Sunday, December 31, 2017

Oof, OOP

I'm the numbers person in our household. I have a rather spectacular spreadsheet were I track our monthly expenses, account balances, loan balances, and so forth. I can tell you what our budget was, what percentage of our income we spent on taxes, on living expenses, and on savings. In other words, I'm the colossal nerd in the house. (How colossal, you ask? The last two years running, I've created a Year-End Financial Review powerpoint deck to review with DH. I thought this was a fantastically swell idea, until I saw the feedback a fellow over at Bogleheads got about doing this same thing with his spouse. Let's just say the feedback wasn't positive!).

Having just wrapped up the last of the 2017 spending, I took a look at the medical category for 2016 and 2017. Counting from Jan 18, 2016 to now, the total cost of getting pregnant and then getting un-pregnant was been $25,196.66. That does not include my insurance premiums, hundreds of dollars in supplements, or the approximately, 2,000 home pregnancy tests I've bought. During that time period, it's our second greatest expense, only falling behind our mortgage. 

I know I am actually really lucky. That total covers 3 OI/TI cycles, 9 surgeries, nearly 6 weeks in-patient, and two deliveries. It could be so much higher, if we'd needed more cycles or if we need to move to IVF. It's tough, though, when I see that total and think about what it "bought" us. It bought us an hour with the most precious little girl you can imagine. It bought the chance to give our twins life. It bought five glorious weeks of feeling Quinn move inside me. It bought more tears and heartbreak than I can quantify (and as a nerd who likes spreadsheets, I'm usually really damn good at quantifying things). It's bought me near constant physically pain and months missed from work. It bought amazing, touching connections with friends and family members who have reached out. To echo what appears to be a recurrent theme: it bought us hope and the loss of hope.

I'm working on my 2018 budget now. Planning for 3 OI/TI cycles, and hitting my OOP max for medical care. I honestly can't tell if that's me being optimistic or pessimistic. I can tell you that I stand behind my response when a friend asked me "What will happen if you don't have kids from those cycles?" Answer: "I'll have more money for other things in 2019."

6 comments:

  1. You and Grey would get along. He has the spreadsheet with all our monthly expenses, savings (once debts) and loans (past and planning for future). I took a break after it was clear that it was both stressing me out and distracting me from handling condo board business. May be time to jump back in.

    Anyway, I had the same mixed feelings about hitting the OOP max for insurance combined with what we spent on fertility treatments. Still do, actually. So much money spent for hope and brief moments. It’s difficult to not see the unfairness of that situation.

    May 2018 bring you the desired end of your journey.

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    1. If you can handle condo boards, you're a braver woman than I! The financial tracking just involves me, a computer, and a spreadsheet. Boards involve other people . . .give me a spreadsheet any day! :)

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  2. Wow, I am in awe of your financial planning/analyzing know-how! I Don't think that PowerPoint deck sounds like a bad idea (I guess maybe of it was in some way finger-waggy I could see someone not appreciating it, bit otherwise, what a great tool!). I love your described mixture of hope and heartbreak, the chances that money brings but also the unbearable loss. Your third paragraph moved me in particular. There are so many layers to "lucky."

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  3. I am also a major financial nerd with spreadsheets. I love the end if the year because I can start to update our net worth spreadsheet and see that we are moving forward.

    I wrote about this issue a little while ago. I'm on the other side- parenting two living children. Getting them put us more than $30,000 out of pocket (and cost our insurance company that much again).

    What I was posting about was the long-term effects of that cost- the loss of the compound interest that money could have earned in the decades to come if we hadn't spent it at the clinic.

    Obviously it was worth it. As I said in my post, my children are not a latte factor. But it's a long-term consequence we never hear people talking about. The costs don't end when the bills are paid.

    I hope 2018 is your year.

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    1. That long term factor is exactly what weighs so heavily on me. It's the trade of future years of work for the possibility of children. Obviously I'm happy to trade having less $ for actually having children, but there are no guarantees.

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  4. I was in over 100K by the time my two miracles came along. Priceless. I never give the $ a thought anymore (and we’re not rich ).

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