Several days after the IUI, my husband discovered that someone in billing from Doctor Superman's office left me a message on our home phone (the phone we never answer) regarding some pesky billing matter. After some delightful phone tag, "Venetia" left me a message that the procedure I had done was not "certified" and I needed "pre-certification" and my insurance company was unlikely to retroactively certify the procedure. She instructed me to call my insurance company to straighten things out or at least have the policy explained to me. Ever the dutiful patient, I called and was told that no, the procedure was not covered and that yes, I needed it to be pre-certified, and no, they wouldn't do it retroactively. My blood began to boil. "I AM NOT PAYING FOR THIS. YOU ARE", I screamed. The person on the phone quickly said, "I'm going to send you to super-special immediate assistance department." After that got me nowhere, they sent me to the fertility billing department to get me pre-certified for any other procedures "for the future." Apparently for the "fertility benefit" I have to have everything pre-certified. So the woman there asked, "What is your infertility diagnosis?" When I said that I didn't know what the hell she meant, because they don't know why I'm having problems, she said, "Well, what has your doctor diagnosed you with? They are supposed to give you a bunch of tests and determine the cause of your infertility." Oh, really? And what if they can't determine what it is? Like that's ever happened. I said, "it's idiopathic." Dead air. Then I said, "I'm a recurrent miscarrier." She was feverishly excited with that one, "I'm going to get the bonus of the year! Denied!" "The ability to achieve pregnancy, whether carried to term or not, is not defined as infertility. You are not eligible for the infertility benefit." So I said, just for the hell of it, "High FSH! Diminished ovarian reserve! Blocked tubes! Endometriosis! PCOS!" She ignored me. Then I said, "So, I've been trying to have a baby for THREE YEARS and I don't have one, NOT EVEN ONE but I'm not considered infertile because I've been able to achieve pregnancy in the past?" That's great, right? The REALLY FUNNY thing? It turns out that the IUI is covered under my general benefit and that the billing person mistakenly thought that I did an IVF cycle and apparently, that's what she tried to bill for. It wasn't an altogether fruitless call, I did learn that if I am ever recommended IVF it's likely going to have to be paid for out of pocket. And New York has mandatory IVF coverage. Wonderful.
Still spotting? Yes. Being driven mad? Quite. "P" word or not? I can't bare to face it.
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Friday, January 25, 2008
Curses.
It's been one week since the IUI. And I'm bleeding. Ever so slightly. And crampy. Ever so slightly. I've heard of the mysterious "implantation bleeding" but thought it was the result of tall tales and wishful thinking. Or at the very least, in all of those four times I've held a positive pregnancy test in my hands, I never had implantation bleeding or any bleeding for that matter, beforehand. I am, however, on the heparin, so who knows? I read that cramping should not accompany implantation bleeding. So, this may not be looking good.
Curses. What now?
One more week.
Curses. What now?
One more week.
Sunday, January 20, 2008
On Pins and Needles
I went in to see Dr. Superman at 7:30 AM on Thursday. His kindly nurse scheduled me right before his day o'surgeries so that I could miss barely a minute (more like 45) of work. Follicles were at 15 mm, 18 mm and 20 mm. I had my HCG shot in my rear (thankful for once for my barely exercised booty as of late - did not hurt at all) and was scheduled for the IUI the following morning. I was more worried about the whole collection process for the husband than for the IUI. We got there at the crack of dawn and I started to follow him into the "collection room" - but was stopped because "that is not allowed." Feeling like I was trying to solicit a crack whore in a back alley, I made my way back to the waiting area. The husband emerged not fifteen minutes later ("Wow! That was fast!") and we were off to find some coffee to wait out the dish washing, the drip/dry, the holy water sprinkling of the sperm. When we returned, as I was tired and not following directions well, madam collector handed the husband the vial of pink solution (it's a preservative! We wondered at first if it was all girl sperm) and was told to hold it upright. And not to toot my husband's horn, so to speak, but the boys were apparently champion swimmers and were more amazing then any sperm they've ever seen - OK, that bit is made up. Although they did report excellent motility and extremely high numbers, etc., etc. The procedure itself was fairly fast, if not slightly uncomfortable and there was a lot of, "just relax, relax your buttocks" because I am not exactly known for my zen-like qualities, "I'm a cat! I'm a lazy cat laying around next to a fireplace. I'm, I'm - no, not working." The husband held my hand - which was nice and then I laid there for fifteen minutes - which was also nice and made me think of those napping houses in Japan and what a great idea that is. Afterwards, the Nurse Practitioner who performed the procedure, discussed the progesterone that I would need to start on Sunday. I mentioned the heparin. She looked at me like I had two heads but said she'd consult with Dr. Superman and call me later that day. She did, called it into the pharmacy and I was left with some on-line teaching tool to find out how the hell I was supposed to give myself a shot.
When I was five years old, I went in for my vaccinations. Shots were something that I hated. I loathed. I dreaded. I know, no one likes shots, but I brought it to new psychotic levels - when I was really little, they used to have to restrain me. My mother would bribe me with a McDonald's strawberry milkshake to get me to go. And sadly, apparently this worked.
On that particular day, the doctor told me that I didn't have to get another round of vaccinations until I was twelve. This was supposed to be some sort of saving grace. It wasn't.
Upon my twelfth birthday, my aunt asked me if I was excited about turning twelve. I looked her square in the eye and said, "No. I am not. I have to be vaccinated this year." My mother was of course, shocked. No one had mentioned the vaccinations in the last seven years, and of course, she herself had forgotten all about that conversation all those years ago. What she also didn't know was that upon each subsequent birthday from the ripe old age of five onward, I would let out a slow exhale of relief that this was not the year that I would have to get a new round of vaccinations.
So, it is not without some irony that I am begging to have a self-administered shot of a drug that burns, not once, but twice a day. A drug that may or may not do anything for me. A drug that I am administering prior to a positive pregnancy test.
The NP seemed fairly dubious about the whole operation and lectured me for quite sometime about the dangers of heparin. I thanked her kindly, watched the video, made my husband watch it, and then proceeded to have a freak out. The needle, however, was the size of an angel's wisp of hair and went in easily. I pushed the med in, withdrew the needle and put ice on it, immediately. And then it burned for several minutes. Since then, the burning is non-existent or only ever so slight. Last night I had to crawl over several people, including my unwitting friends, to administer the drug in a movie theater bathroom. I watched the rest of the flick with an ice pack stuck down my pants.
So, we'll see. And, here again, like a song that you can't get of your head, here begins the two week wait (you know what I mean, you used to like the song, but now it's annoying that it's stuck in your head like that and it won't leave you, even for a minute).
POSTSCRIPT:
In order to minimize the pain, ice may be recommended at the injection site before the heparin is administered. But I'm no medical expert, so take what I say with a grain of salt. Here are two interesting sites that I read (for entertainment purposes only): How to Administer Heparin Injections and Do's & Dont's.
When I was five years old, I went in for my vaccinations. Shots were something that I hated. I loathed. I dreaded. I know, no one likes shots, but I brought it to new psychotic levels - when I was really little, they used to have to restrain me. My mother would bribe me with a McDonald's strawberry milkshake to get me to go. And sadly, apparently this worked.
On that particular day, the doctor told me that I didn't have to get another round of vaccinations until I was twelve. This was supposed to be some sort of saving grace. It wasn't.
Upon my twelfth birthday, my aunt asked me if I was excited about turning twelve. I looked her square in the eye and said, "No. I am not. I have to be vaccinated this year." My mother was of course, shocked. No one had mentioned the vaccinations in the last seven years, and of course, she herself had forgotten all about that conversation all those years ago. What she also didn't know was that upon each subsequent birthday from the ripe old age of five onward, I would let out a slow exhale of relief that this was not the year that I would have to get a new round of vaccinations.
So, it is not without some irony that I am begging to have a self-administered shot of a drug that burns, not once, but twice a day. A drug that may or may not do anything for me. A drug that I am administering prior to a positive pregnancy test.
The NP seemed fairly dubious about the whole operation and lectured me for quite sometime about the dangers of heparin. I thanked her kindly, watched the video, made my husband watch it, and then proceeded to have a freak out. The needle, however, was the size of an angel's wisp of hair and went in easily. I pushed the med in, withdrew the needle and put ice on it, immediately. And then it burned for several minutes. Since then, the burning is non-existent or only ever so slight. Last night I had to crawl over several people, including my unwitting friends, to administer the drug in a movie theater bathroom. I watched the rest of the flick with an ice pack stuck down my pants.
So, we'll see. And, here again, like a song that you can't get of your head, here begins the two week wait (you know what I mean, you used to like the song, but now it's annoying that it's stuck in your head like that and it won't leave you, even for a minute).
POSTSCRIPT:
In order to minimize the pain, ice may be recommended at the injection site before the heparin is administered. But I'm no medical expert, so take what I say with a grain of salt. Here are two interesting sites that I read (for entertainment purposes only): How to Administer Heparin Injections and Do's & Dont's.
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
Magical Thinking
"Magical thinking can occur when one simply does not understand possible causes, as illustrated by Sir Arthur C. Clarke's suggestion that 'any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic' but can also occur in response to situations that are largely random or chaotic, such as a coin toss, as well as in situations that one has little or no control over, especially those one is emotionally invested in."
When I was, maybe nine or ten, my grandmother was dying. She wasn't really that old and it shook the entire family. As she lay in her hospital bed, I began wearing a macaroni necklace. I told myself, as long as I remembered to wear it, she wouldn't die. One day I forgot to slip it on. That day, she died.
Since miscarrying multiple times, I find myself doing similar things. I tell myself that if I don't start thinking more positively, I will, essentially, will the worst to happen. If I don't constantly visualize myself with a full, pregnant belly, I'll never have one. If I don't clean my house and go all feng shui on it, the universe won't hear my call. Frankly, it's exhausting. I don't exactly know how to get my head around it - that I really don't control whether or not this will all work out by my own thoughts, positive attitude or not, but I need to let go a little. The fact is, I don't really have control over whether or not I miscarry - much as I seem to believe otherwise.
I'm also keeping this whole IUI business on the down low. I can't really bear to hear my sister, mother, friends do the whole, "OH! I just know it's going to work out for you this time." I can't take it. I know that's odd, I suppose, but I just eye them and think, "You really don't know what the hell you are talking about." I can't handle the enthusiasm because I'm trying to keep myself from getting too carried away - because if I get carried away and it doesn't work out, it's all the more crushing. Then again, I find myself getting a little excited with each new cycle - because it really could all work out. Yep, I'm a flip flopper.
And now onto the minutia of my cycle Day 10 appointment: lining is at 7.5 mm, three follicles, 11 mm, 15mm and 16 mm. Last time I was on Clomid, I had one follicle and it was barely at 15 mm. Dr. Superman seemed pleased. We're marching onto "collection time"wherein the husband gets to get romantic with a cup. Splendid.
When I was, maybe nine or ten, my grandmother was dying. She wasn't really that old and it shook the entire family. As she lay in her hospital bed, I began wearing a macaroni necklace. I told myself, as long as I remembered to wear it, she wouldn't die. One day I forgot to slip it on. That day, she died.
Since miscarrying multiple times, I find myself doing similar things. I tell myself that if I don't start thinking more positively, I will, essentially, will the worst to happen. If I don't constantly visualize myself with a full, pregnant belly, I'll never have one. If I don't clean my house and go all feng shui on it, the universe won't hear my call. Frankly, it's exhausting. I don't exactly know how to get my head around it - that I really don't control whether or not this will all work out by my own thoughts, positive attitude or not, but I need to let go a little. The fact is, I don't really have control over whether or not I miscarry - much as I seem to believe otherwise.
I'm also keeping this whole IUI business on the down low. I can't really bear to hear my sister, mother, friends do the whole, "OH! I just know it's going to work out for you this time." I can't take it. I know that's odd, I suppose, but I just eye them and think, "You really don't know what the hell you are talking about." I can't handle the enthusiasm because I'm trying to keep myself from getting too carried away - because if I get carried away and it doesn't work out, it's all the more crushing. Then again, I find myself getting a little excited with each new cycle - because it really could all work out. Yep, I'm a flip flopper.
And now onto the minutia of my cycle Day 10 appointment: lining is at 7.5 mm, three follicles, 11 mm, 15mm and 16 mm. Last time I was on Clomid, I had one follicle and it was barely at 15 mm. Dr. Superman seemed pleased. We're marching onto "collection time"wherein the husband gets to get romantic with a cup. Splendid.
Tuesday, January 01, 2008
Polar Bears and Midnight Runs
I spent a lovely New Year's running through Central Park at midnight. There were a few teary moments as I thought about what a year it's been and contemplated where we might be at this time next year. Closer? There? In flying cars? You never know what the future may hold. It was a tad surreal to be running through the Park after midnight, thinking about such things as a Scarecrow and a tiny Dorothy are running next to you - and up ahead an M & M is having trouble with his shoe. Today the husband and I trekked out to Coney Island for the Polar Bear Club's Dip. I wasn't brave enough to do it - but the husband found it completely invigorating and it was fantastic to be a spectator. The boardwalk was filled with people, young, old, costumed, tiny skivvies and all. According to the founder, Bernarr Macfadden, "a dip in the ocean during the winter can be a boon to one's stamina, virility and immunity." HERE'S TO THAT! It was a great time. Hope you and yours had a lovely, lovely, fantastic celebration.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
