No. 172 - When I Feel Like Crying, I Think of This:

Today, as most of you know, was Not-the-Beta Day from IVF #2: the Finale. I had mentioned more than once in the past few posts that if the HPTs were negative, I was not going to torture myself by getting the beta done.

"Yep, DD. We have confirmed for you that indeed, you are not pregnant, but your beta looks like it might have reached as high as 7! Isn't that encouraging?"

So, I didn't go to the clinic. But imagine my surprise when one of the nurses called and left a message for me letting me know that they were expecting me for the beta. Awwww. They missed me. Warm fuzzy feelings abound.

I called them back and told Nurse Keri that I was not going in for my beta. It was a waste of my time. You know what she said? "You HAVE to come in for the beta. We have to have a blood test confirmation of the results. You do know that those urine tests are not a 100% accurate, don't you?"

No shit? Really? Let me take a lookeesee here on this box of HPTs: "up to 99% accurate". Hmmm. I would say the HPTs percentages look a whole lot better than my clinic's who ran me through two IUIs, two IVFs and 1/2 of a FET with a maximum beta of 68 to show amongst the 4 1/2 cycles I gave those bastards.

OK. So back to the phone call: "I don't think I need to do all the bloodwork. It's ridiculous that you even think I 'have' to!" I tell Keri. She pacifies me with, "We just need to get a beta. If the numbers are something you should know, we will call you back. Otherwise, if you don't hear from us, you'll know you were right."

Fine. My day was already pretty shitty. What's another $70 to let someone jab me for some blood after the kind of money we have pissed away already. Off I go to the Small Town hospital; wait in line in the lab; and then get the most incompetent phlebo they employ who not only fails to hit a vein, but then proceeds to D.I.G. for it. Over. And. Over. Again. My arm still hurts and that was 8 hours ago.

But when she finally removes the vial of blood, she taps me with a second. What the fuck? "I thought this was just for the HcG?"

"Oh, no. The orders are for the HcG, Estradial and Progesterone levels."

That fucking liar, Keri.

As soon as I leave the hospital I'm on my cell calling the clinic and talking to Keri. "You told me I just needed to do the beta!"

"Yeah. Well. Dr. Blinksalot wanted the complete work-up."

I'm crying (again) and furious. "Do you realize that's another $300 out of our pocket for a goddamn waste of time? It's insult to injury. Don't you think I would be the first to want to believe that maybe, just maybe, I might be pregnant?!"

"I'm really sorry, DD. I know this is very painful (insert snort from me here), but we also need you to call with Cycle Day 1."

"I'm not coming back to the clinic for another cycle. We are done."

"Either way, we will still need you to call on the first day of your period."

They can take their protocols; their stats; the CDC reporting requirements and shove them up their collective cooters. If they want to know when Cycle Day 1 shows up then they'll have to send someone up to check my trashcans because the last thing I'm going to do is call my clinic, who has sucked the last drop of hope from me, and tell them when the most expensive and painful period of my life shows up.

Fuckers.

Oh, by the way, the clinic has not called back. Guess I was right, eh?