I spent a lot of time on the phone this week. I’ve been trying to figure out for what GHI will and will not pay. Like most things involved in the amorphous entity known as my employer — New York City D o’ Ed– there has been a great amount of mystery and “why don’t you ask this other guy…. I’ll connect you… [dial tone].”
I’d like to use the RE my neighbor is using. I made a consultation appointment with them for next week. Since GHI is not really helping me out much, I’m going to try the dr’s office again and see if I can talk to their insurance person. My neighbor, I’ll call her Gwen, stopped by tonight. She was in the RE’s office today and she said two other people there were teachers and had my insurance plan. She also suggested I take A with me. Duh. Why did this not occur to me before? I am not alone in this. The best part was that she offered to pick Cakie up from daycare that day so we could both go! Gwen, you rock.
I’ve heard a lot of complaints about this crazy HSG test… or what I refer to as Hummmanashemanag. But I think that is what I want. I know I’m ovulating. I was even complimented on the size of my temperature spike by the midwife (blush). I’d like to know that my tubes are clear and the path is easy for the geriatric sperm and my who-knows-what-condition-they’re-in eggs to get together for a little action. I’m afraid of everything else. I mean, I’d like to know the condition of my eggs. But I’m scared of Clomid. I’m scared of anything that might pop out more than one egg at a time. I had one newborn. One at a time was enough, thank you. If the universe wants me to have multiples, I’ll do my best with the little dickenses, but I’m certainly not going to egg the universe on. (Oh boy… I did not intend that pun. Nor will I delete it. I am my father’s daughter.)