So. I am learning a little bit about IVF grants. I wish I had the insight to study up on it way back when. That would have been absolutely worth any of my effort.
Heck, I’d have run to across the country in my Asics if it meant an opportunity to be granted some financial relief.
My friend, who is now in her two-week waiting period (crossing my fingers and toes!) had gotten her IVF through an IVF grant. She and her husband were told they had just met the deadline and might not be eligible due to their annual combined income.
But? As luck turned out, they were awarded the IVF grant and were awarded a DECENT dream of a lifetime. I’ll say as much. Very, very decent.
I know that it was open to New York patients and along with financial eligibility, my buddy and her husband had to prove through previous testing and records that they had a chance to become pregnant through IVF. That not all hope was lost. And the grant money was going to be used towards the possibility of a future baby. I guess the powers that be don’t want to chance it with a couple who have deeper infertility issues and instead assist a couple who have a shot (no pun intended) at success.
Her RE’s office helped in the information and my guess is that the billing or financial department there sat with them and went over the logistics of applying. And they found out fairly quickly that the IVF grant was approved. A few weeks went by, if that.
That is one concern I’d have had. Waiting for an answer. Jeez, every month that goes by…ya know? Anyway, I was pleased as punch that they were informed so soon after they applied. And that, bonus…well, they got the bonus. 
Anyway. I was just curious about grants. I wish the information was more forthcoming at EVERY RE’s office.
Do you think more couples would go for IVF if they knew they had a chance to attain a grant? Do all states have this opportunity? What happens if the IVF doesn’t work out – is the grant good for another go?
I am all sorts of curious.
The little baby is kicking my ribs as I type this so I sense she is curious, too.
So.
I had this situation happen to me the other day. I was in Duane Reade, standing in line to pay for ice cream (yes!) when a man (also in line) reached over and patted my stomach.
“Ooooh. How far along? Boy or girl? I have three!”
Hmmm, right? Thing was, he was around my age so he wasn’t old school nor was he like a four -year -old boy. He was just some dude in his thirties. Muy peculiar. Truly.
Anyway. He was rubbing away in a clockwork motion and I was just a little stunned. So *I* said the following:
“What?”
He continued to rub. “When are you due?”
“Due? What?”
He stoppped. “What?”
I then said. And this is where it becomes ballsy…
“I’m not pregnant.”
He looked like he saw the Shining twins behind me and quickly removed his hand from my large stomach and stood forward – looking forward. Thinking forward. Tick tock, tick tock.
Thankfully, not too long after that, the clerk was ready for him. He paid and got the eff outta Dodge.
Me? I walked to the counter and turned to the two women behind me. “I’m 8 1/2 months along but he should NOT have done that.”
Boy did we laugh and laugh and laugh and laugh.
A woman with a tub of ice cream telling a man she is not pregnant after he rubbed her protruding stomach…that was me. Darn proud.
I walked home and they sky was like this violet/cobalt blue and the moon was in a crescent. Everything seemed just fine. I pay attention to the colors and shades around me often but that sky was really just magical. I felt as if I had things under control at that moment.
You know what I mean?
Sorry for my absence. I needed a respite from the computer as the pregnancy was turning complicated and family issues…more complicated.
But all is well and there are blue skies ahead. My due date is soon and I’m learning to breathe on my own.
The other day, a close friend of mine told me, “Your little baby needs you.” We were joking about cool clothes and the metallica rockabye cd. But what he said sort of jolted me. My baby didn’t need ME.
“I need her.”
She will always bring out the best in me. And I know because she will be here and real and existing, she will be the reason I am going to be better version of who I am already. Not many people do that for me. Maybe one friend does. Because that friend exists, I am a better version of myself.
Anyway. I am rambling here. I hope I still have readers.
I promise not to disappear for such a long time again. It’s no fun.
Sooooo…WHAT’S UP!? Do tell!
A friend of mine JUST started her IVF protocol. Tests after tests and birth control pills taken – you know what I am talking about. She’s JUST begun. And guess what? She wants to give up already.
I’ll tell you why.
POOR bedside manner at her RE’S office. I have to say, I relate to her frustration.
Rather than divulge her private details, I’ll let you explore mine. Her stories are so freakishly similar to mine that it doesn’t matter who is elaborating about which RE’s office. Bottom line? There are commonalities.
For one? The “financial woman” is a nightmare. She hardly did her homework. She misread my information from my insurance card so she was, of course told I was non existent. On my next appointment what did this “financial woman” do? She shrieked at me in the hallway, in front of patients. “I don’t know WHO you think you are, passing off the WRONG info to me. You are INFERTILE and they do NOT cover you. In fact? There is NO record of you.” In less than five minutes I was passing my cell phone on to “financial woman” so she may speak to my insurance guy, “Russ.” Russ burst her balloon and corrected her appalling information. She was wrong. Very wrong. She did not apologize to me. So I told her off something fierce.
A few days in to my IVF needles, I was sitting in the waiting room when the front desk receptionist informed me my record was missing. She could not find it. Where was it? She accidentally dropped it in the garbage, along with her breakfast of half eaten eggs and bacon from the corner diner. Nice. MY personal records. Garbage. Height, weight and social on there. Notes. Photos. You name it.
My third gripe was by a very nasty nurse who claimed she called me with updates on my protocol. She never did. She never called me. One time she put me in an exam room (No pants. Paper sheet and all) where I waited an hour an a half. She forgot to tell my RE I was there. The reason I had not brought it to anyone’s attention sooner was because I was always so USED to waiting up to to two hours in the waiting room that it wasn’t surprising I’d be waiting in the exam room a crazy amount of time. What did this nurse say when she realized her error? NOTHING. I was told a few days later that she claimed, I went in on my own and never told her I was there. Now why would I opt to lay in a cold, exam room when I could people watch in the warm, waiting area. They had magazines and a water filter there. She lied. FAIL.
Those are three experiences I considered to be poor bedside manner. Mind you, my RE was wonderful and some of his staff were wonderful. Was it worth the frustration? Yes. I started to pay no mind to crappy employees because they were not contributing to my success. Instead, I focused on the people who mattered. People who would bring me success.
I often wonder if others went through some nightmarish staffing. My buddy is going through it now and as much as I tell her to relax and focus on the good times, she is at the end of her tether.
I hope she stays the course. I hope she does what I eventually had to do – tell her RE. So many REs are so busy that they don’t manage their staff. They have NO idea. When I told my RE he was shocked. And then he paid attention. VERY close attention. He fired some of his staff eventually and thanked me for bringing it to his attention.
Please. Feel free to tell me your hell stories here, too. I don’t mind sharing mine because in hindsight, they are so odd that they border on unbelievable. If I were not there to have witnessed it, ya know?
Yeaaah.
Anyway. Some people are not meant to work with other people. And some people, well, they are amazing. Amazing REs and amazing nurses.
And, of course, amazing IVF girls. Wink!
Grammy’s Schwammy’s. I miss the 80′s music I used to play on my vinyl records. I miss my record sleeves and skipping needle. I miss flipping over the record when I loved and learned every lyric of the first side.
My favorite 80′s album of all time was SEVEN AND THE RAGGED TIGER. Duran Duran. Followed by, SHABOO SHABBAH. Inxs.
Today, on my ipod, I was listening to Oingo Boingo’s song, JUST ANOTHER DAY. It really brought the spring back in my step as I walked along the cold, mean streets. Brrrrrr. :)
I still have my Frankie Say Relax t-shirt, by the way.
Sometimes I close my eyes and imagine the music is still so new. Or that those musicians are still young and some day would fall in love with me. In England. 
Cool Beth. Yeaaaah, that’s right.
What is your favorite 80′s band or song or album? Is it WHO CAN IT BE NOW? COME ON EILEEN? Or maybe, just maybe it is something by Kim Carne? Hmmmm? :)
Do, tell. I can’t be the ONLY nostalgic one.
So. Part Two. Life after IVF. Bridges crossed. Saying goodbye to a relationship with an RE. Dealing with some sad realities but feeling lucky for the future.
I wanted to tell SO many people I was pregnant. I was so afraid I would miscarry my surviving baby that I didn’t want to jinx a thing. A lot of women (and men) at even 12 weeks of pregnancy start painting a nursery or buying onesies. Me? I was cautious. Cautiously optimistic. So I did nothing but bide my time. I reckon a lot of IVF pregnancies have that commonality. Cautious optimism. You’ve gone THIS far with so many medical exams and treatments and tests just LEADING up to IVF, why take a chance with a jinx? Why not wait a little longer? After all, in my opinion, I waited so long and did so much to be an expectant mother. What was a little more time?
[click to continue…]
Ya’ know, not many people talk about life after IVF. What happens when the marching band packs it up? What happens after the airplane takes off in Casablanca? What’s the dealio?
I wish I knew some things before the reality hit me. I’ve had IVF, now what?
I was JUST thinking about this today. I was. I was reminiscing. 2 AM. One of those early morning life thoughts. We’ve all had them. Sometimes they occur in the shower. Sometimes in traffic. Sometimes after watching, THE BREAKFAST CLUB. Mine occurred at 2AM. It just hit.
Anyway. AS I WAS SAYING…
After my transfer date, and blood test, and thankfully and gratefully, a positive outcome, I was pregnant. Yippee! Life was just beginning.
For starters? I had NO idea, I’d still be seeing my RE, for weeks following the IVF. Every time I stepped in to his office, I was reminded that life was delicate inside me. That anything could change at any point in time. That I was being monitored. Nothing was guaranteed to grow in me.
As it turned it out? I lost a twin at week six. I know, it happens. Even my RE warned me that it might occur. And it did. NOTHING prepared me for that heartbreak which was EQUALLY replaced by the joy of one beating heart. The sound of my surviving daughter. So, there I was, legs spread on the table, being told one baby had not made it and seconds later, I heard the heart beat of the other. I cried but I didn’t know what for.
The four weeks following were hell. I was SO happy but would the surviving baby live?
So I did what I did during my IVF protocol and tried to relax. I visited friends, I read books, I turned my head during Pamper’s commercials. And I asked my late father to please send me some luck. I did.
I thought IVF was a toughie. Weeks after IVF was just as potent for me emotionally.
At ten weeks or pregnancy, I saw my RE again and everything seemed to be GREAT. Baby was growing and when I jumped off of the table with a smiling, red face (I broke out in tears of joy) I hugged him. He hugged back and said, “Good bye.” GOOD BYE?
So, yes. Another shocking reality after IVF – saying good bye to the doctor I had seen so VERY often for months. Our relationship was over. I was actually saddened.
I remember getting in to the elevator and studying the buttons of each floor and thinking, “This is it. You’re on your own, B.” It was a me against the world with a child in tow. And my magic shield was disengaged. I wasn’t fearful but I was nostalgic and well, it was because I felt in good hands with my RE. But his purpose was done. And he and I moved forward from multiple appointments and treatments to a one card a year relationship. I sent him the best Hannukah card ever.
This post is growing long and so many ideas are crossing my head. I want to discuss more events that happened to me post-IVF. I shall post part two tomorrow when my brain is cleared. And my thoughts are filled. So many moments in my time capsule. So many good and confusing moments. So many. So many things occurred on that bridge between IVF and full on pregnancy mode. It truly was a bridge.
On one side was a woman with disappointment and loss in her memories – JUST starting IVF. Needles and all. On the other side of that bridge, stands a woman who is almost 7 months along. In the middle of that bridge is that undefined moment between that transfer date and first bout of vomiting from morning sickness. The moment where turning my head from a Pamper’s commercial became shaking the actual Pamper’s box in the pharmacy and thinking, “Nicccceeeeee.”
Yesterday I sliced a piece of my pinky finger off. With a scissor.
I don’t even want to discuss the HOW’S and WHY’S. Just know this? It was an accident. And it prompted a visit to the ER and stitches.
A year ago and the VERY same date, I sliced my other pinky open. I won’t tell you the horror of those detail either. But it didn’t involve scissors. Just know I can not wait to actually wash dishes with a dish washer machine so that a repeat incident won’t ever happen again.
ONE YEAR TO THE DAY, folks. How funny is that? Same ER doctor. Same admissions people. Same everything. Same embarrassment. Same walk home in the rain. Same stinging pain and self notification that nothing like this shall ever happen again (something so miniscule creating such a buzz is just not fun.)
When I was ten years old I slammed my elbow through a glass window. I was not escaping any sort of curfew or breaking the glass for a fire extinguisher. I was sitting next to the window, saw a spider, and panicked. My arm flailed out and went right through the pane. Pun intended. It hurt like hell.
For days and years following, my sweet Uncle Ken dubbed me, “Pointy Elbows.” That was my nickname then and twenty plus years later, it remains. Now, one may reason ALL people have pointy elbows but for a sensitive and shiny-faced kid, the name sucked and was a reminder of an embarrassing incident that may I add, happened the evening of the sixth grade school dance. And yes, yours truly couldn’t attend. Her mother called some of her friends and explained her necessary absence. It was the one event of the year I felt butterflies for. I REALLY wanted to go. Like, really.
So yesterday, I thought about my pointy elbows and that pane of glass and how some things have never changed over the years. I get embarrassed quite easily over my spastic shortcomings. I do laugh it off but I do wish I had more grace.
My father was an amputee so a few bumps and bruises and stitches are meaningless to me. Just time suckers. I have, afterall, a healthy body and all of my fingers and toes. We should all be so lucky.
But as I was saying, some things just never change. And so when I heard it was exactly one year ago that I stepped through those doors of the ER and nodded to a bored, security guard with a blood soaked, paper towel wrapped around my hand, I thought, “Of course. Of course Miss Pointy Elbow has returned. Of course.”
And as I waited to be seen with my legs crossed and my hair, messy from the wind and rain, I smirked to myself.
Because truly, what we bring to the table from our childhood makes us more resilient from that said wind and rain.
Prior to my IVF protocol, I got so many tips from so many women. I did. Eat this, don’t eat that, exercise this, don’t exercise that. Coupled with the some others I met in the waiting room, holding lucky talismans and praying out loud, I realized early on that IVF was a LOT about circumstances. But with a little bit of patience? Circumstances COULD work in any one woman’s favor.
I took a break from my highly stressful job in entertainment. Working 100 plus hours a week was not great for my mental and physical health (chicken parm at 3A was dinner.) To this day, I do wonder if work stress was a factor in some of my infertility.
Not many women are able to scale back on their work load but luckily, at age 38, I was established just enough to know when well, it was enough. I asked for a “hiatus” and spent those weeks going to my many IVF appointments on time. I took baths. I read good books. I spoke to old friends. And had time to spend with my family. What a luxury.
And I breathed. I didn’t run for my bus any longer. I took my time. I didn’t stay on my feet 16 hours a day. I sat when I was tired. I smiled at the simple things, like a funny looking , cute dog with a long tongue. And I cried at movies made in the 1940′s. Just because I had the time to see them and well, because I could.
I did acupuncture. I went on walks. I listened to music on my ipod. I just took it easy on my mind and body.
My circumstances changed because I learned to be more patient in my daily life. If the paper didn’t come on time, it was no big deal. I had plans to go the Botanical Gardens so the paper could wait.
Again, not everyone has or had the luxury I was blessed with. Twenty years in a crazy line of work was what earned me my right to take a break. Sure, the lack of income was a factor but the time for my IVF was necessary. I needed that reward because otherwise, I might never have had a successful protocol.
If one could have the time as I had? Great. If not? I highly recommend a few hours or at LEAST some time to spare for yourself. If work lingers too long, stretch when no one is around and get those creaking joints limber. Read even a few pages of a good book. Make one phone call a day to someone you love. Wear a favorite necklace or perfume. Just do ONE thing a day to treat yourself humanly.
That way, during your IVF check-ups, you can feel like a mother – a woman juggling her time for her baby who also takes a nice bubble bath when the baby is safely sleeping. There is nothing wrong with that hypothetical bubble bath. Even if it is in a sea of baby bath toys and towels with tiny hoods.
Dream home alert. I think the home has been found. After three years of house hunting in topsy turvy markets, the timing is right and so is the house. It just felt like, “the one.”
Now what do I do? I get the pre-approval letter and make a bid, right? I cross my fingers. I hope all will go well by the time May rolls around. Time is ticking but I can finally get the eff outta here. No more creeping around my apartment and shutting lights so that the MIL will think I am not home. I will feel free. And the baby girl will have a place to call her own.
I worry about finances. I worry about all costs. I worry about how this will be attainable. I’ve worked 15 years in a stressful business so having such a reward is a daunting feeling. A place to come home to with a real tub and a working kitchen. And sigh, a REAL doorbell (and not an intercom buzzer.)
I’ll appreciate the city again once I am away from here. But I will enjoy the sound of nothing but the trees standing and the baby girl picking grass in her sun hat. What a nice thought!
Now, the big question is? If I move to this dream home, where do I put my framed, Bryan Ferry poster? And my powder blue Elvis lamp?
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