My Fractured Funny Bone

I have a personal motto: Until I’m able to make fun of it, I can’t talk about it. This is something I’ve learned about myself over the years. The trouble is that lately, I’m having a difficult time thinking of jokes about my quest to get knocked up. It’s like my funny bone is broken. Well, maybe not broken but definitely fractured at the very least.

Since I started this blog, I’ve received so many generous compliments on how I seem to find the humor in trying to conceive. These comments, emails and sentiments have meant the world to me and have kept me going. This is why I feel terrible that I haven’t written in awhile and that I seem to have misplaced my humor. I’ve looked under the couch, in my purse, in the fridge and several other possible places but it’s temporarily missing in action.

WANTED: MY SENSE OF HUMOR. LAST SEEN SEVERAL WEEKS AGO AT A FAMILY DINNER.

What’s taken its place seems to be a slew of emotions I haven’t dealt with. When you’re going through inseminations, doctor visits, injections and so forth, you get into a functional mode. You take each moment as it comes. You stay focused on getting through it and not feeling too much as you don’t want to get your hopes up nor do you want to be disappointed again. You are, in a sense, numb.

In the last month or so, I’ve switched to a better doctor, I’ve had a uterine polyp removed and for the most part, the madness seems to have died down. No shots, no pills, no bi-weekly doctor visits, no blood work. We have (mostly) returned to our regularly scheduled lives and are trying again the old fashioned way. Now that there are less dramatic distractions, I think all the emotions I kept in check have had an opportunity to finally come out, which isn’t a bad thing. It just feels like a bad thing.

In effect, I have Post Traumatic Trying to Conceive Syndrome.

Throughout this adventure (I hate to use the word ‘adventure’ as it implies it’s been fun but there you are), I’ve always been aware that I’ve had my moments of being down. However, in the past few weeks, I’ve been flooded with feelings over failed ‘reproductive assisted’ attempts, the loss of money and mostly, the lack of a baby to show for it. Even though I know things could have been incredibly worse and as much as it pains me to admit this to you without the benefit of making a joke, the truth is I’m pretty damn unhappy, resentful and exhausted these days.

“My name is Jay and trying to conceive has kicked my sorry fertility challenged ass.”

“Hello Jay!”

In the midst of all this, I’ve also realized just how very hurt and betrayed I feel by my first doctor. It doesn’t help matters either that while I’m dealing with a barrage of emotions in general and a growing hostility towards him, he continues to send me bills for stuff that not only didn’t work, but that couldn’t have worked thanks to the uterine polyp he somehow missed for the year I was seeing him.

The cherry on top of this crap sundae is that, according to my insurance company, the labs and tests he’s billing me for are typically not covered by my insurance as they feel they are not necessary (for whatever reason). The doctor, who is in network, apparently should have been aware of this. Therefore, if you believe my insurance company, the doctor knew I would most likely get stuck paying the bills.

Ok. It’s bad enough that the man somehow missed my sizable uterine polyp. It’s extra sucky that he made me blow my insurance’s once in a life time coverage for an IVF when I had “Jackson Polyp” cock-blocking any embryos but then to find a way to make me pay extra for this series of failures is maddening. The message appears to be, “Hey there! I f*cked you over and I’m still finding new and exciting ways to f*ck you over! Pay me fifteen hundred dollars!”

I’m now put in the position to beg him for supportive documentation to prove the labs/tests he did were in fact medically necessary. The goal is to use what the doctor will hopefully send me and then forward it to my insurance company who believes all of it was not vital but more “investigative”… whatever the holy hell that means.

Did you follow all that? How effen’ annoying is all this?

Even though I’m truly pissed at this doctor and believe he should have spoken to me about whether or not these tests would be covered beforehand, I’d like to think that if a doctor does lab work and x-rays, it isn’t for kicks.

Any which way, it’s not much fun having your woman parts caught in an argument between your ex-doctor and your insurance company. My ovaries have a lot going for them… but mediators - they are not.

So, my sense of humor is on vacation, I’m finally dealing with my thoughts and feelings from the last year and a half, I’m receiving bills from both the first doctor as well as the second doctor for the polyp-removal surgery and I’m attempting to all these invoices out with my insurance company who thinks I’ve got the money and time to dick around with what CPT code is considered legitimate. I have organized all these bills, statements, records, and copies into one big brown accordion folder. The color brown is appropriate as it feels like one big pile of sh*t.

It may take a while but I know my heart and my funny bone will heal eventually. At least I hope so as I’m sure my insurance company doesn’t consider emotions and a sense of humor ‘medically necessary’.