A few weeks ago, a large packet arrived in my mailbox from my RE’s office. I remember this packet well. Lots of forms, check lists, maps to various offices… I didn’t open it.
“Oh, I know what’s in there.” Then like the diligent slacker I am, I completely ignored it until last night. I ripped it open, and started to fill out the forms.
The basic demographic stuff was fine. But when I hit the section on how long I’d be trying to conceive, I stumbled. I mean, how do I even answer that question? Do I go back almost 3 years to when this whole madness began? Do I start when Mr. O and I started talking about Deux? So I did what all of us do when faced with questions too difficult or painful to answer- I ignored them.
I could not, however, ignore the looming specter of Incompetence Insurance. You may recall that my insurance has a special phone number for us infertiles– the Infertility Hotline. In a flash, I flipped through those memories: the call, the laundry list of personal questions to someone who entered them into a database to determine my coverage… most of all, I remember the several days I had to wait for an appointment with one of their clinicians to open up. I don’t have days!
I called this morning, prepared to through my very best diva-style temper tantrum. Lo and behold, I didn’t have to. Since I’m already diagnosed, I didn’t need the uncomfortable calls, the endless precertification processes, or treatment codes. Nope, I just roll into Dr. Petrel’s office tomorrow with a half completed questionnaire, and I’m all set.
It’s the tiny victories, my friends.