A friend used the phrase “daily indignities” to describe our former place of employment, but it feels so apt to describe this process right now.
I have been trying to get life insurance since November. First, it was on hold for months (months!) while I completed every follow-up that had ever been suggested — I made the mistake of asking for a dermatologist and a therapist recommendation, and thus had to go to several appointments before I could be considered “clean.” Now, of course, I got the paperwork and they have asked whether anything has changed. I opened it up last night and just put my head down and cried. Do I really need to put myself through this?
I’m telling myself the adult way of doing it is just to suck it up, write “pregnancy/miscarriage” and they can get all the details from my doctor. A much more immature part of me (and my husband) just wants to say FUCK OFF YOU CAN’T HAVE MY MONEY for putting me through four months of uncertainty and scrutiny when I am about as healthy as it gets (oh, and my premium is as expensive as my husband’s for only 2/3 the coverage. wtf). But I submitted the form this morning. We’ll see if I have to suffer more indignity in this particular process.
I also had to pay my bill for my D&C. People. We have good insurance. Like, really good, may pay for part of IVF insurance.
My D&C cost $1000. After insurance.
Lucy knows what’s up.
Now, I wrote a check, and aside from some insult to injury that I had a third miscarriage who didn’t even do me the favor of getting out of town, it was fine. But then I got all fired up thinking about what they are doing in Tennessee, Texas, etc etc to reduce women’s access to abortions. This video from John Oliver explains some of the restrictions that just don’t make any sense. If I didn’t live in sunny California, I may have not had cytotec as an option! And I would have had to be lectured about the dangers of abortion. And perhaps, considering what we know about genetics, it might not have been allowed at all because I would be aborting due to potential disability.
What the ever-loving fuck.
I not sure I ever understood so viscerally that I need the choice of whether or not to continue a pregnancy.