Awareness Week.  I always feel a little weird about awareness weeks, because I feel like I'm personally just reaching those who already know my husband and I struggle with this (in which case it makes me feel like I'm just calling attention to myself and crying for attention), or I reach readers who are also going through these struggles and thus don't really need to read how hard it is, because they know.  I can't attend the advocacy day in DC this year, and I feel like the people who most need to hear about the difficulties surrounding infertility are those people who have a million people lobbying in their ears every day.  But even then, the frustration I feel about the process of diagnosing and treating infertility is mainly due to the financial burden.  I feel an immense about of frustration that our healthcare system is callous towards any type of family building that falls outside the norm.  For a country so adamantly pro-family, the US seems like anything but to me right now.

This blog post won't reach the people who make decisions, but I wish it would.  I wish I could tell them that simply mandating coverage for this disease would make so many people's lives better, as it would narrow the class gap between those who can afford to treat their illness and those who cannot.  I wish I could explain to them that if coverage can be mandated for medications that prevent a pregnancy, it makes sense to cover medications that encourage one.  I wish I could explain that these are not easy elective procedures and nobody in their right mind would go through them if they didn't feel the innate biological drive to parent.  I'd even play the "moral society" card and argue that in a society that prides itself on its morals, it seems pretty wrong to create a healthcare system that shakes its head in a collective "NO", a system in which people feel that they have to essentially "buy" a baby. 

I guess what I want to write here is that I rail against these things in my mind every day.  Every day I'm acutely aware of the fact that there is a series of walls ahead of me which are largely constructed not by my body, but by my healthcare system and country.  If I lived in Maryland, I would have coverage, for example.  I wouldn't even have to daydream about what my life might be like if I'd been born outside the US (I mean, I'd have a cute accent, for one, dammit).  Instead I find myself daydreaming about moving to freaking Maryland.  I feel like my dream of having mandated coverage for all states isn't too big to dream of.

And maybe next year I'll be able to make it to DC to say these things and more to the people who randomly get to help decide the fate of what family will look like for me and my husband.

For now though I just keep saving my pennies, hoping eventually I land on the magic number that will push me into the camp of people who can afford to treat their diagnosis.  And this is what gets me about the US -- nobody should have to fund-raise their healthcare.  Every time I see a lemonade stand for paying someone's medical bills I want to cry.  Every time I see a plea for donations, I feel rage towards this system that reduces people to that.  I guess my point is, if people aren't angry, why aren't they angry?  Why do healthcare lemonade stands not fill everyone with rage?  I see balloons and grins and I just want to say, this is not RIGHT, you shouldn't HAVE TO DO THIS!*  Why do IVF bake sales not make everyone who's trying to afford it angry?  I should not have to bake muffins or squeeze lemons for my health.  Nobody should.

And that's not a rage I ever want to lose.  I want to always feel angry when I see something that I feel is systematically unjust and cruel.  I hope this experience continues to make me feel mad, if I can funnel that anger into something productive.  I feel like the biggest shame in my particular struggle would be if it didn't fundamentally change me.  I hope I continue to evolve because of this illness/disease/medical condition, and my only hope is that I can use it for good, and not just for griping.

So during this Awareness Week, I'm just trying to be conscious about thinking about ways in which I could funnel my anger and frustration with our healthcare system into something productive.  I want to raise awareness about this struggle, but I hope if infertility coverage ever becomes mandatory, that it becomes mandatory with other things too.  I am angry not just about infertility inequalities in healthcare, but about the innate inequalities in our healthcare in general.

Please change, America.

*(Obviously research is a little different; I'm talking about direct funds-to-care situations here.)