Sunday, March 9, 2008
Baggage: What dreams are made of
So, I've been pestering the clinic for a detailed accounting of where our up-front IVF cycle money went, and most important, EXACTLY HOW MUCH WE GET BACK. The money is an issue and does affect our next steps. Because we went no further than ER, we should at least get money back for things like ICSI, AH, embryo coddling/fertilization reports, transfer, and the beta finale. That's my position, anyway. Nobody did any of that stuff. The clinic is happy to help but is taking its time getting me the info.
Yesterday's mail brought a note from the finance department, so we thought "Finally, here it is." Wrong-o, it's a BILL. For $20. Due upon receipt. It's strange because it's listed as a copay x 2 for a date neither of us went in. It looks like they successfully submitted a charge to insurance after the fact, though. We'll see, more money back for us, perhaps. I expect to know where we stand early this week.
For old time's sake last night I dreamed about the doctor who wanted to treat me to a hysterectomy for the "leaky faucet" he so expertly diagnosed 22+ years ago. I said no to the uterus removal and got a godsend of a second opinion (chronic hemorhagging clearly due to removable fibroids), but not before I'd let him spend a year pursuing myriad ineffective procedures while my life, health, college career, and relationships suffered. I was young and desperately trying to make everything work, and I just kept taking that doctor's "medicine" for too long.
The dream started with me sitting in my home office. My phone rang: Dr. Leaky calling. He wanted me to stop into his office, which was — conveniently enough — suddenly located in my laundry room. I trotted right on over to talk $$$. Oh no, sorry, no refunds for the IVF, he quickly explained. He then handed me a plain white envelope (clearly from my own stash). He encouraged me to put the $20 right on in there; he figured that was easiest since I had the cash in my purse. I said, "What exactly is this charge for?" And he told me it was for the extra unplanned hour he'd recently spent thinking about my case and concluding that he'd been right all those years ago . . .
Turns out I have money issues, lingering emotional baggage, AND the subconscious of a simpleton. Nice!
I happen to know that Dr. Leaky is long dead. I woke up rolling my eyes at him for taking time out of his afterlife to rattle some of my rusty old chains.