Some kind of crazy
As I may have mentioned once or thrice, I do not have a job. I haven't had a job since last June. My unemployment has run out.
Jeff has just the smallest tatter of a job--a joblette, if you will. There is a bit of work for him, but the company prefers not to pay its contractors unless sued. So, he only plays at rewriting their technical manuals, preferring not to spend much time on the project until and unless they start paying his invoices, beginning with the ones from last summer.
So we have no job. No job prospects. No income. No self-replenishing savings account. What we do have is truly fucking excellent health insurance, thanks to the fact that my old employer was based out of Massachusetts, where comprehensive infertility coverage is required by law. The COBRA payments may be eating up $722 per month, but what's $722 when you're talking unlimited IVF coverage, meds included?
I couldn't possibly waste the coverage. That would be crazy, right? However, now that I'm hurtling Lamborghini-like down the ART expressway---well, now is probably an imperfect time to start really considering the ramifications.
You see, if I do get lucky with this IVF cycle, I will be pregnant and unemployed, with my health insurance running out just around my due date. And that's a bit on the crazy side too, isn't it? I will be overjoyed at the prospect of a baby, yes, but I will be faced with the daunting prospect of finding a job while pregnant. And not just any job, but enough of a job to cover the mortgage and the insurance and the bills and the groceries for not one, not two, but three people*, even if one of the three doesn't eat much pricey gorgonzola. And if my one brief pregnancy is any indication, I will be nearly incapacitated by morning sickness for at least two months. (Can you imagine a small, incoherent, pale-skinned fountain of spew? Yes? That's me!)
I would not be good at job hunting while pregnant. In addition to the potential mid-interview spewing, I am not good at hiding things; I might just feel compelled to tell the potential employer right up front. I know I shouldn't, but that might be hard. I would feel somewhat duplicitous if I were to take on some engrossing managerial job--the kind that would pay me what I need to earn for all that mortgage and goronzola nonsense--then start a thousand things and, a couple of months later, have to take off for my (doubtless unpaid) maternity leave.
There's a much less fancy-tickling possibility, or even probability, of course: if April's IVF is not a success, what then? Sans pregnancy, I can go out and look for a job wholeheartedly--if my heart still has some wholeness to it--but, even if I manage to get a position, I will somehow need to explain away the half-dozen monthly doctors' appointments and the "vacation" I'll need for the next cycle in July. Or October, if it comes to that.
It's hard for me to accept that, if I am not pregnant this year, I most likely never will be. My chances of having the insurance or the resources--or the heart--to continue with IVF after our coverage runs out seem slim. Crazy-slim, in fact.
*Jeff, bless his hard-working academic soul, doesn't have the kind of job skills that would bring in a mortgage-making salary. See, he spent his twenties getting educated, and, alas, what is one to do with postgraduage degrees in the history of science, exactly?