(Start with "Monday" if you can. This week is kind of the infertility version of a Halloween Fright Night movie marathon just without Jason or Freddy...or Jamie Lee Curtis yelling in your ear.) So, what were we talking about? Oh right. The disturbing goings-on at a few fertility clinics over the years.
Maybe fertility clinics should have framed inspection rating certificates hanging at the reception desk like they do at Wendy's. "Mary, look, this clinic only got a 72, let's get out of here!"
(Although I've seen some restaurants where I've looked at the certificate which boasted a rating of "99.5%". Then I looked at the restaurant. Then at the certificate. Then at the employees. Then at the certificate again, squinting, to see how cleverly it was altered-- or ponder who was paid off.)
But if we're all honest, sperm mix-ups and doctors engaging in criminal acts, while important, are nowhere near at the top of our "What scares the daylights out of me the most" list, the first time we open that door to the fertility clinic.On Monday's post, we discussed "The Unknown". That's what scares us to death I think--- in anything: A new job. A new relationship. A new nose.
"Will I get along with my coworkers?" "Will this person be Mr./Ms. Right?" "Will anybody believe it's my original nose?"
Whether it be horror movies or anything in life, "the unknown" calls upon all of our own personal terrors. When we don't know what comes next, our mind conjures up the worst possible scenario. That's why Alfred Hitchcock was so great. He just kind of put the idea out there and we freaked ourselves out.
And with infertility treatments, there is no shortage of "unknowns". The whole freakin' thing is one endless free-falling bungee jump into an abyss. Every minute of every day, you're Wile E. Coyote jumping off the stinking infertility cliff.
Almost every question, it seems, has no answer.
When am I going to be pregnant? Will this procedure work? Will I have to do in-vitro? How much is all this going to cost? How long will I need treatment? Why is the receptionist talking on her cell phone while I'm talking to her?
So, there are answers to these questions. They're just not good answers.
"Can't say. Couldn't tell you. We'll see. How much ya got? She's been doing that for three years. It's too late to do anything about it now."
We want guarantees. We're used to knowing the beginning, middle, and end of things. How can infertility just leave us hanging? It's cruel I tell you.
I bring my car to the mechanic. He lies. I overpay.
I go to the dentist. His hands disappear into my mouth for twenty minutes. My insurance covers $8.00. I overpay.
Not much in life works like fertility treatments. Could you imagine handing your mechanic $20,000 and him saying:
"Well, it might be the brakes. Or it might be the transmission. I'll keep your car here for two years and try to find out. Either way I can't promise you'll ever be able to drive it again. Do you need a receipt?"
Listen, I gotta go. My car needs brakes and I need a root canal. I finally figured out, by the way, why they call it a "root canal": They just keep drilling until they get to the root of your savings.
I'll talk with ya again on Monday.