Solve For X.

I rescheduled the CLEP. After I took a practice test Friday night, it became clear there was a chance that I wouldn’t pass the next morning. It seems so obvious, seeing it written down—didn’t study? haven’t taken a math class in THIRTEEN YEARS? Of course I might bomb spectacularly. Math isn’t like riding a bicycle or driving a stick shift, and muscle memory is singularly unhelpful when it comes to quadratic equations. But I think I expected that I would look at the test and see the numbers and variables arrange themselves neatly into something I recognized, and I confess failure had not occurred to me as a possibility. Based on my trial run, however, I’d say the probability that I would have passed was only about 4/7, and at $70 a test, those were untenable odds.
The other thing I learned from the practice exam was that Alexander Pope was right. I kept coming across problems that looked vaguely familiar, and instead of reading them carefully and thinking about how a person might solve them, I’d say to myself “Oh! I know how to do THESE—twice-multiply the factors…invert the polynomial…carry the 30…Voila!”
FAIL.
Stupid Diophantus.

Simone continues to boycott bedtime, and Friday it occurred to me to wonder whether she could be getting a tooth. I know she isn’t supposed to be teething yet, but then she isn’t supposed to be cooking either, and you should taste the paella she made for lunch. And while I don’t see any teeth, she has been drooling and gnawing on her hand, and seemed to enjoy the frozen washrag I gave her to chew. But babies love that sort of thing teething or not, so who knows. Maybe she’s having a quarter-of-a-quarter-of-a-quarter-of-a-quarter-life crisis. And can infants have night terrors? Because Saturday night ours started screaming and crying while she was fast asleep. On and off for a few minutes, and these were neither the mournful evening cries of late nor the piercing reflux squeals, but a terrible amalgam of the two. It sounded as if she were being chased by bears. Through the Holocaust Museum. Hearing that cry was like seeing a puppy fed through a meat grinder, and not any ordinary puppy, either, but one of those spaniel puppies with the curly ears and limpid eyes, like something you’d see painted on velvet. The kind of puppy that’s the size of your average tea sandwich.

During the day, however, 10 weeks (adjusted) is a particularly delightful age. Sure, I wish Simone hadn’t decided that naps are for babies and then forgotten that she is one, but she’s so talkative and smiley that it’s hard to stay annoyed. We got the final bills for her NICU stay recently, and the total caused me to reach for my salts: $802,841.90. That does not include anesthesiology; daily visits by the attending neonatologists; her PDA surgery; visits by nephrology, hematology, ophthalmology and other specialists; or radiology—those account for another $50,000.00 in bills, bills we have collected in a 3-inch-thick stack while we wait for insurance to finish paying their share. Then we have the $67,000.00 for my hospital bedrest and subsequent Caesarian, and lets not even count the cost of the IVF cycle that spawned 17 embryos, only two of which survived to be transferred and only one of which survived to be born. The total is well over $900,000.00.
To quite a few people, these numbers are revolting, the sort of thing to be trotted out to illustrate Why Fertility Treatment is Wrong, as if I could have predicted the chain of events that lead to Simone’s premature birth, events that all available facts indicate had nothing to do with my infertility. For some these numbers illustrate most clearly how ill my daughter was, and how close we came to losing her, and some see the inflation of health care costs and the impossibility of the situation facing the uninsured. Still others see only opportunities for many, many “Million Dollar Baby” jokes. My immediate thoughts upon reviewing these sums are twofold. First, that my daughter was worth every penny, and then how much more effective than a mere “I GAVE YOU THE GIFT OF LIFE!” these bills will be against a sullen teen-aged Simone. I keep them in a safe place.
DragonfliesJuly 27th