What can you buy with $27,000? I've thought about this a lot lately. You can buy a new car. You can travel. You can buy some property, maybe even build a tiny home. You can go to the movies 1,350 times (assuming a movie ticket is $20, welcome to LA). You can buy a fake amphibious Lambo (http://www.theverge.com/2016/4/11/11405750/amphibious-lamborghini-ebay. You're welcome). You can buy 27,000 things at the Dollar Store.
My point is that you can buy a lot of stuff. We have chosen to buy love. Or at least buy the chance at love. It's a gamble, the pot is huge and we are all in.
Speaking of all in, I had another vaginal ultrasound today. This one was my baseline and - good news - all looks well! Blood work came back, levels are great. We are officially DOING THIS. What makes it official? The fact that I just gave them $15,500 for starters. That makes it feel pretty official. It also makes me break out in hives and a cold sweat. Let's just break down the math here. So far......
$1800 = 3 Ultrasounds
$1000 = 2 sperm tests and urologist consult
$4700 = IVF Drugs (I'm rounding down)
$900 = RSA for MESA
$300 = Sperm Freeze
$6600 = IVF (discounted from the usual $8900 since we are repeat custumers)
$4950 = PGS (genetic testing)
$550 = Anethesia
$1550 = ICSI
$700 = Cryofreezing remaining embryos _________________________________________________________________
TOTAL = MY KID IS NEVER GOING TO COLLEGE
And this isn't the full amount. We will still owe the urologist $5,000 for Dan's MESA on the day of retrieval, plus a few extras here and there. Hives. Cold sweat. The time to panic is upon us, people. We are completely crazy and have clearly lost our mind.
All I can think about is fertility. I just enjoyed a lovely evening seeing The Little Mermaid at the Hollywood Bowl. It was fabulous. The movie starts with a bunch of guys on a boat. I guess you could call them "seamen." And the evening ended with fireworks, which looked like sperm flying through the air. I found myself wondering about their morphology.
I need help. And by help I mean wine. But I can't drink wine right now, or coffee, because I'm prepping my body for this joyous event, which – if all efforts are successful - means I can't have wine or coffee for an additional 280 more days. Not that I'm counting.
Okay, fine. I'm counting. I'm counting the days. I'm counting the dollars. I'm counting the injections and levels and pills and I'm counting on us that we made the right call doing all this again. I'm counting on love to get us through.