(Video provided as today's soothing balm -- Futurama is therapy.)
I'm trying to be super calm about all the boo-hiss-type things that have happened in the past week or so. After all the waiting, the RE's office I was referred to (the only one in this area!) put me down for the wrong test, and of course my simply going over to the hospital where the *correct* test would have been done wasn't an option (no room), I was stuck gritting my teeth as they said nope, we'll just wait until your *next* cycle to try it. And gritting my teeth as I realized the price I was quoted was for the *wrong test* too. And in general just gritting my teeth. This would have been okay except that the same day, we were also scrambling to suddenly put our house on the market (long story -- being landlords has been hell on earth, and when an opportunity arose for everyone to leave and us to sell the house, we took it). We still have to go back to RVA a few times for house-related stuff (see: landlording being hell on earth -- I don't want to be more specific about this special hell until it's all in the past). So basically things went from "hey, feeling hopeful, maybe we'll get an answer!" to "I AM ACTUALLY SHAKING FROM STRESS AT THIS POINT."
Also, to the insurance lady I talked to this morning explaining how I need a pre-authorization proving I need this pre-diagnostic test: it's kind of not cool to tell someone that they might not need this test and "sometimes these things just work themselves out -- sometimes doctors put the cart before the horse, you know" I'm sorry, are you my doctor? No. Are you a reproductive endocrinologist? No. You're a gatekeeper; you're not the one who gets to say that my problem will just work itself out. Getting this kind of runaround is nothing particularly new to me, but it's frustrating nonetheless. It's like everyone wants to talk me out of it. It's probably got to do with that stupid The Secret stuff -- maybe I just need to make myself a proper vision board! If I create a fertility Pinterest board THAT'LL DO IT! Clearly I'm just trying too hard to, you know, use what little healthcare is being provided for me about this, and I should really just sit back and let it work itself out. Hell, why do I even try at all, man? Why get out of bed in the morning? Why fill the car with gas? Things work themselves out.
This post is super negative and grimace-y. I'm sorry Internets. Someday when my house is sold and I'm not dealing with crisis after crisis and arguing with insurance ladies about my reproductive health, I hope my outlook will be a little less rage-y. Until then, you're stuck with me in boxing-glove mode.