I've been struggling with my emotions since the surgery. But you will all think I'm stupid when you hear the reason why. It has nothing to do with getting cut open again, having a longer recovery, or even the painful reminder that I'll never carry a child.
It has everything to do with money.
I knew that, since I have no available sick or vacation days yet at my job, I would lose money for being out of work. I was prepared for that.
What I was not prepared for was the money I had to hand over at the hospital.
If you've ever had surgery or been to the hospital before, you know that the first thing they make you do is register. Registering requires you to hand over your insurance card, fill out what seems like 8 million forms about your life, and usually pay a co-pay. With my previous surgeries, I had no co-pay. None. I didn't pay a dime out of pocket to be cut open. I knew that may not be the case going into this surgery, but I couldn't think about it. I needed the surgery, right? What else could I do? But somehow my days of reasoning couldn't override my shock when the registration representative told me how much we owed. My reaction went something like this:
Put it this way: the amount of money we paid for my surgery is the exact amount it will cost us for our homestudy.
And that is what has me upset. It's bad enough that we have to suffer for nearly three years to be parents, but on top of this, our bank account must suffer, too. Anyone who has been through infertility treatments knows that it's difficult to recover from the financial aspects of this, no matter what they are. Unless you are lucky enough to have insurance that covers IUIs and/or IVF, you understand how it feels to watch your savings dwindle and rest comfortably in the hands of a doctor who, for many of us, just can't get you pregnant. When we stopped treatment in May, we built our savings account back up considerably, and we set ourselves into a budget that would allow us to file paperwork in August. This surgery - while necessary - caused us a little bit of a setback.
In the grand scheme of things, or in the grand scheme of "cost of adoption," this amount isn't a lot. The principal behind it is what bothers me. It's the fact that normal people don't have to pay someone thousands of dollars to come into their home and judge whether they would make fit parents. Normal people don't have to write huge checks to doctors offices, lawyers, adoption agencies, etc. to have a baby. They just fuck and it's over. Done. A new life is created no matter how much money they have in their pockets.
I usually don't like to question whether all of this is fair anymore. Those days are long gone, sitting in a shallow grave with my dreams of a honeymoon baby, my ideas about surprising our family and friends with ultrasound photos, and my eagerness to feel our tiny baby's feet tapping on the inside of my belly. But the idea of "fair" feels so fresh right now - raw and painful like my incisions. It hurts.
We'll recover. We have ideas about raising money this fall. I'm getting pretty good at coupon-ing. We also may dip into Joey's 401k if we have to. Losing this money was (I hope) for the best for me physically. It just served as a hurtful reminder for me, mentally, about how unfair this journey is for all of us.