Our path to parenthood hasn't been easy, or particularly fun for that matter. We've known that we wanted to be parents for years, and thanks to two uteruses in this relationship, we are able to plan appropriately. A few years ago, we began the foster licensing process to adopt from foster care in Seattle, and two things happened: 1) the MAPP class was completely uninspiring and at times, downright terrifying, and 2) Allie received a job transfer from Washington to Massachusetts, effective within the month. We were about 3/4 of the way through training at that point, but saw no point in continuing, so we didn't. Damn my easily justified laziness! This whole thing would have been a lot easier if we would have just finished our training. But I digress...
We then moved to Boston (read: way outside of Boston because Boston's real estate market is nothing if not prohibitive). Even 40 miles outside of the city, our adorable budget bought us one dog-friendly studio of an impressive 400 square feet, with sieves for windows and neighbors who toked and spoke, loudly, at all hours of the night. DCF came to visit and gently encouraged us to call them back when we had a more appropriate place to bring home a baby. Oy.
Ten months later, we became new residents of New Haven, Connecticut, a medium-sized city with a racially and socio-economically diverse population, conveniently located halfway between Boston and New York City. If it seems like a bit of a downshift, it is! I grew up in LA, colleged in the Bay, grad schooled in the Chi, practiced in SEA, and made the daily commute on MBTA, so quaint little New Haven is a welcome respite. To sweeten the deal, we've purchased our first home (because Hello, Affordability!), and the additional 800 square feet is downright palatial.
Along with real estate ownership came the green light from DCF, so our first order of business was initiating a home study. Unfortunately, the DCF TIPS-MAPP experience was not a match for us (which is not to say it isn't for other families, so don't let our experience pull you away from them!), so we turned to a private adoption agency for special needs domestic infant adoption. The first social worker who met with us told us that we were a difficult family to place (lesbian? interracial? modest income?), and that we should seek fertility treatments before private adoption. We were shocked, but did as she said. And so started the brief heartbreak known fondly as "The Business of Baby-Making."
Fertility for the Common Lesbian
Since I'm home full-time, we naturally started with exploring my fertility. It's not a fun process. Here was our timeline:
- Cycle Day 3: Baseline blood work, which amounted to around 13 vials, and transvaginal ultrasound
- Cycle Day 10: Hysterosalpingogram, a radiologic test that involves dye injected into your uterus/fallopian tubes to make sure they're open, best known as "a traumatic experience"
- Cycle Day 11: More blood work
- Cycle Day 17: Sonohysterogram, a procedure which involves the injection of saline into your uterus to make sure the endometrium is smooth, also known as "less traumatic experience than the hysterosalpingogram for me, but the opposite is true for my wife"
- Cycle Day 20: Luteal phase blood work
- Cycle Day 23: OB/GYN consultation
- Next Cycle Day 3: Fertility consultation
At the hallowed fertility consultation, I was informed that while my reproductive health was picture-perfect, my blood sugar wasn't stable enough for them to feel comfortable attempting a pregnancy. At first, I was all, "You can't tell me what to do with my body!" and then I was like, "Okay, I don't want to be totally ill for nine months only to birth a sixteen-pound baby with a pathological addiction to carbs," so I eventually made my peace with the whole thing. Then, it was Allie's turn.
My wife is a pacifist who usually has no trouble going along with my grand plans, and this situation was no exception. Her "diagnostic month" was delayed because her menses come and go as they please, but eventually we made it through her 35-day cycle. The investigation found that while her ovulation was mediocre, it could be optimized and induced with some well-timed hormone therapy, and we were ecstatic! This sublime happiness was short-lived, however, and expired completely when the medical bills arrived.
Financing Fertility
There are some things every person needs to keep in mind when embarking on this medical adventure:
- Call your insurance representative and verify your benefits before you begin (sometimes the insurance coordinator at your doctor's office has different info than what you're told, which is awesome)
- If you can, plan a Health Savings Account to cover your medical expenses with pre-tax dollars
- Check into your employer's family planning benefits, in case there are some hidden gems
- Look into alternative funding sources for this process, like your 401K or awesome loan companies like Upstart
Allie and I are lucky to have decent healthcare coverage through her employer, and our diagnostic work was covered almost totally in-network. We obviously paid copays with every visit and lab draw, and the remaining balances for the diagnostic procedures (roughly $80 each, after insurance adjustment), but were caught completely unaware when we received a $1718 bill for the genetic panel our reproductive endocrinologist ordered. I vaguely remembered signing a waiver for the test, vowing that I would pay the balance after my insurance did its thing, but had no idea about the actual cost. Our Good Start Genetics test evaluated our risk of passing along genetic diseases to our babies, which is fantastic, but in my opinion, unnecessary. Still, we were so filled with excitement that we decided to be compliant, low-maintenance patients. Amateur move.
Luckily, the folks at Good Start were very helpful in helping us navigate this sticky situation, and offered a discounted You-Pay-It-All-Now rate, flexible payment plans, and even an option for financial aid. Fingers crossed that were are approved for a full scholarship! Application pending.
Back to Baby
With our doctor's blessing and a financial strategy in hand, we decided to work with Cryos International Sperm Bank because it is by far the best deal in the nation. Although there are other good ones that we also considered, including Midwest Sperm Bank (out of Downers Grove, IL, offers monthly specials, holla!) and Manhattan Cryobank (obviously out of NYC, fair shipping costs to surrounding areas, great selection of racial diversity, decent pricing), Cryos has options for anonymous, lower sperm count straws delivered on dry ice, which equalled big savings for us. They also deliver directly to you for home insemination--more savings! We sent over the donor number and paperwork to our reproductive endocrinologist, who then dealt the final blow: our insurance covered none of the intrauterine insemination (IUI) procedures or medications (which was expected), but that it is not his policy for patients to attempt home insemination (?!?!?!). Let's be clear: with his plan, monthly in-office IUIs would cost $2000, which includes $1000 for the insertion of a catheter into the cervix and the depression of the syringe plunger, $500 for a "sperm thaw" (yes, literally leaving the sample at room temperature for a short time--I am not even joking), $300 deposit for "sperm storage," and $200 for medication, plus the cost of sperm! Our doc was clear that we shouldn't expect success until our third try, better known as $6K made payable to his office. He refused us the right to limit our costs and attempt this as naturally as possible with home vaginal insemination, despite the absence of any health concerns for Allie, and my possession of a medical license! #isthisethical #HippocraticOath #stopholdingspermhostage
It was heartbreaking to realize that no amount of planning within our budget would enable us to finance this process. It was also hard to witness how financially greedy and manipulative this industry can be, and trust in the system takes a long time to build back, if it's possible to do so at all. In the end, we decided that the fertility route isn't for us, and that we should revisit the idea of adoption. So here we are, 32 and childless, but still brimming with hope that some day, we'll have a little one--or five--of our own! Stay tuned for more overshares on this topic.
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