Fertility Frustrations for a Rainbow Mom-to-Be

Single-parenthood is a challenge. Many in this position found themselves there by unsavory circumstances: a break-up or divorce, or the loss of a partner. Most people don’t choose this status from the get-go. But I am one of these slightly delusional individuals taking the mom path solo. Now I’m not some anti-marriage, down with love renegade, I was open to meeting Ms. Right and starting this journey together, but apparently the little woman is taking her sweet time showing up, and my biological clock became impatient. Feeling I was up to the task of raising what would undoubtedly be the angelic fruit of my loins (unless my mother gets her wish that I’ll have a child just like me), I pushed forward in my new fertility endeavor. I have no illusions about the difficulties that I will face as a single parent, however I was not prepared for the obstacles I would face as a single, lesbian woman seeking fertility treatments in America.

Finding a doctor was not hard. The first clinic I visited was not a favorite, but I sat through an hour long informative seminar to waive the nearly $400 consultation fee to meet with the doctor and devise a plan. Ultimately the plan was to push towards the most expensive option (IVF) without ruling out less-invasive possibilities. I moved on, enlisting the help of Yelp (let’s face it, they have everything) and found a qualified doctor in the area who took the time to genuinely get to know me and utilize a more conservative approach in treatment to start, IUI artificial insemination.

My lover the exam table

Although I understood that parenting alone would be hard and so would these treatments, I could not grasp the emotional rollercoaster I would find myself on as I went through each trial on my own. Few people knew of the genesis of my treatments, and none were there with me as I went through each appointment. The cold sterility of the offices, the echoing emptiness of a single occupant in what should have been a two person capacity room, and lobbies full of couples who glance questioningly my way when I enter without a better half. I chose this, but at times, I regretted it. Especially when the failures came.

The first treatment brought unexpected symptoms that indicated a successful pregnancy: nausea, breast sensitivity, moodiness, sensitivity to smell, and even a delayed menstrual cycle. Though I cautioned myself against getting my hopes up on the first try, all signs pointed to baby. And then they didn’t. The purported symptoms showed themselves to be nothing more than side effects of the fertility medications I was taking. The devastation poured down on me, and while my extremely small circle of support attempted to comfort me through texts, I cried by myself until I fell asleep, wondering if this would be easier to bear with someone by my side. The second and third tries were much the same, horrible side effects and broken dreams. While the doctor could see no natural cause of infertility, my stress levels were through the roof. I had recently moved my home, and my job was becoming exceedingly stressful to the point where I was ready to quit when I had no other job to go to. On top of this, I was not only racing the biological clock, but I was racing my depleting bank account as well.

A single $15 pill and prenatal vitamin

I had saved what I believed to be a fair amount of money, drawn on estimates of fertility treatment costs posted on the internet. But the hidden fees were never discussed, and my initial consultation with the failed clinic shocked me. Obviously costs of treatments are expensive, but in a place like America, where medical supplies, equipment, and medication is all grossly inflated, the costs can be absurd. To break down the costs of my first three treatments: 5 pills of fertility medication was approximately $75, the actual artificial insemination was $1,025, the cost of the single vial of sperm from the bank was $795 + $60 to rent the tank it was transported in (it would have cost $200 to ship it to my clinic, but my thrifty ass drove the 100-mile round trip to the bank to save whatever money I could), and the single shot that I took to trigger ovulation was $150. One basic treatment cost $2,100. In addition to these costs, I shelled out one time fees including $300 for an initial consultation, $100 for a blood test to check my hormone levels, and $325 for an HSG test, a most painful x-ray procedure where they fill your uterus and fallopian tubes with fluid to ensure everything is clear and clean. Needless to say the money meter was quickly falling.

$60 Sperm Tank

Now a heterosexual couple often times would only seek the assistance of a fertility doctor after several months or even a few years of trying, which, once they passed 12 months of failed attempts, a large portion of their treatments would be covered by insurance as they were determined to be struggling with infertility. Once seeking treatment, the couple would have a natural sperm provider in the male partner, so simply being heterosexual in a heterosexual relationship automatically saves them $1,000 in addition to the insurance coverage they’re granted. Lesbian couples and singletons are not afforded these same graces as they must pay full price from the beginning and pay for their man-worms (sorry, but the word sperm is becoming redundant). In my case, being single with one household income, I could not afford 12 months of treatment before my insurance would deem me “infertile” and begin paying for part of my treatments. Unfortunately, as time would tell, my doctor was not willing to treat me for IUI insemination for longer than 5 months anyways, but these hidden fees that were likely hiked to costs miles above manufacturing expenses (for example, they pay men on average $70 for each sperm sample then in turn charge desperate clients 12 times as much, citing storage fees) financially cripple those longing for a family.

Ovulation aka Ass Shot

Given the stress I was under and the growing frustration and devastation of what I was beginning to view as my failure as a woman, I opted to take a few months off to collect myself and try to get into a better place emotionally before another attempt. Then, after a brief consultation with my doctor, we decided to move forward with more intensive hormone supplements to assist in fertility, and drain my bank account a bit faster. Surprisingly in just three short months, the cost of the IUI cycle jumped from $1,025 to $1,325, the sperm had jumped from $855 to $925, and we added the hormone shots to the mix, two vials of which ran me $600. The shots also required aftercare pills, or additional hormones in the form of vaginal supplements, costing $200 for a two week supply. This, in hand with the typical 5 pills of fertility medications and the ovulation trigger shot added up to nearly $3,300.

I was not hopeful for this round as tests indicated I was not responding to the hormones as well as I should, though they wreaked havoc on my system all the same and left me feeling overwhelmingly sick. With the physical illness, failure was not far behind as I took a blood test and soon received a call with the bad news that the treatment was unsuccessful. My heart sank even lower knowing how much money I spent on medications that seemingly made no difference at all. I’d received the news in the middle of the day; most people in my support system were at work and unable to speak. I cried alone on the couch with no one but my dog to offer an endearing paw. I sobbed so hard at times my breath caught in my throat and I frantically beat my chest to avoid suffocation. I fell apart. 

Jillian after my bad news

My grief was all-encompassing and my loneliness threatened to swallow me whole. People tried to understand, to help, but no one knew exactly what I was going through and many times their attempts of being helpful were perfectly damaging. I often heard stories of the aforementioned heterosexual couples who struggled for months and years but “just kept trying” and eventually it happened, so I should just keep trying too. My mental retort was always “you f***ed each other for free, are you going to pay the $3000 a month so I can keep trying?” Many regaled me with stories of how they were stressed about getting pregnant and once they relaxed, it worked, so I should relax too and it will happen. Again, that charming voice in my head shot back “this is not a glass of wine and a romantic evening with your partner kind of experience, why don’t you relax while you’re in stirrups under bright lights in a cold doctor’s office while some stranger pokes around your patootie!” A stranger, I duly noted, who never bought me dinner. They didn’t understand the money, they didn’t understand the strain of each doctor visit and the process of insemination, they couldn’t fathom the torture I put myself through physically and emotionally each month for a dream that may never realize.

100-mile traffic trek to sperm bank

The doctor sat me down after this fourth failed attempt. “Four cycles is a lot. You should have been pregnant by now.” Yeah, no shit doc. He cemented my inner distortions of being a failure as a woman, inciting my irrational anger at these horrid organs that have made my life hell once a month for years but can’t grant me this one wish. I knew the dreaded IVF conversation was coming, and flashbacks of the pushy doctor I first met came to mind as I awaited her affirmation. Then he bestowed a gift of hope lined with dark finality. “We’ll do one more round, up the hormones, try a new diet, but if this doesn’t work, we’ll have to move to IVF.” I knew IVF was not an option. While costs of IVF are minimal in other parts of the developed world, again, the inflation of medical costs in America obliterated hope in many struggling couples and women trying to get pregnant. The running cost in California for a single IVF cycle is $30,000 with an average success rate of 35-40% for women my age, meaning multiple cycles are likely. In comparison, many countries in Europe average a cost of $3,000-6,000, and those with socialized healthcare are likely to get a portion covered as well. This is where the dream of motherhood ends for many. And I thought it ended for me.

Daily Hormone Shots

I began to prepare for my final cycle. In addition to drastically changing the already strict diet I was on, I amped up the intensive exercise I was doing. I enlisted the help of a life coach to assist me in managing the overwhelming stress that I clearly was not wrangling in well enough on my own. And the doctor and I jumped the level of hormones I was taking, which ultimately jumped my final cost to over $4,700. My savings was gone, some added costs went to my credit card. I had resigned to the possibility that I would be broke and babyless, and began to estimate how long it would take me to save for adoption proceedings, which was no doubt another costly endeavor with hidden fees and other stresses much like this. I took my pregnancy test at the doctor, then ambled home to wait in dark apprehension for the phone call. After a few hours of random tearfulness and failed Netflix distractions, I took my dogs for a walk, carrying my cell, just in case. As I rounded a grassy bend, the phone rang and my heart stopped. The voice on the other end was unexpectedly cheerful, nothing like the last time when they were bracing me for bad news. I was confused. She gushed out that I received a positive pregnancy test, and I nearly collapsed to the sidewalk as my knees weakened beneath me in shocked relief. I was crying, I was dizzy, it felt both surreal and impossible. In my typical anxious form, I even rushed home and took a pregnancy test just to make sure the doctor’s office didn’t make a mistake. And for once, I waited to share my news as it was mine and mine alone, and I wanted to have a peaceful moment of joy with my little bean.

Vaginal Suppositories aka
Patootie Pills

While I continue to bask in the glory of my pregnancy (okay glory is a bit of an exaggeration, more like warm glow coupled with nausea, sore boobs, an insurmountable level of hormone-fueled bitchiness and 9 weeks of vaginal suppositories), I recognize how close I came to the end of my road, and how many never make it this far. For some, it’s the unfortunate path that has been drawn for their lives as biology just refuses to comply. For others, it’s a financial crisis, plaguing all individuals and couples, but none more so than members of the LGBTQ community. Of course I’m not asking for free services, but fair pricing and cost control to ensure we can pursue our dreams without going into drowning debt doesn’t seem like asking too much.

Because blood tests are more accurate than home pregnancy tests but my anxiety didn't care

Side note: I don't wish for this post to disparage adoption for LGBT couples in any way, I am and have always been open to adoption and it is still in my plans for my next child, however for some the importance of experiencing a biological pregnancy can be overwhelming and it was an experience I did not want to miss out on if I could help it. For those who cannot enjoy a biological pregnancy but know that parenthood is a must for their lives, please check out AdoptUSKids and consider fostering to adopt to provide a loving home to a kid in need.