If I wasn’t in the parental way, this would have been very, very bad…

So, I get a phone call last week from an “unknown” caller and a number in the 702 area code. I frown at the caller ID. I sort of recognize the code (it’s Las Vegas), so I answer.

Caller: This is Dr. Putyouinthepoorhouse Reproductive Endocrinologist’s office. We’re in the process of updating our records…

SB: Uh huh. [Oh, yeah, my RE is in Vegas…!]

Caller: We need to know the birthdate, the sex, and the birth weight of your baby….

SB: [Brain freeze as to what’s going on lasts for a full three seconds of dead silence…then I realize. They don’t have my miscarriage recorded. They’re taking credit for a pregnancy that ended in April of 2006…brain re-engages at some percentage of normal strength…]

SB: I’m sorry, but I’ve never carried a pregnancy to term.

Caller: [Dead silence for a full three seconds, during which I do not choose to rescue her.] Oh, uh, huh. Um. Er. I’m sorry. Um. Thank you. Goodbye.

WTF?

These are the same folks who won’t refund our $12,000 until we “complete” the cycle and do a FET with our one lone little frozen embryo. I refuse to put any more drugs in my system–a system that is hellbent on killing any embryo I might put inside me to begin with. So, they’re keeping the money that we paid in advance for the two more IVFs we won’t be doing with them.

It’s a good thing none of this drives me crazy anymore because there’s some serious batshit smeared all over that profession.