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Meaghan Ferneau was 29 years old when she found out she was infertile. She had undiagnosed endometriosis for years, and described doctors who said her condition was all in her head until a specialist told her she needed \u201csurgery for it yesterday.\u201d\u00a0\u00a0<\/p>\n
It was the start of a seven-year series of failed embryo transfers, surgeries, medical hormone treatments and a miscarriage. She\u2019s spent the past three years pursuing IVF treatment, and it was all for one goal: \u201cI wanted to hear my baby cry.\u201d\u00a0<\/p>\n
Now age 35, Ferneau gave birth to her daughter nine months ago. The Arkansas-based senior manager of marketing went through three embryo transfers for which she had to travel to her hometown in St. Louis. Her saving grace, she said, was the employee benefits she could access through her employer while she was neck-deep in nearly $25,000 of infertility-related bills.\u00a0\u00a0<\/p>\n
Ferneau had a hard pregnancy. She was hospitalized twice, and her baby spent five days in the neonatal intensive care unit when she was finally born.\u00a0<\/s><\/p>\n
Beforehand, she had undergone two laparoscopic surgeries in two years to treat her endometriosis. Neither worked.\u00a0<\/p>\n
Ferneau felt like the few clinics in her state weren\u2019t the right fit for her. \u201cI see my personal health as something that I need to advocate for and research,\u201d she told Fortune,<\/em> adding that she knew \u201cfull well that certain technologies, like intrauterine insemination, wouldn\u2019t work for me, a patient with a very intense level of endometriosis.\u201d\u00a0<\/p>\n That\u2019s what the fertility clinic she visited in Arkansas pushed her to do, and it wasn\u2019t\u00a0 the first red flag she noticed. \u201cThey required a marriage certificate,\u201d she said, adding that although she\u2019s married she found that \u201cvery interesting.\u201d\u00a0<\/p>\n At the time, Ferneau was working with a company that offered benefits for fertility treatments, but none of the clinics she visited would accept the insurance. Her employee insurance, under UnitedHealthcare, made $15,000 available for infertility treatments\u2013but she was only able to use about $1,000 of it towards some of her medications.\u00a0<\/p>\n Naomi Cahn, a University of Virginia professor<\/a> who studies family law, said that two things could make this situation better: states could move towards establishing infertility insurance requirements, and employers, even those based in states without minimum infertility insurance standards, can offer those benefits.\u00a0<\/p>\n \u201cUnder half the states require infertility to be covered by insurance,\u201d Cahn said. Even in states that have requirements, she said, coverage \u201cmay not apply to self insured or self funded insurance plans.\u201d\u00a0<\/p>\n Currently 19 states require at least some form of infertility coverage in insurance, according to Revolve<\/a>, a national infertility association. Cahn said that \u201cemployers can of course go well beyond that minimum, and often do.\u201d<\/p>\n After the Supreme Court overturned<\/a> Roe v. Wade<\/em> in June 2022, several companies<\/a>, like Patagonia<\/a> and Dick\u2019s Sporting Goods, restated their commitment to abortion care policies on LinkedIn<\/a>.\u00a0<\/p>\n Now, as states impose restrictions<\/a> on telehealth and medication-by-mail, and states pass laws that attempt to punish<\/a> employers who want to increase access to care, some workers<\/a> feel their employers aren\u2019t providing enough help.<\/a><\/p>\n In a survey<\/a> of over 1,000 employed U.S adults conducted by Catalyst<\/a> in October, about 44% of respondents said they wanted to see their employers doing more to ensure abortion access.\u00a0<\/p>\n Similarly, the high price of IVF makes it important to cover, said Cahn. Cycles can cost up to $20,000, she said, adding that \u201cmany people will absolutely need to rely on employers for assistance with payment.\u201d\u00a0<\/p>\n Beyond<\/a> that, infertility is quite common. According<\/a> to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, about one in five women are infertile in the U.S.\u2013and the problem has gotten worse<\/a>.\u00a0<\/p>\n Ferneau underwent two of three rounds of mini IVF<\/a>, a lower dose version of IVF, in St. Louis. Both failed. The total cost of the procedures plus room and board was about $17,000.<\/p>\n The financial strain made her double down on her side hustle: a private dinner service for clients in a word-of-mouth business model that she co-runs with her husband, a classically trained chef.\u00a0<\/p>\n The duo used to own a restaurant in Little Rock called Cathead\u2019s Diner, which shuttered during the pandemic. They now offer a personalized menu for dinner parties, something they started 12 years ago when they first met. The duo worked at least three parties each month, putting \u201cevery ounce of profit into a jar.\u201d\u00a0<\/p>\n Her financial luck finally turned in June 2022, when she started a new job at Compt which affords employees a $4,000 yearly stipend for out of state care\u2013an initiative Ferneau believes the company\u2019s CEO Amy Spurling<\/a> began with women like her in mind.<\/p>\n