How Insurance Ruined My Pregnancy

(I'm pregnant, did I mention that? Yes, 3 years paid off and we didn't even need to start fertility meds).

Anyways...so maybe insurance didn't ruin the ENTIRE pregnancy. Morning sickness and my insane amount of bloating have already ensured that this pregnancy was ruined long before beaurocracy even played a part at all.

As a first time TTCer, I had...expectations. Expectations about how I was going to endure pregnancy, expectations about what maternity styles I was going to wear, and expectations about how I wanted to give birth. So, of course, it stands to reason that I sit here in my living wearing sweatpants the size of a tent (and I'm only 12 weeks, Jesus), gaping down at the mysterious fat rolls that suddenly appeared out of nowhere, crying because I can't have the birth I want.

Why can't I have the birth I want? Because I live in America, where ones prenatal care and birth options are decided upon by socio-economic status. And I want to give birth in my own home. But unfortunately for me, everything about my pregnancy, from the cost of a flu shot to the hospital I deliver at was pre-determined by my insurance companies, before the sperm even met the egg.

I thought I would be in a better standing. I have 2 insurance plans, for crying out loud! I live in a progressive state with better birth legislation! In California, insurance companies are almost required to cover home birth. The state even has their own licensing program, where women can become Certified Professional Midwives. Status as a CPM guarantees that you can accept almost all California insurances, including Medi-Cal.

But I don't have Medi-cal. I have Tricare. And Blue Cross.

Tricare is better than Blue Cross. They'll cover a homebirth 100% if I had a Certified NursesMidwife. Nevermind that CNM's are the least likely to actually attend home births and they work almost exclusively in hospitals. Blue Cross, on the other hand, almost laughed me off the phone. By the time the conversation with the benefits agent was over, not only did I feel like I wasn't even taken seriously, but I was also told, flat out, that my plan does not cover home birth. It doesn't cover birth centers. It doesn't cover midwives...ay kind of midwife. Not LM's, CPM's, or CNM's. They cover obstetricians and only obstetricians.

Most people would say so what? Give birth at the damn hospital. I mean, your hospital is ranked very high in the nation for women and children, so high in fact that they boast an obscene number of births per year, with state of the art equipment, highly trained staff, and top notch post natal care.

But for me, I don't care about that. I don't care that my hospital delivers a million babies per month, or that they have a rolling glow-in-the-dark NICU that runs on fairy dust. I don't even care that the post-delivery meal is a steak garnished in gold leaf (clearly I'm exaggerating, but you get the idea). What I care about is that it's not where I want to give birth. It's not my home.

And it doesn't matter that they have all that fancy stuff. That just means more interventions for me to turn down. No, I don't want an IV. I don't want fetal monitoring. Don't come near me with an epidural needle, and for Christ's sake don't make me lay on my back, legs splayed in the air, like a thanksgiving turkey waiting to be stuffed.

Why is this the norm in America? Why is pregnancy care determined by your employer's insurance plan? By all accounts, I clearly have very excellent insurance coverage that many people would feel lucky to have. So why do I feel jealous of the Medi-Cal patients? They get the homebirths. And I get to feel like a cog in a wheel...a wheel that is supposed to be the beautiful, unmedicated home birth I've been dreaming of for over 3 years, that's been replaced by a sterile white room filled with people who's only concern is how long until I end up on the C-section table.

Thank you for not believing in me.

This is a letter to a person. A person who won't be named-they know who they are. This letter is public because it is important and it is important because it defines who I am:
Today, I talked to you. I told you how my husband and I were trying to have a baby, how we have been trying for some time, how I have been diagnosed with a condition that renders me infertile, and how we were going to work with DOCTORS to acheive our family. You told me I was wrong.

You told me that my doctors were trying to scam me, that I didn't need fertility treatments. With time and (perhaps) several thousand dollars spent on adoption, we would get pregnant. You told me fertility drugs would harm me, harm my yet-to-be-conceived child. You told me I shouldn't be in a rush, I needed to focus on my career first. Then you told me you didn't think my marriage was that strong, and I was probably being selfish and my husband may not even want children anyways. You called me self-centered and negative. "Who ARE you Laura? I don't even think I know anymore."

Now I'm going to tell you that you are wrong. You have never been more wrong.

I know you are skeptical of medical treatments. That's just you and there's nothing I can do to change that. I, however, am not skeptical. I believe, whole-heartedly, in the power of medical science. I KNOW that medical science saves lives, corrects ailments. I also KNOW that holistic healing helps people. It is my choice, as an educated, fact-driven, intelligent woman to resolve my medical issue the way I see fit, and the way I see fit is with the help of BOTH holistic healing and medical science. And I will not stand for ANYONE trying to shame me for making that choice.

Perhaps I don't "need" fertility treatments. Does anyone ever "need" fertility treatments? Having a baby has never been the difference between life and death and I imagine I could go the rest of my life without ever "needing" fertility treatments. Maybe I'll get pregnant on my own, maybe I won't. Either way I won't die. But I won't be living either.

I may never get to experience the pain of childbirth, the bond of breastfeeding, the annoyance of a crying infant, the hilarity of a chattering toddler. The elementary school sing-a-longs, the fingerpainting, the scolding. The moody teenager, the dating, the break-ups, the prom. I look back on my childhood and my life very positively. I may not always have been the best child, but I KNOW my parents raised me well and I KNOW that who I am today, tomorrow, next year will always be worthy of being passed on. Perhaps I don't "need" a child. But things will be a little brighter, a little better, and my life all the more sweet knowing that I brought forth, cared for, and raised another wonderful human being. The world could use a few more of those.

This is not a matter of "if" I have a child, it is a matter of when. It's taken a while for me to realize, but there WILL be beautiful children in my future. The fact that I am fighting SO DAMN HARD for them to even exist should be a testament to the fact that those children will be loved SO DAMN MUCH. And the world could use a little more love. I do not need your blessing, your approval, or your permission to persue children. Perhaps to some I am young, but to me I am ready. Perhaps not for the individual challenges of parenthood, but I am ready for the journey. I will not let you guilt me into quitting.

Notwithstanding the fact that any evidence that fertility medication causes birth defects is circumstantial, at best (possibly even due to the age of the patient), WHO CARES if I have a child with a condition. Do you think I am incapable of caring for special needs children? Is that not what parenthood is about? Being prepared for the worst? I could just as easily conceive naturally and have a child with downs. I could adopt a child who turns out autistic. I could birth a healthy child who has a life-altering accident 15 years later. I will not let you scare me into abandoning my cause.

My marriage, like most, has ups and down. But this is not open season on my relationship. Anything I may have told you in the past is not "fair game". You do not have a right to pass judgements on my husband using sketchy and vague information I may have told you in the past while upset. I assure you I am not just some baby-crazy wife on a mission to get knocked up at the objection of my husband. You may not think that highly of him, but I know for a fact that the man I married is not a pushover pussy bitch and he would not come to every doctors appointment and blood test, ultrasound and counseling session if he was just humoring me.

You may think I'm self-centered. Surely it must look that way from the outside: A young, stay-at-home-wife who will stop at nothing to get the infant she wants. But I ask you, WHAT is self-centered about fighting for the existence of ANOTHER human being? What is self-centered about being ready to financially support, raise, nurture, and love ANOTHER human being? Perhaps I may come across as baby-crazy, possibly even all-consumed with my infertility and the treatments and doctors, completely insane and depressed at times and it's because I am. I do struggle with this.

There is already a certain level of fear involved in finding out you're infertile. The questions I ask myself are not unique either, all infertile women have asked these same questions. What if I can never have a child? What if I have a child and find out its hard? Am I ready for a child? What if my child doesn't like me? What if I lose pregnancies? Am I going to be a good mother? And then I look at all the other millions of people in the world, people who didn't even ask to be parents but had the role forced upon them. Surely a wide majority of them adore their kids, accept them as a blessing, and make do in times of struggle. Here I've been given the opportunity to actually PLAN my family on my terms and I'm going to let another person bring me down?

Obviously I value our relationship and your opinion, otherwise your words would have meant nothing to me. But let the hours of tears afterwards stand as a testimony to the fact that obviously you're important. But I'll let you in on a secret: I may value your opinion, but I will NEVER let you shame, guilt, or scare me out of parenthood. Not now, not ever.

I AM deserving of a child. And I deserve the right to choose how/when they are conceived, how they are born, how they are raised. I've just come to realize now that, if I'm going to take on parenthood, I should probably get used to other people's unwarranted and strong opinions on what I'm doing wrong. So from now on, your opinion comes with a tablespoon of salt.

Thank you for not believing in me. Because without that, I would not believe so strongly in myself.

THAT is who I am.

Gays at the park!

Earlier today I read a blog post wherein a woman expresses her disdain for homosexuals in public:

"I find myself unable to even leave the house anymore without worrying about what in tarnation we are going to encounter. We are responsible citizens. We live by the rules, we pay our taxes, we take care of our things. I'm supposed to be able to influence what goes on in my community, and as a voter I do exercise that right. But I'm outnumbered. I can't even go to normal places without having to sit silently and tolerate immorality. We all know what would happen if I asked two men or two women to stop displaying, right in front of me and my children, that they live in sodomy"

What Stacy fails to realize, however, is that as much as it is her community, it is also THEIR community. That's right, gay people pay taxes. They live by the rules. They take care of their things, their children, and they exercise their right to vote. And by doing so, they have equal claim to all public parks, community centers, etc.

What disturbs me about the world now is not the rampant behavior of the immoral homosexuals. It is the hatred and disdain expressed in response to them. If America is, as you claim, being forced to accept immorality, then I would like to stand up and speak out against it: starting with people like YOU. Perhaps I do not want my children exposed to bigotry and hatred. Perhaps I do not want to leave my house and see anti-gay slurs spray painted on walls, or listen to people in my husband's unit denounce all the "faggots".

We are similar, you and I. We want to raise our children in a moral society. But while you are more concerned with explaining to your daughers why 2 women might have a baby, I am more concerned with explaining to mine why people can be so hateful.

Gay people will always be welcome in "my" community. Always.

What shaving my head taught me about being a woman

At the age of 14 I began a love/hate relationship with my hair. Finally old enough to own my own blowdryer, buy the "luxury" shampoos, and read the glamour magazines, I was convinced that if I could just have the perfect hair, that everything in my life would fall into place. If only my hair was pretty, if only I had the flowing, well-behaved locks of every popular girl in school, I could conquer the world.

I'm sure most women feel that way. Their hair is as much a part of their identity as their beliefs. Just yesterday I watched a video of a girl lose her hair to chemotherapy and cry because she was no longer beautiful. Without our hair, what are we women? Are we ugly? Am I really supposed to believe that society would rather interact with dead cells sprouting out of our heads than the face that is speaking to them? Do I really want to teach my (future/potential/nonexistent) daughter/s that their worth rests in whether or not their appearance conforms to societies standards of beauty? No, I don't.

More out of curiosity than anything else I decided to liberate myself from the burden that was my hair.

The effect was immediate.

"Oh my God! What have I done!" I almost wanted to cry at my stupidity. What planet was I living on where shaving my head could possibly be considered rational? But the more I stood there and looked at myself in the mirror, the more I began to notice features that have gone unnoticed for so long. The forehead that I always thought was giant is really not all the big. In fact, my face is not even really as horsey as I thought. And my eyes aren't as small. And apparently my ears don't stick out at all. I actually have a neck!

The reactions of friends and family were mixed. There were a few people who were downright horrified, if not bordering on angry. "Why would you do such a stupid thing? Do you not realize that without hair you might as well be a boy?" A BOY? Is that how society distinguishes between genders? Women have hair and men don't. What about men who have long hair? Are they now women? Are women suffering from hypothyroidism, alopecia, thinning hair, menopause, and chemotherapy boys now too? Some even thought I was a lesbian, because obviously all lesbians have short hair, all heteros have long hair, and people traditionally come out of the closet via head clippers. Of course.

Most of my closer friends expressed that while they could never really pull off the bald look, that I was brave for shaving my hair. A few people were jealous that I no longer have to spend an hour with styling tools. Wouldn't it be nice, they said, to have that kind of freedom to spend time on things other than hair. Reactions amongst the public were equally as varying. Strangers gave me looks of pity, thinking I was a cancer patient. Some looked at me in disgust. There goes another rebelious anti-establishment Sinead o'Connor wannabe, and I bet she hates the pope too (I don't). No one dared broach the subject, and when a teenager in a Taco Bell exclaimed "Holy fuck! That woman has no hair", the surrounding people almost tried to choke him into silence. Don't. Talk. About. Women. Who. Don't. Have. Hair. They Probably feel ugly. When a woman has beautiful hair, you compliment her. When a woman liberates herself from that hair, you silence yourself lest you draw attention to what YOU perceive as a flaw.

Once my hair was gone, I started thinking about what it meant to have hair and to not have hair. How did I feel about being bald? Truth be told, I feel strong. I feel empowered. I feel beautiful. I feel different. I do not feel ugly, shameful, embarassed, or insane. If anything, I think "letting go" of my hair was the best decision I've made in my entire life so far.

I decided that I'm not going to stand for a society that dehumanizes women without hair, regardless of why they don't have any. I want all women, with and without hair, to be able to look in the mirror and see what I see now when I look at myself: beauty. Not just physical beauty, but a beauty that is innate in all of us, that cannot ever be destroyed, no matter what toll life takes on us. No longer should head shaving be associated with humiliation or shame, illness or insanity. Now that I've let go of the one thing I always associated with being feminine, I realize that I can never lose my femininity. I will ALWAYS be a woman and all I can hope for from now on is that I will always view MYSELF as beautiful.

Guess who's back!

Aside from me...

 

Yup, DH came home on March 15! The only way I can really describe it is "weird". Part of me does still yearn for the days when I could do things on my own schedule, didn't have to share the car, and could take up the whole bed and watch Netflix well into the night. But it's still pretty awesome to have him home.

In other developments, I found my calling. Those who have been with me for a while probably remember back in august when I announced with gusto that I was getting into photography again. So what happened to that?

I started my own business "Photography by Laura". It has been slow to start, and I oftentimes wonder if I'm even good enough to be a photographer. Everytime I give someone my card and they don't call me back I wonder what I did wrong. Where did I fail, what did I do to lose the deal?

I think what it really comes down to is confidence. I have a long way to go in building up my confidence. I feel like I've failed at so many things in my life, that the idea of actually succeeding is almost scary. And I worry that I'm not good enough, and that photography will go the way of all my other failed dreams.

That's why it took me so long to actually start. I didn't know where to start, or how to start. But now that I have, I absolutely love it. I've found a photographer in San Diego who has taken me under her wing. I've photographed a few homecomings, a bridal shower, some models, and people on the street. I *almost* booked a wedding (but that's way too much for me to take on as an amateur). I'm doing everything in my power to get myself out there, to get my card out there, and to not unknowingly sell myself short.

So, if anyone is in the San Diego area, I'm offering free homecoming and deployment photo shoots through the end of may. For the month of April childen's shoots are only $50 (Military kid's month).

So drop me a line on facebook! http://www.facebook.com/pages/USMC-Supporters/438500150296?sk=wall#!/pages/Photography-by-Laura/201157709915401

(My lovely friend Amanda, reuniting with her husband at Miramar. My very first client!)

The Great Mouse Hunt

When I was 8 my parents took me to see the movie "Mouse Hunt". You know, the one with Nathan Lane and Christopher Walken about the mouse that can't be destroyed? What you don't know about that movie is that it isn't fiction. No, "Mouse Hunt" is actually the very gripping and suspenseful non-fiction tale of 2 mortals who take up arms against a fiendish rodent and destroy an entire house in the process. I should know...because that story is my own.

The mouse in question was brought into my home by my cat, Dr. Sagan (a name I am considering changing to "fucking cat", seeing as that's really all I've ever heard myself say in his presence). I had returned from the gym and, wanting nothing more to do than crawl into bed, opened the door and let my cat back in without thouroughly checking his oral cavity.

Little did I know, tucked gently between his teeth was a mouse. How he caught a mouse I'll never understand. Here's a cat who I've seen laying around my house, unable to move because of the affects of gravity on his gelatinous stomach fat. Here's a cat who, when he realizes his food trough is half empty, goes into panic mode and gorges himself for an hour. Here's a cat who, when given the chance to chase feathers on string, looks at it with disdain and waddles back to his spot in the sun. I'm beginning to think maybe cats are smarter than we think they are, and they secretly have their own mini fast-food chains underneath the bushes, where they dish out Mc-rodents to the neighborhood strays.

As "fucking cat" came through the door I noticed that little something sticking out of his mouth and immediatly realized what was about to go down. I tried to nab him as he ran past, but he was too fast for me, bolting down the hall and into the closet. He released his prey and immediatly began to swat and jump, all the while appearing to joyously yell "look ma! Look ma! Look what I brought!!"

Things just went downhill from there. I picked "fucking cat:" up off the floor and locked him in the bathroom, then proceeded to pace around the room, unsure of what to do. I've never caught a mouse. Hell, the only time I've ever even SEEN a wild mouse was one time at sleep away camp when one crawled onto my friends sleeping bag in the middle of the night and ate a crumb. Rodent extermination is not my forte.

I called my dad, keen on asking his advice on the matter. He told me to just let the cats have a free for all or get a mouse trap (which would probably be less successful at catching the mouse, and more successful at catching cats). Before I could do anything, the mouse bolted from the closet and ran at me. I imagine the little squeeking noises he made can only be translated as "THIS IS SPARTA!"

I did what any logical, sane married woman would do when faced with a crisis mid-deployment. I called my neighbor.

Mouse: 1; Mere Mortals: 0

My neighbor arrived a few minutes later, armed with a plastic bag, keen on conquering the rodent empire and restoring peace and order to my apartment, But after 30 minutes of flailing, yelping, and sweating it was beginning to look like my neighbor and I were in the process of re-enacting the entire "Mouse Hunt" movie. From the bed, to the dresser, to the closet we chased that mouse, me waving a vacuum hose and my neighbor weilding a shower curtain rod. Hilarity ensued.

We chased the mouse behind the bed, under the bed, behind the bed again, under the bed, on the other side of the bed, behind the dresser, on top of the dresser, under the bed again, in the closet...at one point everything on the floor was moved onto the bed, where I ripped apart 2 laundry baskets, 3 shopping bags, and a storage box looking for the furry devil.

Mouse: 2; Mere Mortals: 0

AHA! I saw him...sprinting for his life and sliding under the bathroom door into the waiting clutches of my cat. From the safety of the other side one could hear the battle take place. *hisssss* CRASH! *hissss* CRASH *yowl* CRASH. But alas, the only casualties in that war were the shower curtain and a corner shelf. The mouse would live to fight another minute, this time taking solace back in the closet.

Mouse: 3; "Fucking Cat": 0; Mere Mortals: 0

EVERYTHING came out of that closet. Boxes, bags, ironing boards, suitcases, vacuum cleaners all moved out, the miniscule warrior bounding in between the clutter with each movement. But, of course, that mouse was smart; smarter than both of us. It charged out between our feet, scurring across my neighbors bare leg and behind a suitcase, leaving nothing but shrieks in its wake.

Mouse: 4; Mere Mortals: 0

It was at that point that I was forced to come to terms with my own humanity. The 11th hour was approaching and surely we weren't going to catch the rodent, meaning I would more than likely not live to see the next morning, having been suffocated in my sleep by a tiny mammalian creature. Or worse yet, I would contract hontavirus and die a slow and painful death over the course of months. Or even more disturbing than either of those scenarios, I would be kept awake all night and all day, listening to a chorus of howling and pouncing as my cat tried and failed over and over to catch his prey.

I kneeled down to peer behind the suitcase, clutching my vacuum hose until my knuckles were white. I could hear the faintest noise coming from behind the suitcase; a scuffling followed by the sound of muffled squeeks. And then...silence. I inched closer to the suitcase, drawing down my vacuum hose to get a better look and AAAAAAAAAUGH! An ambush!

The vermin viking sprung out, weilding his sword. "TONIGHT WE DINE IN HELL!" he yelled (ok, I made that up. And the sword part. But it does sound cool, doesn't it). This time my neighbor was ready. He swung his shower curtain rod down, pinning the miniature beast beneath it. As we carried our POW to the bushes I thought about our valiant fight. I wondered how his conquest would be received back home. Would his mouse brethren call him a hero? Perhaps there is no family for him to return to, and he will continue on, a vigilante, fighting to restore justice and order to a world being slowly over-run by domesticated pets.

A fair fight my squeeky friend. A fair fight.

If you don't like America, then leave

Sorry I haven't been writing recently. I've been experiencing some quite awful writers block, coupled with a bit of a gym obsession (8 lbs down), and homecoming stress. I've been wracking my brain, pondering what to write about for quite a few weeks now but it wasn't until today that I actually figured it out.


There is something that happens in this country, something I see quite often in the military community, that drives me absolutely batshit crazy. It can be summed up in these little words: "If you don't like America, then leave".


*cue exasperated moaning and face-palming*


WHY? WHY? Why should that person have to leave?? Don't get me wrong, moving out a country you don't agree with seems like the most logical choice. Unfortunately, I see that phrase being uttered at people who don't actually hate America. It's thrown around to people who are anti-war, to people who don't agree with the president (or even people who do agree with the president), people who burn flags, people who don't donate money to the military, people who don't own guns, people who support immigrants, people who drive electric cars, vegans...there's no limit to the number of situations that can, in some way or another, be perceived as "anti-American".


The reason I hate that phrase, aside from the obvious fact that it is quite combative, is that I don't think that vacating a country is the answer to anything. So someone doesn't agree with you. Big deal. I'm willing to bet quite a large portion of this country doesn't agree with you either. That doesn't mean they are anti-American, or that they need to move out of the country lest they tarnish your narrow worldview.


So the next time someone says something that makes you question their patriotism, maybe you should realize that they probably have a different idea of what makes America, America. And if you want to live in a homogenous society, consider starting your own country ;)