At a certain point this year I figured something out. Life is better if you can learn to be happy with "so far, so good". It's a struggle - it doesn't come naturally, or at least not to me. I have to do things to manage my focus - I have to consciously and demonstrably highlight happy circumstances and events, so making them into something that can't be as easily overshadowed by uncertainty or despair.

A glass of wine for a good result on a recurrent miscarriage exam.

Two mooncakes for a successful transfer.

A special dinner for a heartbeat.

And a good deed for every week that goes by where I still have enough left to give.

Adsense wrote me a cheque for my Fifty Good Deeds campaign, and I feel like the money is ours. You read and clicked, and you helped me get by from one deed to the next. I couldn't have done it without you, so I want you to tell me where the money should go. I didn't raise great, gaudy piles of money, but there's a little over USD $100, so I'd like to donate it to several charities, keeping an international focus. Please leave suggestions in the comments, and if I'm still confused, I'll set up a poll later.

I guess I will often be tempted to worry over the uncertain future. But this week I think I can feel him move, and that deserves some sort of celebration.

--
P.S. Awards Ceremony post at IIFF.

So yesterday I turned in my final assessment for this semester. "You know what that means?" I said to Mr Bea.

"Toga!" he replied. But then he had to stay late at work, so it was a girl-only night after all. I decided to stay on the couch (sans toga, although my top was slightly Grecian in style) with a soothing home-made orange and cinnamon infusion*, watching TV and working on my IIFF entry. And then, of course, I donated what I would have spent, had I gone out, to the Queensland branch of the Cancer Council as part of their Girl's Night In appeal.

I guess, to me, cancer and infertility have long been related, ever since I watched my mother plunge head-first into menopause after chemo and radiation therapy. Years later, when I found out shortly after our wedding that she wasn't just an isolated blip on our family tree, I wondered seriously if I should be producing genetically-related offspring at all. But my mother remains opposed to having her genes tested, and such a high percentage of breast cancer cases - even amongst men, like my grandfather, who succumbed to the disease when I was five - are not related to the classic BRAC mutations at all, although new genetic markers continue to be found all the time.

In the end, what I came to notice about my family tree was this: not the people who had been affected by breast cancer, but the people who weren't. Dozens of them. Even on my mother's side. Whole groups who had lived to die of some other curse. And another thing: my mother survived. She has been in remission for fifteen years. It's true, she's been lucky, but breast cancer patients are getting luckier all the time - thanks to the efforts of organisations like the Cancer Council.

Even so, infertility has brought the spectre back to me these last few years. For one thing, there was that time we thought Mum's cancer was back. We'd already been trying some time. I dropped by the house and, unwittingly, she demanded grandchildren before she died - which event, she warned me, was imminent (a couple of months later, she turned out to be fine). On the other hand, despite reassurances from several doctors, backed by studies, I remained afraid of hormone treatments for a long time. I also fretted as time slipped away - I was supposed to have my kids young, before I started screening (which I'm due to start in 2008 - after, I was told, I'm finished breastfeeding, ha ha), and I also wanted them to be old enough to understand about treatment, should that happen and, well, I just wanted to feel like I had time to watch them grow up some.

I don't want to sound too dramatic. There is an excellent chance I will never face a diagnosis of breast cancer, and there is a good chance of cure if I do. It's just... well, you know how it is. You see just enough so you can't take things for granted anymore. I'd like to say that's the precious thing about it, but really I just wish someone would make the disease go away.

--
*I bought a new one-cup infuser. It's great! I peeled half an orange, threw in a cinnamon stick, and poured over some boiling water. One of my favourites.


Other Bloggers Who Spent The Night In To Aid Cancer Treatment
Vee of The Sweet Life - and her pink-frangipanni-scented bath.
Ellen at Miss E's Musings - sitcoms, couch-potatoing, and snuggling with the dog.
Pamela hasn't had time to relax or have fun this week, but made a donation anyway.
Melissa (the Stirrup Queen) spent time browsing the bookstore on their evening in (the store) to work out how much to donate to their local cancer charity.
Rachel stayed in, and gave her daughter, Hadas, a good start as she went out to help the local door-knock appeal.
Samantha enjoyed grilled tomato and cheese sandwiches on a boy-girl night in, and sent a donation to the American Cancer Society.
Serenity curled up in front of Mythbusters and then had a great night's sleep, with proceeds going to her local breast cancer charity.
Email me at infertilefantasies at gmail dot com or leave a comment to tell me about your night in.


Cancer's Reality - from Fellow Bloggers
Toddler Planet - inflammatory breast cancer, a rare form.
KarenO - breast and ovarian cancer in the family, and the BRAC2 mutation.
Vanilla Dreams - (password protected) - living with infertility after ovarian cancer.
Cancer Baby - she was named Jessica, and she was loved.
Imstell is a mum blogging in the aftermath of treatment for inflammatory breast cancer. Thanks, Whymommy, for pointing her out.
Lisa P sadly passed away earlier this year. Halfway through her battle with infertility, she was struck down by Hodgkin's lymphoma. (Check the comments on the most recent post.)
Email me, or leave a comment, if you know of other bloggers in our community who are writing about living with the reality of cancer who would like to be linked here. It might be themselves, or a close family member.


I also found this story offering hope to children whose parents have survived cancer for ten years or more. It seems they have an improved chance of remission if they end up facing the same cancer.

As my good deed this week, I manned (or in my case, womanned) the Christmas card stall for the R.D.A. for an afternoon. My fellow card-seller, though childless herself, was one of those women who just can't resist a tiny face. "Look at the baby!" she exclaimed at every opportunity, and made gestures and faces, even when the infant was quite some distance across the mall and oblivious, along with its parent, to the fawning going on.

I have never been one of those women. But each to their own.

Things became dangerous, however, when she turned to me and asked if I had any children, to which I answered, "No," with that uneasiness born of watching helplessly as the conversation chugs towards unwanted territory.

"People keep asking me when I'm going to have kids," she continued, and in a flash I saw my opportunity to redirect the train along an entirely different track.

"I think that's rude," I cut in. "Who says you want kids? Who says you can have them? What if you were in the process of miscarrying a long-awaited pregnancy? It's too personal a question."

So we talked about that for a while, until someone came to buy some cards, after which it seemed time for a new topic. I think we moved on to tomatoes.

---

A few weeks ago, not long after the scan at which we found out Twin A was no longer alive, I was talking to my mother on the phone. "How are you feeling?" she said.

"Fine, within the limits of what can be expected," I replied.

"What do you mean by that?" she demanded.

"Just, you know..."

"Morning sickness? Tired?"

"Sure, a bit. Like I said, standard stuff. Fine." And my mother agreed amiably. But then I added, "It's just starting to wear a little thin, that's all," and I swear I could hear her pursing her lips all the way down the line. If she hadn't been interrupted by my father in the background, I'm sure she would have tutted for quite some time about how there's no pleasing me.

I know my audience. I wouldn't dream of forcing any of you who are still waiting to listen to and sympathise with every little complaint*. And I truly don't feel the need to complain most of the time - my symptoms have been mild and manageable, and even last night, which I spent half of in the bathroom vomiting, I remained pretty cheerful about the whole affair. The difference is, last night I felt like there might only be six more months of this between now and our baby, and that doesn't worry me at all. But just after that scan, I felt like we might have to start all over again. When hope is low, even small inconveniences bite. I know you know what I mean.

But that wasn't the only misunderstanding. If she didn't know about our history of infertility, would she have pursed her lips, or would she have given an understanding, "Yes, I know, pregnancy symptoms are unpleasant, aren't they?" Knowing my mother, it's quite possible she would still have done the former. "Well, it's not like you weren't aware this could happen..." I love my Mum, but she doesn't do nonsense, even when she should. Still, I've seen her incline her head and murmer a few gentle words to those suffering through the trials of even the most ordinary pregnancies, and I daresay she'd do the same for me. If, you know, there was any pleasing me. I'm sure it would be different if I was having real problems, but for a moment I wondered where I could make myself understood. I felt stranded where no-one spoke my language. Preginfertilispeak. Perhaps there should be a phrasebook.

--

Please read about and support the mother's act, for those suffering post-natal depression.

And yay to C for her support of the Red Cross in their efforts over those fires.

--
*I know I've posted a couple of complaints, but hopefully you can see that I have everything in perspective, and anyway, I don't expect anyone to read and sympathise.

--
Just a few clarifications:

1. I think the amount of complaining I've done here pretty accurately reflects the amount I've wanted to do. I've spent more time wishing I had morning sickness than actually having morning sickness, for example. I also kind of figure you're not forced to read or comment if you're having a bad day (and please don't feel you have to), so it's not the same as pinning you in a corner in real life and telling you all about the chucking up. And it's certainly not the same, as Barb said (hi Barb!), as complaining, "Ugh why did I have to do this?" So I do try to remember who I'm writing to, but I'm much more relaxed about what I say here than face-to-face.

2. Ellen mentioned "the hardy type [of mother] who thinks the cure for every ailment is exercise and fresh air, or maybe a warm salt water gargle". It's not exactly the right picture, but close - she is a great believer in "dealing with the consequences", so it makes it hard to tell how much is due to IVF and how much would be there anyway. So it could all be my own paranoia. On the other hand, I know there are people who have got these kinds of comments (like Somewhat Ordinary, for eg).

3. You guys are great! (Did I need to clarify that?) There are some other really good comments, too, you should read them.

...after I wrote yesterday's post. But I can't, for the life of me, remember if he picked up any beer with that juice.

Don't forget the Film Festival is on at the end of next week. Best get cracking! Those short of ideas can always combine the leftovers from Halloween into a Girl-Blogger's Night In film, killing several birds with one stone.

Yesterday was Stand Up Against Poverty day. I didn't stand up - well, I did, just not at any specifically appointed time for that sole purpose - but I did donate some money to Childfund, so I think that counts.

Jenna, on the other hand, is just the good deed fairy at the moment, going so far as to donate her hair! And I just had mine trimmed...

P.S. Don't forget to organise yourself for the Girl-Blogger's Night In!

I'm two for two. Someone else asked me if I was pregnant today. However, I'm feeling a bit better about it after the revelation I had on the way home. You see, "Are you pregnant?" is the question I get asked every time I'm at even slightly less than full, outgoing vigor. I must look like the maternal type. Or the unsickly type. Or both.

I first got the question when I was sixteen years old. Things escalated during university, and after I got married I found I couldn't so much as yawn from having stayed up late watching a movie without someone pulling me aside to ask me about my fertility status in a hoarse and dramatic whisper. Seriously, last year the question was prompted by my coming to work with the sniffles. The sniffles! Because, naturally, the most logical explanation is not a minor head cold. So all this asking is just par for the course, and signifies nothing*. It does, however, bug me when people assume pregnancy is the only condition that can affect a woman when there are, after all, such a rich variety of conditions to choose from.

Which is why, in a few weeks' time, in celebration of deed number 50, I am going to ask you to join me in a Girl-Blogger's Night In, in aid of the Cancer Council. We all know bloggers affected by breast cancer - KarenO is going through a terrible patch with her mother, and Karaoke Diva walked for members of her family not so long back (but Bea is too lazy to search for the exact post). Then there are those of our ranks who have been personally affected by ovarian cancer, and those who are at increased risk of female cancers due to the same conditions causing their infertility, or due to their childlessness itself. After that, there are the countless women who have been diagnosed without any risk factors whatsoever - I'm sure you can name two or three from your own life without thinking too hard at all.

So on Thursday November 1st, we're having a Girl-Blogger's Night In. Pour a relaxing bath, open a bottle of wine, get your favourite snacks and DVD together, bring a friend and do a facial, or just take the night off to read in bed. Blog about your evening and send me a link to the post. Then donate**, at the cancer council's website, the amount of money you would have spent on a night out. Let's make the fiftieth good deed one for the girls!


--
*I think the assuming that happened yesterday signifies a little more. That was still freaky.

**Those within Australia can donate to the cancer council in your state. Those outside Australia - pick your favourite state or donate to mine, which is Queensland. If you would prefer to donate to your local women's cancer charity, do so and provide a link in your blog post.

--
Oh, right, about this week. P.S. you can also sign this online, world-wide petition against the death penalty.

I've had a relatively minor cold. Nevertheless, somewhere about Wednesday, I started to wonder how anyone ever got through something like this without the medication I so readily swallow under ordinary circumstances. Now, I'm happy to suffer through the not-breathing, not-sleeping, messing-with-my-appetite-which-is-already-being-messed-with in the name of the greater cause, although "happy" might not be the most accurate word, but I would certainly rather be in this position than the one where I get to merrily pop pills with impunity due to the non-babyness of my body, in which case "merry" would hardly be the word either, I mean, I've been there, but my point is it got me thinking about all the reasons people suffer their way through perfectly treatable conditions, and most of the time there's no "greater cause" and it's just the universe being sucky.

Infertility is, of course, a case in point. People with perfectly treatable conditions find themselves suffering through sheer lack of cover. That's a reprehensible failure of a modern, wealthy society. Any effort to correct this failure - raffles*, online shops, or tandem skydiving expeditions - deserves support.

And so, I thought, did this effort to redistribute perfectly good surplus to needy hospitals elsewhere in the world. It's recycling! It's aid! And since I was forced to save money on basic medicine this week, someone else might as well spend it.



--
*Perhaps you knew this and I'm stupid. However, I'm not so stupid as to be the only one who might potentially find this problem difficult, so if you live outside the US, don't try to buy your raffle tickets through the online shop, because you won't be able to. Instead, go directly to paypal - set up an account if necessary, you'll need one either way - and email the funds to sales (at) inconceivablejourney.com. Don't forget to attach all the relevant details in your message (such as which tickets you want). You'll have your lucky numbers in your inbox in no time. (Thanks, Jenna's husband.)

I did this online survey for Amnesty International. But you don't care - you're here about the scan, right? Of course right.

We lost the smaller twin. The sac is still visible, but it hasn't really grown in the last ten days. SOB says it will probably collapse and disappear, or else cause a violent miscarriage which ends the entire pregnancy, although he did try to say that last bit in a casual and positive voice. The main thing, apparently, is to stay on all the medication, except not the clexane if I start bleeding in which case it might just be an idea to give him a bit of a tinkle and maybe even pop in, you know, as long as I'm in the neighbourhood and have some spare time.

Other than that, everything looks fine! The now-depressingly-named Twin B is growing steadily, measuring just as, but no further behind than ever before, heartbeat intact, etc etc etc. In fact, goshdarnit, I might as well post this ultrasound pic for you to view at your discretion.

We knew this was on the cards. And the fact is, a single, healthy baby was the most we were ever hoping for out of this cycle. We're still in with a good chance of that, although I'll admit my confidence has been shaken, and reduced pregnancy risks (casual remarks about imminent miscarriage notwithstanding) and a more manageable infanthood are good things, better things, and that's what a singleton is. I'll be very grateful if we can have just one.

But let's save it for another day. We just lost a baby, you see.

I was sitting around my mother's kitchen table just after this latest transfer* discussing the ins and outs** of what had gone on when my mother casually remarked, "Well, multiples run in your family, you know. On both sides."

I turned my hesitant gape into a light-hearted, "Do they?"

"Yes," she said, ignoring my increasingly anxious look. "Two of your great-grandmothers had triplets. Haven't I told you that story?"

"If you have, it's obviously slipped my mind temporarily over the last couple of days," I replied drily, and so she began.

Great Granddaddy was working out in the paddock on the farm when Great Grandma went into labour. The midwife was called for, and after some hours a young child was dispatched with the message: "It's a boy!"

"Good-oh," said Great Granddad, continuing his work.

Some hours later, the messenger-child returned. "Another boy!"

"Well goodness me," said Great Granddad calmly, without pausing from the job at hand. The third time the child returned with the news that another son had been born, Great Granddad paused briefly to reflect, and then put down his tools. "I think," he said slowly, "I'd better come see what's going on in there."

At this point, my mother's hearty chuckle mingled with my rather more nervous titter, but she soon sighed and a wistful look overtook her face. "Great Grandma P's triplets were girls," she continued, "but they all died at birth."

"Great, Mum," I said, rising decisively from the table. "I've really enjoyed this talk."

The truth is, I stopped secretly wanting twins when I was faced with the reality of actually having to choose that risk. Although that's not putting it quite accurately - I still secretly want twins; what I don't want is dead or permanently disabled twins, along with the knowledge that all would have been ok if I'd just been a little more patient and had them one at a time. At present, I remain unconvinced that either, let alone both these babies are going to make it to the point where I need to start worrying, which leaves me in this kind of blissful, yet ignorant stage of emotional limbo, kind of like how you felt when you only just started trying, and it hadn't worked yet, but you thought it probably would sooner or later. But even if they do both continue to develop and we end up facing the possibility of two at once, thanks to my Mum, I'll always know it could look scarier.


--
I went back to R.D.A this week. I may be taking on more responsibilities. But that's nothing! Karen has this whole teaching project going for barely literate rural women. And Blondie is doing what she can to make this case into a fair trial.


---
*For an individual person, sitting around a table is just as difficult as it sounds.

**Ew.

I have come to this conclusion: IVF is an emotionally traumatic experience. I know, but wait, I have more. No matter what the outcome of a cycle, it is bound to be followed by a sort of mini-nervous-breakdown lasting a few days to a week. If the pregnancy test is negative, this breakdown will happen immediately. If the pregnancy test is positive, the breakdown will be delayed several days. Either way, it will happen.

I don't believe things are fine in there. They may be, for all I know, but I don't believe it. Nevertheless, I am feeling fairly calm about stuff, and am content to wait til the next scan on Monday. I have finished with my inevitable post-cycle breakdown, you see.

I still wish I had pregnancy signs. There's something very self-indulgent about this, but I do want that fleeting bit of morning sickness back. I'm over the boob veininess - it's so 14dpo. I want something more up to date, more now; something that says, "Going on seven weeks," in bright, bold colours. And any time the spotting wants to stop, that would be just fine, too.

But I will wait, and I will do my good deed (carbon credits - haven't bought any for either of our flights yet) and I will continue ticking off the injections one by one (y'all clicked over to IVF Shootemup and perused the entire site minutely until you found my clexane video buried deep down in there somewhere, right?) until the next scan comes around - whatever news that brings. I have exited the breakdown phase and entered the Hum Drum. Long may it last.

First, a random thing: last night, Thalia came to me in a dream and told me I should enjoy more coffee. I obviously blog too much.

Secondly: beta the fourth is still pending. I decided to have it marked "non-urgent" this time - should be back by tomorrow. Curiously, having my blood drawn was just as soothing as it usually is, despite the lack of results. The act of having a sample taken, even though I hate blood samples so much I have only recently learnt to sit through them without fainting on the floor, seems to lower my stress levels independently of any gain in either a) reassurance from knowing things are going well, or b) ability to take action if they aren't. Did I mention Thalia appeared to me in a dream to bring me a message about coffee? It's possible I may be slightly unhinged.

--

I remember being... younger, I don't know, probably about twelve or thirteen, and seeing a brochure for an adults-only resort holiday. "That's terrible!" I protested to my mother. "What sort of people dislike kids so much they'd create an adults-only resort? I mean, that excludes the adults who have kids to look after as well!"

In her wisdom, my mother replied, "Your father and I love you dearly, but not everyone wants to see children and families around all the time. Good people, too."

I don't think I really understood until the infertility.

Just before I left for our latest cycle, I was invited to join a google group for young, childless expats living in Singapore. "We don't have an age limit," the recruiting member assured us, looking around the table at a group of maybe four or five. "To us, age is a state of mind. And it's not that we hate kids, or parents - in fact some of our members have had babies since they joined and of course we still let them come along - but we want to be able to go out and have fun without any talk of babysitting or nappies."

"Sounds nice," said the mother in the conversation, assuming that long-suffering face parents are so fond of displaying. On this occasion, however, it was ignored.

"It just seemed there were a lot of mothers' groups around, but nothing similar for non-mothers," Recruiting Member concluded.

So I said I was game, and I've even dropped in to a couple of events. It's nice. A safe place for an infertile. And, though my thirteen-year-old self may have found this surprising, the women aren't awful people at all.

Just this week, one of them sent out a request to the group for sponsorship. She's running to raise money for a hospice. It's a perfect good deed for us both.

---
News just in (beta the fourth): apparently it's "good" and also "fine". The nurse offered to read me the number, and for some reason, today, I just didn't want it. Heartbeat scan Monday.

Mr Bea just emailed me back about the beta asking what I've done with his wife.

I ended up with a substantial amount of change for unicef on the plane. And over $120 in notes, most of which I kept for myself. Any Oz-bound Singaporeans willing to give a good exchange rate, let me know. Guess I wasn't feeling that confident about it being a one-way trip.

I'm still not. I could whine about my lack of symptoms or the ongoing, if very subtle, spotting, but I've got an essay due and you know how the speech goes anyway. Sometimes I think I should just get a follow-up beta, but I actually only want one if it's going to be good, and I really don't want to see anything equivocal, and, well, two pieces of good news in one week seems like pushing my luck. I've been terrified into submission and I'm too scared to ask for a bigger bowl of reassurance in case I am beaten or cast out into the street by a whole chorus-line of singing, dancing, orphanage masters, metaphorically speaking, of course. No, I'll wait - at least a little longer. Nothing is as horrifying as song.

Which I want to distinguish from the excellent cheers you guys did me last weekend. They rocked. Totally different thing. Also, I did get some wonderful magnets from Rachel to lift my spirits during this next wait. And if anyone wants to discuss Potter - I've finished now. Did I miss my chance? Where have you guys been going to talk about it? Oh good grief yes - and apparently I'm also a Rockin' Girl Blogger, although I may have to come back later to do the graphic. Thanks Samantha, Serenity and Sunny J for the nominations. And... I'll have to come back and do my own nominations later. Damnit. Essay. University.

I've always been in the anti-peestick camp. "They don't tell you anything!" I've cried. "If it's negative, you wonder if it's a real negative, and if it's positive, you wonder if it's a real positive! What's the point?" Now my thoughts are this: peesticks tell you very little. But blood tests tell you only a very little more. And then scans, and so on, through the full gamut of prenatal tests, and post-natal tests, and the best you can hope for in the end is to die before the story really ends. So fuck it, right? Pee, don't pee, just take it in perspective.

I'm not yet ready to pee. For now, I'd rather live in ignorance than see a negative. But the time is coming, and soon, when I'd just rather know. Not how it ends - that's too much to ask for - but that I got one/two lines on a peestick, or anything. I'll tell you how it unfolds. (Beta is Monday.)

--

I've got two good deeds for you this week - mine and Vee's. They're kind of the same deed. You see, I mailed off the IIFF prizes last Friday (and don't forget! next festival October 27th, Halloween!) but Vee asked me not to send theirs. Due to strict new diets, Max and Vee are unable to appreciate the Love, and have asked me to do so on their behalves, which I am - with a heavy heart and a tantalised set of taste buds. Naturally I offered a substitute prize, and Vee said she'd feel rewarded if I donated something to either cancer or diabetes.

Point of note. If you run a charity website PLEASE SET UP ONLINE DONATIONS! That aside.

With daffodil day approaching, I was saved. I bought a wrist band whilst waiting for them to process my IVF claim today, and I dropped a little into the online tin when I got home. A bit for Vee and Max, and a little for me.

I wasn't going to check back on the embryos, but the scientist rung me this afternoon to let me know only two went into the freezer. I think I was happier with three, maybe four.

Keep in mind we've had a very poor thaw rate in the past. Apart from the fact I'm having to adjust my expectations from "one, maybe two FETs" down to "hopefully one FET", I just... hell I'm going to say it, even if it does sound like something I should be over by now - I resent the fact I had to get stabbed in the ovaries sixteen times for just four embryos. Sorry, hopefully four embryos, actual number pending thaw. Hell, I guess I resent being stabbed at all.

In the end, of course, I don't give a fuck how many eggs, or embryos, or frosties we get - I just want results. Ten fingers, ten toes. And now I come to write that down, I'm getting pretty negotiable on those numbers, too. It's just my first thought this morning was, "What the fuck kind of rashness made me transfer two top-grade embryos at once?" - because, obviously, the only thing keeping every single last one of our embryos from implanting so far has been OHSS and clexane deficiency - whereas this evening, with our FET buffer unexpectedly low, I'm thinking, "Great. Next stim has been moved up to October. Just great."

And to make matters worse, Mel, I love your work, but I've had What The Gardener Knows stuck in my head for over a week now, and it's starting to drive me absolutely freaking batshit insane. Ok! I want to share the not-yet flower! I've expressed that!

When all's said and done, this is just the usual two week wait nonsense, plus a sullenness born of having to adjust my expectations downwards once again.

When do I get to adjust them up?


--
Oh, right. Deed. Bought chocolates for Beloved Dog's vets/nurses. That's ex-vets/nurses. Or possibly ex-dog?

Fifty Good Deeds Fund at $102.60. Sorry - $102.60!!! I'll have to do up a poll on how you want the funds disbursed for next week. Suggestions welcome meanwhile.

I remember chatting with the anaesthetist and scientist about the politics of keeping one's maiden name after marriage, and the next thing I was waking in my dream, in a primitive hut with a dusty blanket over the door, and the sound of my Beloved Dog barking next to my bed. She trotted to the middle of the dirt floor and looked at the entrance expectantly, then back at me. Someone was coming. "Thanks, Gooddog," I told her. "It's ok." And she trotted back under the bed and out of sight, a satisfied look on her face.

And then a nurse said, "Let me take this tube out," and all of a sudden FS was there telling me they got sixteen nice-looking eggs, and Mr Bea came in, but I fell asleep again, this time to dream about a lettuce, carrot and mayonnaise salad sitting on a white table in a white room, doing nothing. Sort of a still-life dream.

I feel ok. I have taken some extra pain relief. Last time I decided to try and tough it out, popping a half-dose only after strong encouragement and mere hours before being admitted through emergency for OHSS and stuck onto IV morphine. Looking back, I can't for the life of me remember what I was trying to prove. In any case, I have decided to prove something different now.

Fertilisation results in the morning.

Money to Guide Dogs and RSPCA, and buying dinner for a relative who had day surgery as my good deeds. And kudos to Schatzi for pitching in for a fundraising BBQ! Also check out this at Red Beans and Rice Noodles. It's an adoption fundraiser! It has fabric recycling! How much harder can it rock?

Fifty Good Deeds Fund is up to $93.66!

My good deed this week was nothing original. Same same, but different. Jesus repaid his Kiva loan, so I re-loaned the money to Pen Phala. Which mightn't have been the best choice, since all my loans are now due to be repaid around the same time in the second half of 2008, and I could have planned that better. Then again, Pen Phala couldn't have, and I know the feeling.

You see, in cycle news things are also same same, but different. Every time I see FS these days, he ends up rubbing his eyes as if he wants to wake up and just start the morning all over again. Remember I got a distinction in recurrent miscarriage testing? Well, I flunked suppression. I'm going to have to sit this whole supplementary exam.

Nobody's quite sure how I went so wrong. You see, a couple of weeks ago I got a line on the OPK which was, alright, not darker than the control line, but just as dark as any I've ever seen during a normal cycle. It was more or less when I'd expect to ovulate as well, the relatively poor reliability of my ovulation pattern notwithstanding. Then right on cue it went away again. Now, I didn't temp, so I'm not sure what happened after that, except my period arrived at the expected time last Saturday and it was, I'll admit, lighter than usual but certainly within the realms of normal. Today I have a nice, ripe, 24mm follicle* on one ovary. And a nice, ripe, 16mm on the other. Despite** over two weeks of synarel.

I mean, two follicles. Like one ovary decided on the joke, and the other thought it would be just hilarious to ride in on the punchline.

So IVF/ICSI#2 was in danger of being... well "cancelled" just sounds so negative - why not go with "postponed" or "rescheduled"?

This afternoon I've been told, mysteriously enough, that the hormone levels from my post-scan blood test look "better" than expected, and I am to keep taking synarel and come in tomorrow for... another scan and blood test? a trigger injection? a coffee and croissant over the morning paper? At this point I have declined to find out, in favour of relishing the excited anticipation which stems from just such a mystery. What will tomorrow morning bring? I've had a few guesses - go ahead and weigh in with a few of your own!

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*slash cyst, I guess, although don't quote me.

**or arguably because of...

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The Fifty Good Deeds Fund is now up to a huge $85.45!

And as my good deed, when buying groceries, I chose brands which benefit charities, such as bega cheese's drought relief.

The Fifty Good Deeds Fund is up to $78.93.

Busy week.

• Used Qantas online feedback form to praise woman who did my booking last week. Woman is identified by staff number, not by name. Hope it gets through to right person. Thanks, Nica, for suggesting the idea - great minds think alike!


• Caught up with friends. Real, comfortable-feeling friends. Didn't discuss anything infertility-related. Felt all warm and fuzzy and cared for.


• Got offered a place in a Masters course (bioethics). Enrolled. Lots of paperwork still pending. Started trying to track down books on reading list in such a way as to avoid bankruptcy. No books so far. Class starts Monday.


• Discussed new postgrad image at length with several people, who advised me on wardrobe and makeup. Culminated in buying new sunglasses. Arguably more important than buying new textbooks.


• Spent quality time with beloved dog. Beloved dog looks awful - like a dog who's been sick for almost a year straight. Toast-rack thin. Sparse hair. Inability to play like she used to. But very bright and happy, and hopefully on the long road to recovery. Suppressed frustration with parents, who can't tablet her even though she's an extremely easy dog to tablet, because these drugs are not supposed to be handled by women who are trying to become pregnant and it's sweet of them to do this for me, even if it does take them for-freaking-ever and the tablets get spat all over the place. Love you Mum/Dad.


• Had deep and meaningful discussion over kitchen table about Aunt who complains constantly about the stress of being a grandmother to my mother, who is starting to feel like someone needs a slapping.


• Read half a blog for the Roundupaversary. Other half pending. Neglected to take my camera to photograph the clinic for the Virtual World Tour. Kicked myself.


• Emailed MD about test results, no response! Phoned today - machine. Will try again tomorrow.


• Worked on IIFF.


• Started sniffing. Back on long protocol. For those catching up - decided on long down-reg. Synarel debacle. Changed plan to short down-reg. Airline debacle. Now back to long down-reg. Stay tuned.


• Ran around clearing backlog of medical claims, gathering end-of-financial-year documents, etc etc etc - all those "well, I'll leave it til I get back" errands I've been putting off for a couple of months now.


• Lined up part-time work for duration of stay in Australia.


• Bought new organiser!


• Checked adsense account - up to $76.43!


• Read fantastic summary of the characteristics of a "survivor". Feel like I've failed the "quickly" part of the description, but it's not too late to cultivate the necessary attitude. Entered "cultivate survivor's attitude" into the Saturday afternoon slot in my organiser.

The OPK gave me teaser lines, but I did not actually surge. My test results did not come through. I was not impelled to have another flip-out over the possible outcome!

The world at large did not concede that, since I've been waiting quite a while, it's my turn to be pregnant next and not some woman who only just had a son eighteen months ago.

But I did not let this spoil my lunch.

My sister did not fail her very important exam. Neither did she get the job she wanted.

I did not hear back about a course I've applied for.

I did not expect the Fifty Good Deeds fund to be up to $73.58 already.

And the Aerosmith version of "Give Peace A Chance" from the Amnesty International Album did not sound the way I thought it would. But it was still cool.

I had a telephone appointment with FS this morning. I want to shelve our OHSS embryos and do another stim, but it runs against the generally accepted way of doing things, which is to use up your frosties before starting again.

In our case I think a new stim is clinically justified. The most likely reason for our failures thus far, according to two separate specialists, is that this batch of embryos is affected by OHSS. Even if that's wrong, continuing to transfer in the same way, getting the same results, teaches us nothing. A new batch will at least test this hypothesis. Besides, with six embryos in the freezer, we can afford to be super-conservative with our stims, making it highly unlikely we'll repeat the OHSS, yet sure we'll make to transfer, even if that means using our frozen backups. It takes some of the stress out of the cycle.

Can you tell I've been rehearsing this speech? For months? Here's how our conversation went:

FS: What can I do for you, Bea?

Bea: Well, I'd like to do a new stim...

FS: No worries. We'll start straight away. Anything else?

Bea: Clexane*...?

FS: If you want. Is that it? Well I guess I'll see you when you're up to the injections then.

Bea: Oh. Good.

I've just added myself to cyclesista. We're on to IVF/ICSI#2. Retrieval early/mid-August.

Now I know what you're thinking: "Did I miss the post where we got the results from the testing cycle?" Well, no you didn't. But those results will be in before the retrieval cycle, and they're unlikely to change our basic protocol. And if they do, well, gosh - a change of plan would just shock me to the core, I don't think. As it is, I only have ten days left to get me some synarel, so I need to keep moving.

And I need to do a good deed! In view of the fact that my previous two Kiva loans are being repaid ahead of schedule, I've decided to make a third. This one goes to Yadigar Djabrayilov, who needs to repair his truck so he can go on supporting his young family after the death of his wife and their displacement from their home in the occupied territory of Azerbaijan.

I've decided to do a weekly treasurer's report, to let you know how our Fifty Good Deeds fund is going. This week we're up to $68.65.

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Babyblues is also getting into the spirit with more on Operation Smile. They're raising donations!

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*Clexane is a brand-name heparin, like Lovenox.