When You Least Expect It

Other things happened lately, too. For one, I haven't written about my taxes yet.

In 2013, I was very organized until springtime and the miscarriage. Before that, each receipt got filed promptly in its own labelled folder. After that, any mail—any thing, really—that didn't need immediate attention got thrown into boxes and shoved in the corner. This spring I've felt like an archaeologist, uncovering all the receipts and reliving 12 months of huge ups and downs.

There were receipts for the two pregnancy ultrasounds where I saw and heard a strengthening heartbeat, followed by the devastating one. Then paperwork from all the tests the clinic asked me to repeat because another year had passed.

Mixed in with those memories was the detritus that I couldn't be bothered to care about, like junk mail from eight months ago. There were abandoned self-improvement projects and notes about events that I didn't attend, because time, energy, and/or money always seemed to be too short. In the bottom of the last box, I uncovered a spring sweater that I'd long ago given up for lost.

Once they were excavated, I could transfer all these memories to black-and-white spreadsheets. Then it was time to meet with the tax preparer. When I brought up medical expenses, she was dubious at first, warning that now (in the US) people can deduct only the amount that's more than 10% of adjusted gross income—a pretty high bar for most families to reach. Let's just say that I am waaaaaaay over that bar. It's mind-blowing. Panic-inducing. It can't continue, obviously.

We actually had two meetings, because this has been the most complicated, stressful tax year ever. On the plus side, yeah, huge refund. Of course, now the chances for an audit are also high. I'm making sure to get everything super organized. (Tax tips: All my doctors have been happy to provide itemized receipts for all 2013 expenses, which have been very helpful. Also, did you know that you can deduct for mileage driven to and from medical appointments?  It added up to 2,355 miles for me last year!)

Before getting into those details, I had to explain some things about my situation. I braced for possible judgment, because the tax preparer was gray-haired and (I'm embarrassed to say this) "looked conservative." Of course, everyone in a tax office looks conservative; it's the uniform.

No judgment, though. Instead, she leaned forward and asked softly, "Have you tried [name of my previous clinic]?" It turns out that her son and daughter-in-law went through 13 years of TTC, including many years with undiagnosed PCOS, and my previous clinic was the one that finally helped them to have "their miracle twins."

We commiserated about the healthcare system and about infertility. She lived through it, too, in a way. "The night before my daughter" (as she called her DIL) "had her amnio during the pregnancy, I stayed up all night worrying. I just couldn't help thinking how awful—and how possible—it would be for them to make it all the way to that point and then have something else go wrong." How possible, indeed. She knew exactly how it felt.

She was wonderful—going out of her way to be helpful and, more than that, kind at a very stressful time. When we said good-bye, after three hours of crunching numbers and trading stories, we held hands for a long moment as she wished me well. "I’ll pray for you," she promised. I thanked her through tears.