I finally got the bitchy lady at the clinic on the phone this morning. She tells me that she "didn't have a chance to look into" my phone call yet (in a snotty tone)-wtf?. What-EVER. She told me that the letter was the breakdown of charges that the insurance company is being billed, and it is just for my reference. Perhaps they should state that in the letter, instead of saying that they want you to sign something that says "I/We understand that I/we are responsible financially for the following procedures." Doesn't sound like it's a summary for the insurance company, does it? Pa-leeze. And, unfortunately, people who aren't on top of things (ie. anally retentive like me) would pay the clinic directly and maybe get reimbursed when the clinic reconciles their books. Hey, she told me that I didn't have to cough up any $$, so that's okey-dokey with me!
So, tomorrow's the big day. I'm starting to freak out a little bit......okay, a lot of bit. I just don't want to get there and be told that sorry, none of the embryos survived, too bad. I think that I would have to be admitted into the psych ward. Not to mention, the Medrol and Doxycycline are doing a number on my lower digestive tract-holy SHIT, the GAS! And the pooping situation ain't much better (sorry if it's TMI, but it's unfortunately part of the deal-so get over it). Urgh. Plus my stomach hurts and I'm bloating a bit-I realized it last night as I put on the petticoat that goes with my costume, and I couldn't button it around my waist (and that's with a corset on underneath!)-sheesh. I just need to suck it up and deal.
We had some major drama last night at the show-I really can't write about it now, as it still upsets me every time I think about it, but suffice it to say that it's serious. And not just the usual "Di-VA is acting like an asshole/who fucked up" kind of thing. I will write about it more later on today, when I can sort of talk about it more.
T-minus 23 hours to transfer.
I'm not being too obsessive about this, am I?