Friday, July 6, 2012
A shot in the dark
Yesterday afternoon we got back from Nashville with enough time to float in the pool before late-day naps. The suppression check was pretty mellow: a blood test, pelvic ultrasound, and medical history. Despite a family history chock-full of cancer, Heather came out rosy with the regular medical history, having had no surgery or other disorders in her past. The worst revelation was that penicillin made her itchy.
After two visits to the Nashville clinic and two subsequent episodes of misery/tension/grief/frustration/hostility, it looked like we'd be getting out of there without a flare-up. But we didn't. At the godforsaken check-out desk, the lady said that we were supposed to talk to the financial coordinator before we left. "But we've paid for everything," Heather said. According to the nurse, we actually owed $100 for the twenty-minute phone consultation we had with the PGD lady, and the financial lady had requested to talk to everyone when they came in for their suppression checks.
This went over poorly with Heather. She paid the money, but continued muttering that it made no sense. The financial lady-- probably to her own benefit, under the circumstances-- had stepped out, so we agreed that she would call us if she needed anything. Heather muttered as we crossed the waiting room, as we waited for the elevator, as we walked to the parking garage, and as we climbed into the car that the lady only wanted to talk to us to get more money. "All they do is nickel-and-dime us."
To be honest, as inclined as I am to minimize problems for the sake of peace in our little household, I couldn't help thinking that it was kind of bullshit for us to pay over $4,000 for PGD and they couldn't even throw in the cost of the phone consultation. It seems like a reach. Still, we know they're going to nickel-and-dime us; that's nothing new. Yet it always seems to surprise and offend Heather. To me, it's a little like getting indignant about the price of concessions at the movie theater: yes, they are trying to gouge us. The difference, however, is that you can't sneak a PGD consultation into the office, no matter how big your purse is.
whole Lupron procedure, she half-opened her eyes this morning and told me to get the shot ready before I woke her up. I did a superb job, wiping the bottle with an alcohol pad, inserting 20 units of air into the bottle before drawing the medicine up, carrying the syringe delicately to the bedroom without spilling anything on the counter or carpet. Heather stood, pinched her stomach, wiped it with the next alcohol pad, and I stuck that needle right in there. I depressed the plunger, pulled the needle back out, and Heather crawled back under the sheets like nothing had happened.
It's almost 7:30PM now. Heather and our friend Renee have gone to pick up some furniture we bought earlier this week, and I'm excited to put together the bookcase right after I poke her in the belly again.