We had another appointment at the clinic today, and we finally have something to actually do! OK, it involves more waiting, but there is also action, it requires a manly figure, and it could employ a kung-fu grip. Mr. got to mail in our treatment plan to his insurance, and his iron vice of a hand didn't even pierce the envelope. Then... guess what? We get to wait. Bet you didn't see that one coming.
Oh, but after it comes back we get to send it in to my insurance and wait some more. Once the bureaucrats are done having their fun, the clinic will mail us all of the medications and we can get our own party started.
Alright, bitchy time is over.
Now I get to say how much I love our new doctor. After Dr. Rumpus McFusselpuss, Downer MD, even Dr. House would be a ray of Pollyanna sunshine. (Yes, I do know that referring to TV characters in reference to real life signals an addiction to the soul suck that is TV. I can quit any time I want, and I'll keep saying that while my eyeballs dry out at 4 am because I'm so engrossed - read: brain dead - that I forgot to blink.)
Anyhoodle. Where was I? Yeah, attention span of a gnat.
The doc who gives me twinges of joy. Yes. He explained exactly why I have to take Dexmethasone at night. He went over the semen analysis. He sympathized with the whole injections thing, yet explained why I'll only get the progesterone as a nasal spray. And he freely did all of this while smiling. And asking questions about us and our relationship because I think he is genuinely interested in us as people, not just as a penis and a uterus. He was curious about what language we speak at home (answer: the one that's not English) and how we'll speak to our child (answer: each in our native language). We chatted a bit about culture shock and American bureaucracy in comparison to our local pencil pushers. It was pleasant, and we left feeling that the staff as a whole are looking out for us.
So. Yes, we are waiting some more. But Mr. got to carry an envelope to the post office today, and that's a giant step towards actually starting treatment. Finally, 10 months into this, but woohoo... here we go!
Thursday, February 28, 2008
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
You can ignore this post
This is a serious blog therapy post for me. I'm writing for me because I need to get it out. Miss "Rubbing It In", I don't care to hear your thoughts. I'm not going to read any further private messages from you.
Anyhoo.
My period came. I knew it would because I'm extremely regular. And I knew Mr.'s results wouldn't be ready.
I called the clinic this morning to find out if I can at least start the pill this month. Nope, I can't start anything until all of the results are in. Mr.'s results should be here in a few days, so we'll have to wait another cycle all for a few days delay.
Charting was making me crazy, so I quit doing that a while back. It was a fantastic decision and now I use the free service just to track my menses. When I logged in tonight to enter the start of my period, I saw that we are now on cycle 11. I know, that doesn't seem like a lot to people who have been trying for ages. But we started down the infertility path only a couple of months into it, so we've been waiting and waiting and waiting to just do something about it already for nearly 9 of those 11 months.
I wasn't terribly emotional at the start. I'm a practical sort of person, and when Mr. told me that he suspected he had a problem I didn't cry. The tears came for only a few minutes when he got the confirmation from the doc. The next 5 or 6 months were relatively uneventful emotionally. I was resolved to tackle this and I was sure that I, and we, would be OK if it didn't happen. Now I know that we'll be OK, but I'm not so sure about me.
Slowly, I started reacting to babies. Everywhere. TV shows, public transportation, baby food in the supermarket. It has gotten to the point where I nearly lost it at work this week for some baby-related comment that I don't even recall anymore. I do remember bitterly fighting not to cry in front of my new colleagues. I was sick last week and watched the local equivalent of Baby Story two days in a row, sobbing throughout each half hour episode. I'm not a sobber, but it was cathartic.
It's nearly midnight and I'm tired just from writing this. Maybe tomorrow I can organize my thoughts and write something coherent. For tonight, just getting this far was enough.
Anyhoo.
My period came. I knew it would because I'm extremely regular. And I knew Mr.'s results wouldn't be ready.
I called the clinic this morning to find out if I can at least start the pill this month. Nope, I can't start anything until all of the results are in. Mr.'s results should be here in a few days, so we'll have to wait another cycle all for a few days delay.
Charting was making me crazy, so I quit doing that a while back. It was a fantastic decision and now I use the free service just to track my menses. When I logged in tonight to enter the start of my period, I saw that we are now on cycle 11. I know, that doesn't seem like a lot to people who have been trying for ages. But we started down the infertility path only a couple of months into it, so we've been waiting and waiting and waiting to just do something about it already for nearly 9 of those 11 months.
I wasn't terribly emotional at the start. I'm a practical sort of person, and when Mr. told me that he suspected he had a problem I didn't cry. The tears came for only a few minutes when he got the confirmation from the doc. The next 5 or 6 months were relatively uneventful emotionally. I was resolved to tackle this and I was sure that I, and we, would be OK if it didn't happen. Now I know that we'll be OK, but I'm not so sure about me.
Slowly, I started reacting to babies. Everywhere. TV shows, public transportation, baby food in the supermarket. It has gotten to the point where I nearly lost it at work this week for some baby-related comment that I don't even recall anymore. I do remember bitterly fighting not to cry in front of my new colleagues. I was sick last week and watched the local equivalent of Baby Story two days in a row, sobbing throughout each half hour episode. I'm not a sobber, but it was cathartic.
It's nearly midnight and I'm tired just from writing this. Maybe tomorrow I can organize my thoughts and write something coherent. For tonight, just getting this far was enough.
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
The insurance downside
Mr. just called. He had just finished with his appointment to give his sample for the last sperm analysis. The specialist said that our doctor will have the results and his recommendation report within two weeks. I know they have to actually do the analysis within an hour, so the two week lag is the joy of semi-socialized medicine.
I'm due to start a new cycle in a few days, and since our doctor won't have the results in time, he won't be able to submit a treatment plan to our insurance in time for this cycle. That means waiting some more, and as we all know, patience is my best quality. Ahem.
I'm due to start a new cycle in a few days, and since our doctor won't have the results in time, he won't be able to submit a treatment plan to our insurance in time for this cycle. That means waiting some more, and as we all know, patience is my best quality. Ahem.
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
I'm still here...
I took a little break from writing, both here and on my "public" blog. In addition to that, I by and large gave up charting. The lack of constant contemplation makes it seem as if time has flown, and that's good because we are still playing the IVF waiting game.
Here's a little catch-up:
Our new clinic is fantastic. I found out that yes, I do have PCOS, but it's incredibly mild and hasn't seemed to have ever interfered with ovulation or my cycle. I'm taking a teeny dose of a steroid and it has totally normalized my wonky hormones, so yay.
Mr. goes for his 4th semen analysis tomorrow. This will be the second one for the new clinic, because apparently the old clinic didn't record some values that the new clinic really wants to know, like, oh, TOTAL SPERM COUNT. Yes, that's right. The number that we assumed was the count on the first two wasn't (my translation error? no idea..).
The doctor sent Mr. to a specialist where they do a hand count and the specialist wanted to know if there were more than 10 in the sample. There were 10 million. All deformed, but perfectly acceptable for ICSI. Tomorrow should just confirm the results.
The geneticist at the mandatory genetic counseling was fun. He was quite young but incredibly intense with crazy eyes, and it provided for much fodder for Young Frankenstein jokes in the elevator on the way out.
So, where are we now? Waiting, of course. I have no idea how the whole insurance approval thing works (thank god for nationally mandated IVF coverage), but I'm hoping we can get moving on this soon. And now I'm feeling like I can talk about it again.
Here's a little catch-up:
Our new clinic is fantastic. I found out that yes, I do have PCOS, but it's incredibly mild and hasn't seemed to have ever interfered with ovulation or my cycle. I'm taking a teeny dose of a steroid and it has totally normalized my wonky hormones, so yay.
Mr. goes for his 4th semen analysis tomorrow. This will be the second one for the new clinic, because apparently the old clinic didn't record some values that the new clinic really wants to know, like, oh, TOTAL SPERM COUNT. Yes, that's right. The number that we assumed was the count on the first two wasn't (my translation error? no idea..).
The doctor sent Mr. to a specialist where they do a hand count and the specialist wanted to know if there were more than 10 in the sample. There were 10 million. All deformed, but perfectly acceptable for ICSI. Tomorrow should just confirm the results.
The geneticist at the mandatory genetic counseling was fun. He was quite young but incredibly intense with crazy eyes, and it provided for much fodder for Young Frankenstein jokes in the elevator on the way out.
So, where are we now? Waiting, of course. I have no idea how the whole insurance approval thing works (thank god for nationally mandated IVF coverage), but I'm hoping we can get moving on this soon. And now I'm feeling like I can talk about it again.
yeah.
I just read an email from my mom. The daughter of a friend of hers is pregnant. This makes baby #11 in the past year. Yes, we are now up to 11.
I'm so happy for this girl, she was diagnosed with cancer in 7th grade and underwent a lot of chemo and radiation for a couple of years. She'll go into early menopause and they thought it was highly unlikely that she would ever have children, so this baby really is a miracle for them.
I'm trying really hard not to go into "why not me, too" mode, because I certainly would rather be in my position than hers. But still, she'll have a baby in June and I won't. So, thank god I'm healthy. But still. ARGH.
I'm so happy for this girl, she was diagnosed with cancer in 7th grade and underwent a lot of chemo and radiation for a couple of years. She'll go into early menopause and they thought it was highly unlikely that she would ever have children, so this baby really is a miracle for them.
I'm trying really hard not to go into "why not me, too" mode, because I certainly would rather be in my position than hers. But still, she'll have a baby in June and I won't. So, thank god I'm healthy. But still. ARGH.
The insurance question
Yet another reason to feel so incredibly lucky.
I'm an American who lives in Europe. The particular country in which I live mandates health insurance. For everyone. You gotta have it. If you lose your job, the government helps you pay your premiums. There's no other choice.
If you income is below a certain level (an above-average salary), you have to take the state insurance. This doesn't come directly from the state, it comes from private companies that must by law offer a certain level of coverage. In general, it costs between 10 and 15% of your pre-tax income, depending on the company you choose.
Private insurance (an option for those who earn more than the threshhold) is a bit different and is closer to the American system, which means that it also gets more expensive as you get older. We decided to stick with the state insurance.
So, what does this mean for us? The government mandates that IVF is 50% covered for the first 3 tries per child. If we decide to try for a second, then we get another 3 covered. This in and of itself is excellent news. Additionally, the medical system here is not so broken that everything costs 10 times what it should. Even if we had to pay for the whole shebang, it would come to about 3,000 euros. Uh huh. One-third to one-quarter of the cost, even without insurance.
And our president claims that the US healthcare system is OK.
I'm an American who lives in Europe. The particular country in which I live mandates health insurance. For everyone. You gotta have it. If you lose your job, the government helps you pay your premiums. There's no other choice.
If you income is below a certain level (an above-average salary), you have to take the state insurance. This doesn't come directly from the state, it comes from private companies that must by law offer a certain level of coverage. In general, it costs between 10 and 15% of your pre-tax income, depending on the company you choose.
Private insurance (an option for those who earn more than the threshhold) is a bit different and is closer to the American system, which means that it also gets more expensive as you get older. We decided to stick with the state insurance.
So, what does this mean for us? The government mandates that IVF is 50% covered for the first 3 tries per child. If we decide to try for a second, then we get another 3 covered. This in and of itself is excellent news. Additionally, the medical system here is not so broken that everything costs 10 times what it should. Even if we had to pay for the whole shebang, it would come to about 3,000 euros. Uh huh. One-third to one-quarter of the cost, even without insurance.
And our president claims that the US healthcare system is OK.
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