Just a short post today. I have 9 days, 16 hours, and 57 some odd minutes until my surgery (but who’s counting aside from the app on my phone).
Yesterday I did something truly scary and grownup and overwhelming. First let me tell you about Friday. On Friday, I was so tired form a week of work that I gave up around lunch time and went home early and crawled into bed. I missed not one, but two phone calls from the doctor’s office.
The first was reminding me of my pre-surgical meeting this Monday with the surgeon and my fiance. The second was from their finance office – letting me know that $1818 was due no later than the day before the surgery (the remaining balance of my deductible). And that for good measure, my 30% of the surgery that I am responsible for will be, on top of that $1818, a whopping $1868.49. For those who hate maths like I do, that’s $3686.49.
It’s no secret that I don’t have $3686.49 laying around. I’m not sure my car could be sold for that at this point, actually.
It’s not even a choice – I need the surgery. My savings account won’t accommodate the expense, not even the $1818 up front. I had to legally find a way to get nearly $3700 in my account, no later than December 2nd. Yep, just over a week away. I was basically fucked and had a good cry.
But the grown up, scary thing I did was this: I have an IRA. My boss set it up for me. I don’t think much about it, even though I get monthly statements. I know every year he generously contributes to it, in lieu of a bonus. I know that in the long run, I’m going to be damned excited about this mysterious, intangible account out there in the aether. But it doesn’t affect my daily life, it’s not like it’s real money I have access to.
Except…I, thanks to my fiance, learned that an IRA can be raided for a medical expense that exceeds 7.5% of your annual adjusted gross income, or AGI. Actually, he’d told me 10% and I qualified. When I went to the website of my IRA, I found out it was 7.5%, which I amply exceed. So I chewed it over for an hour. I neurotically extrapolated the costs of the surgery, the costs of birth control, medical care, period supplies, time lost from work. And I realized, over the next 25 years while I wait to reach the age I can make an honest withdrawal from this account, I’m really, really not going to miss that $3700 (even with interest) vs the improvement in my quality of life over the next quarter of a century.
I sold some shares, and by Tuesday I will have $3700, legally, and without penalties, at my disposal to pay for my surgery. And it’s a little extra paperwork come tax time, but when I’m 60 and I look back, I am going to be damned thrilled I had this surgery and had the ability to pay for it, even if it is kinda sorta borrowing from my future. I can’t help but think be mentally and physically healthy is worth the small hit to my account.
And as nerve-wracking as it was to make that call, to make that trade, what have I worried about ALL weekend for no reason whatsoever? My wedding vows. You know, for the wedding in 11 months. I guess I’ve just been noticing, as I’ve had a lot of time to lay around and do nothing except nap, just how much my other half does for me. It’s not just the big acts, but all the little things that add up to amazing things.
Like our stove light – I hate the light over our stove. We have a projector in our living room and watch TV on a giant pull-down screen. Where I sit on the couch, the damned stove is in my line of sight, and if that light is on it’s a huge distraction. Once, just once, I mentioned to him that I hated that light and needed it off to watch something. He has been neurotically turning it off every time we are getting ready to watch something. He turns it off on his way out of the kitchen, and then I don’t have to get up and turn it off myself. It’s just a little thing, but it’s SO thoughtful. And it’s just a small example of the little acts of kindness he goes out of his way to perform for me daily.
So, yeah. Surgery? Pfft. That’s got nothing on vows to thank someone for loving me like he does, and how on earth I can show him for the rest of our lives that I love him, too, and that I appreciate him. Vows. Fucking scary. Scarier than have my uterus removed. Who knew?
