I spoke with nurse H last Wednesday, who called in the big box of meds and emailed me my calendar. It had to be reworked after the surge rolled in a few days behind schedule, but this is what their “most aggressive protocol” looks like. * Note: the “tentative retrieval date” of 9/4 means I will miss the first two days of school. I’m really sad about this. Instructionally, they’re the best days to miss, empty easing-in kinds of days. Emotionally, it’s keeping me up at night–not being there, the warm smile in the hallway, the reassuring hand that helps with the locker and offers directions when they’re scared and seeking kindness. It also means answering a bunch of awkward questions about why. But what choice do I have? This is a product of pregnancy loss #6, not my actions. This is not my fault.
Another big box of meds arrives on my doorstep. What’s missing? I still have to order $900 worth of Lupron and human growth hormone. I remember the first time this package arrived back in March of 2011 and how incredible the sheer volume of medication was, especially for me, the girl who’ll suffer with a headache rather than take an Advil. Now it is…anticlimactic, routine.
And let us not forget the egg quality cocktail of supplements (“voodoo”):
B is embracing his role as insurance company liaison and director of accounts receivable. The only way I could wrap my head around going out-of network for treatment was with serious help. I think he likes that he can finally shoulder some of the practical obligations and stressors after feeling helpless to help me for so long.
Surge: it begins, and I’m really scared of what it will reveal.