(Start with "Monday" if you can. Preferably with a frosty beverage in one hand and a sparkler in the other.) So, what were we talking about? Oh right. How people, like your spouse, and society, and the medical staff, have conspired with hormones to make you go bonkers during your fertility treatments...
(Ever see the movie "Gaslight" with Ingrid Bergman? It's like that.)
And, of course, there are the bills...
Bad enough you have to go to all of those appointments and be subjected to proby things put up you and blood siphoned out of you. Stuff injected, swallowed, inserted or shot into you.
Now, on top of all of that: The damn treatments expect to be paid for.
I thought about getting a second job, maybe babysitting. Okay, so, nowadays a babysitter makes, what? At least, forty dollars a night.
So, okay. Let's say I worked at my regular job every day and worked overtime every night. And then, afterwards, I babysat. Seven days a week.
I'm sure there are lots of couples headed out to have a date night at eleven on a Tuesday evening.
So that would be at least two hundred and eighty dollars a week just from babysitting. At that rate, I could have one round of IVF signed, sealed, and delivered in about ten years. Just from babysitting. Not bad. I could start treatments about three weeks before I turn fifty-two.
Or maybe my husband could set up a lemonade stand outside his office on his lunch break.
Why not? On a NYC corner, he could charge eight dollars a cup and nobody would blink. Nobody would buy, but nobody would blink. Well, tourists might buy. He's cute enough.
And maybe he could wear a thong speedo to bolster business. I suppose that would mean we'd have to do the treatments in the summer. We've gotten this far. No sense taking a chance on frostbiting his boys.
Or maybe we could do a 50/50 raffle. You know. You sell tickets to raise money. You keep half and the winner takes half.
Could get a little hairy if you have twins, though. Even worse with triplets, being that they're not divisible by two. What in the world am I talking about?
Or we could borrow money from family...Wait, where'd they all just go?
Or we could max out our credit cards...if our credit limits hadn't been dropped from $35,000 to $12.95.
Or we could do a bake sale. How many chocolate chips do you need to make $200,ooo worth of cookies? I'll probably need to buy a bigger bowl.
Or we could sell stuff on e-bay. If I can find a way to market old crap as nostalgia.
Or we could barter. I have a degree in Foreign Languages. Do you know any Reproductive Endocrinologists who could use $20,000 worth of Spanish lessons? (I think I might have to throw in a Senorita.)
So, the moral for this week: If you're dealing with infertility- The diagnosis, and/or treatments, and you're worried that you're losing your mind. Don't worry. You are. We all are. Abnormality is the norm.
Listen, I gotta go. I smell steak barbecuing somewhere within a six mile radius. I've gotta grab a bottle of A1 and hunt it down. If you could see my nose, you'd know I wasn't kidding. I'll talk with ya on Tuesday.