Last Friday, the 18th of August, I went to bed having spent the day weeping on the shoulder of my good friend, N. And I thought I would sleep until morning. But I didn't. Uncanny Intuition woke me sometime around two, and I couldn't get back to sleep.

Because I knew.

I knew I was pregnant.

Logical Bea was the first gainsayer. "Where are our symptoms? What of the bleeding? And that terrible embryo? How can you possibly think we're pregnant when even our specialist doubts this cycle will work?"

"But," explained Intuition gazing, starstruck, at the universe on the back of her eyelids, "it's not that I think. It's that I know."

"It doesn't make sense!"

But Intuition just opened her eyes languidly, and fixed them on Logical in a way that bestowed silence.

Anxiously Superstitious Bea was the next to weigh in. "You're not going to tell anyone, though, are you?" she wanted to know. "I mean, Mr Bea would probably actually believe you, bless his little heart, and as for your blogfriends... why, I think it's one of the ten commandments of infertility blogging! Thou shalt not compare a fellow blogger's pain to thyne own... Thou shalt not announce that you think you're pregnant until one hundred percent sure, or at least until you've pissed on a stick and maybe racked up a list of symptoms. Etcetera. And verily, it was said."

"Besides, I'm a little concerned about your thought processes," Inner Therapist interjected. "I mean, doesn't it all smack a little too much of the fairytale ending? 'Facing a hysteroscopy and curettage, the prospect of tests for untreatable conditions, and her husband's relocation to Singapore in less than four weeks, Bea overcomes the incredible odds of a low-quality three-cell embryo and a luteal phase spent spotting and cramping in a way that squashes the optimism of even the sunniest fertility specialist to achieve that elusive, ongoing, healthy pregnancy to which she and Mr Bea have so long aspired.' I mean, I can see how that might work for Batman..."

"We just don't think it's good for you to be thinking like this," Maternal Instinct said gently, rubbing Intuition on the shoulders. "We just don't want you to get hurt."

"That's what you always say. All of you." And when Hopeful Bea stepped forward from the shadows, everyone saw the tears on her cheek. "I know you hate me sometimes. You hate my sunny voice, and my rousing singalongs. You hate my smiling face and my refusal to see Logical's point of view. You've all thought it. You've all asked yourselves why I stick around. Why I don't just go away. Because, you say, at the end of the day, all I cause is hurt.

"But it's never been my fault. We're hurting anyway - this shit. And now Intuition has brought us this crazy, beautiful dream, which doesn't make sense, and sounds exactly like a fairytale, but I'm going to believe her anyway, because if you do - if you can, just for a moment - try it. The hurt all goes away."

And they paused, and there was the gentle atmosphere of happiness. In the morning, Uncanny Intuition was gone, but she left a sense of peace.

Then, on Sunday the 20th of August, she returned. "We're not pregnant anymore," she announced in a loud, etherial voice. There was a stunned silence. Everyone turned to Hopeful, but Hopeful slunk away. And Maternal Instinct started to gently sob.

But there was nothing to do but sit. And wait. And sit and wait.

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Today, the 22nd of August, the clinic sides with Uncanny Intuition. I was pregnant, but that pregnancy is fading fast. They'll double-check on Thursday, but nurse says she doesn't want to give me hope, when really there is none.