The first month of birth control almost down, I called CVS last night for a refill since it was one of the few evenings I’d be over that direction and easily able to pick up the prescription in the next week or so. I started with the automatic phone refill system, which informed me far too cheerfully that it was too soon for me to get a refill. Already a bit cranky due to being tired and needing to check the car into the shop to have the mechanic evaluate the ominous grinding sound in the brakes, I reminded myself to chill out, let it go, and called the local pharmacy to talk to a live representative.
“Yes, that’s right,” the pharmacy employee informed me. “This prescription is for 28 days, and you’re only on day 21.”
“I know,” I replied. “But I really need to go ahead and get the next pill pack because I’m busy next week and because I’m timing very specifically to start an IVF cycle next month.”
There was a moment of silence that seemed to indicate consideration on the other end of the line, and then: “What time would you like to pick it up?”
Bless that employee. Her gesture of kindness truly made my day.
This was especially nice because about three minutes earlier, I’d gotten off the phone with the fertility pharmacy to price out the drugs I’ll need for IVF. I’m pretty sure I paid less than the estimate of the total medication bill for one semester of nursing school tuition – and that includes the books.
It’s slowly sinking in that we’re actually going to do this thing – IVF – and little by little, the concrete pieces are starting to accumulate. I’ve scheduled my injection teaching appointment where the nurses at the clinic will go over the medication timing, injections, and all the other information I’ll need to know for the procedure. Orders have gotten faxed for some lab work for both Arthur and myself that we’ll get drawn next week.
And I had a little tiny freak-out meltdown because there is something about literally betting the price of a decent used car, a down-payment on a starter home, or around half of what I would need for master’s degree tuition on a chance. I mean, I’d be freaking out just a bit if I was putting this kind of cash down for a 99% virtual certainty of having a healthy baby.
Don’t get me wrong. I’d pay it and more, but holy crap. We’re not paying for a baby. We’re paying for a chance. This pretty much goes against every risk-averse financial bone in my body. I am not a risk-taker. I don’t gamble. This is huge.
My mother reminded me, when I said I felt stupid that we’re plunking down a sizeable chunk of our life savings on a chance, that we are spending it in pursuit of something that really, really matters to us. That we are going after a goal we want more than anything else in the world. That no outsider can look at this and say our priorities should have been different. A baby is our highest priority financial-wise right now. So even though it sucks that we have to pay for something most others get for free and it’s unfair that our insurance doesn’t cover the treatment of a legitimate medical condition, no one can say we are being crazy with our money. What else did we save for, if not the chance to pursue our dreams?
Even with all the freak-outs, the stress, the worry, I know that for Arthur and I this is and was the right decision. It was the only option we could choose that got us where we want to be, and we have the resources to pursue it right now. We’ve slowly been telling family and friends that we’re pursuing IVF, and we’ve gotten nothing but love and support, which we are grateful for.
I just keep reminding myself to take a deep breath. Exhale. Deep breath. Exhale. One moment at a time. One obstacle at a time. Don’t worry about three or four weeks down the road when the injections will start. Just get each test done. Each teaching done. Each payment done. One at a time. Because…here we go.