My iPod shuffles onto Can't Stop by the Red Hot Chili Peppers, and I am transported. I'm in York, England, in a park by the canal within view of the minster, boots on my lap, cloths and polish beside me, and an old toothbrush in my hand. Mr Bea is in the apartment behind with D, rearranging our boxes of stuff in his spare room. The military is about to move D back to Australia, and our things are hitching a ride. "What will they say about these?" I ask jokingly, indicating a carton of frilly underwear.

"Don't ask, don't tell," D replies. Then he hands me my boots. "These need to be spotless," he says meaningfully. "Like, military clean. Here's a toothbrush." I take everything down to the park to sit in the sunshine of late spring and sing softly to myself as pensioners stroll past with their dogs. I am full of hope and anticipation. We have given away over half our stuff, dropped off most of the rest with D, and completed our prenatal doctor and dentist appointments with flying colours. Tomorrow morning we will head south again with what we expect is all we need to create the next phase of our lives: me, Mr Bea, a few odds and ends (like prenatal vitamins!) in a backpack, and an exhilarating sense of adventure.

"The world I love
The tears I drop
To be part of
The wave can't stop
Ever wonder if it's all for you?"

When I come back to the present, I find that question has been answered in the negative. Sometimes the realisation that this world doesn't revolve around me is the only thing which keeps me from thinking I'm on some kind of karmic blacklist. And yet I find myself connecting with the song once again. I am more mature now - humbled, quietened - and I have learnt a lot about taking life as it comes. This time, instead of singing it with a fearlessness born of innocence, I sing it with a fearlessness born of adversity.

"The world I love
The trains I hop
To be part of
The wave can't stop
Come and tell me when it's time to."

[Video clip] [Lyrics]


--
I'll be back well before you have a chance to miss me. But just in case, here's another song from my iPod:

"Better Days" by Pete Murray

And I saw it coming
I saw emptiness and tragedy
And I felt like running
So far away
But knew I had to stay
And I know when I'm older
I look back and I still feel the pain
I know I'll be stronger and I know I'll be fine
For the rest of my days

I've seen better days
Put my face in my hands
Get down on my knees and I pray to God
Hope he sees me through till the end

I noticed the smallest things
But I didn't notice the change
It was hot in the morning
Then it turned so cold, twas the end of the day
There was no condensation I just felt like I was in space
I needed my friends there I just turned around
They were gone without a trace

I've seen better days
Put my face in my hands
Get down on my knees and I pray to God
Hope he sees me through till the end

Now I have just started
And I won't be done till the end
There's nothing I have lost
That was once placed upon the palm of my hands
And all of these hard times
Have faded round the bend
Now that I'm wiser I cannot wait
Till I can help my friends

I've seen better days
Put my face in my hands
Get down on my knees and I pray to God
Hope he sees me through till the end

Seen better days
Put my face in my hands
Get down on my knees and I pray to God
Hope he sees me through till the end

Seen better
Na Na Na Na Na Na Na [x4]

**Added alert commenter question here.

The Barren Bitches Book Tour is in some ways like a high school English assignment, so I'm using the same time-honoured technique I used back then. That's right - up past bedtime on the night before it's due, looking at the questions for the first time ever. And so many thoughtful questions have been provoked by Niffenegger's compelling tale, I hardly know where to start. Nevertheless, I will.

**Spoiler Warning - parts one and two contain spoilers in the question or answer - if you want you can skip to part three**

Henry's ability to time travel is both a blessing and a curse. What do you think Niffenegger was trying to say about human anomalies in general and how can Henry's ability to time travel relate to medical conditions such as deafness or infertility?

As a bleeding-heart, citified liberal, I prefer to think of human anomalies in terms of compassion and the triumph of human civilisation over the nasty, short, brutishness of nature. But there's a more utilitarian argument for pulling together and helping those whose problems don't, from society's viewpoint, seem worth solving. The idea crops up in several places - Cube, that high school biology lesson where you discussed sickle cell anaemia, and most recently "Survival of the Sickest" by Dr Sharon Moalem - a pop science look at the hidden benefits of human imperfection, and something I purchased today, far too late to be of benefit in answering this question.

During the story, Henry's condition saves his life, earns him a living, and causes his disability, infertility and death. Having found the answer to his infertility, it seems the only thing he lacked to swing the benefits firmly in his favour was control, and his daughter managed to achieve that in much greater degree. The message seems clear - don't be too hasty to condemn that which deviates from the ideal. Persist, overcome obstacles, hang on to the silver lining.

Due to his ability to time travel and jumps into the future, Henry knows that he is going to die. Yet in the beginning, he works hard to try to create a baby with his wife. This situation obviously benefits Henry in that he gets to parent Alba for a bit before he dies. This situation also benefits Clare since she wants to be a mother. Yet Alba grows up without her father yet with his extraordinary abilities - abilities that were a difficult adjustment for Henry growing up. Do you think he acted in the best interests of his child when he helped create her knowing that he would not be around to help her understand her ability to time travel? Do you think it is truly possible to take the feelings of a child in mind prior to creation as well as fulfill your own need to parent? If you had been in Henry's shoes, would you have created this child knowing she would be able to time travel and you would not be there to help her understand this anomaly?

Firstly, I think the question misrepresents the situation somewhat (whoever wrote it can beat me up in the comments!). Henry knows he has never been visited by a version of himself older than forty-three, but he also spends a great deal of the book seeking a cure for his "chrono-impairment", so although he and Clare are worried, there is no proof of his impending death until after the conception of their daughter (and in a certain sense, her birth - his daughter is the one who breaks the news to him). Forty-three could have been the age at which his doctor eventually gave him the magic solution. Couple this with his unusual ability to parent Alba after he dies, as well as before, the other people in Alba's life who understand the condition (her mother and doctor), and Henry's own history of getting by without these advantages, and the action of creating a child in his situation doesn't seem too irresponsible at all.

The fact is, in some sense, I am in Henry's position. I have a family history of breast cancer, and there is a chance I may pass a predisposition on to my children, and then die without first helping them come to terms with it. There was a point at which I wondered if it was responsible to bring a child into this world under the circumstances. But it's impossible to predict what obstacles we'll face and how things will turn out. I could use my genes, and everything could end up just fine, or I could opt not to use my genes, and in doing so create or uncover a whole new set of problems, perhaps worse than before.

Life is not about avoiding whatever risks you can see. Life is about managing risks. It's walking that fine line between responsibility and acceptance of fate. It's hoping for the best and preparing for the worst. It's realising we need to work as a community to give and take and share the burdens. I feel Henry, and I, made reasonable choices.

I love the references to music in this book. They are a convenient way for the author to clearly define the era the narrative is taking place in, but for those of us who can't time-travel, music and the times in which we listened to it play a powerful role in constructing memory. Which is to say, that it is almost impossible for me to think about our experience of infertility without thinking of "The Waters of March" as performed by Susanne McCorkle. Mel's written about this in the past. I also think about going with Mel to see Bruce Springsteen concert right when we started TTC and just being so certain that there was a child in-utero at the concert with us. There wasn't. Or not one that became a viable embryo. For that reason, I hardly ever listen to The Rising, which is the album Bruce was touring behind (The Seeger Sessions however is awesome and on regular rotation). That said, what are the songs you associate with your experience -- even if they have nothing to do with IF?

Less than a week ago I was in a taxi coming home from the appointment in which SOB confirmed our latest pregnancy was over. As we pulled into the traffic, a song came on the radio: "One Fine Day" by The Chiffons. You know how it goes. I've got a feeling if I ever want to feel again like I did that moment, all I'll have to do is get that playing on the stereo.

Finally, a question for the alert commenter. The book is about a couple and the life they build together despite difficulties including infertility. It's told from the viewpoints of both Henry and Clare. Yet it's called "The Time Traveler's Wife". Do you feel that reflects on the way infertility is handled within society? What would the story of your relationship/infertility be called?

---

Hop along to another stop on this blog tour by visiting the main list at Stirrup Queens and Sperm Palace Jesters. You can also sign up for the next book on this online book club: Waiting for Daisy by Peggy Orenstein.

I'm not really into country, but it seems to be the best I can do. I blame my parents. For some reason the other musical style my mother was into was Jewish folk. That's right - I was raised on country and Jewish folk music. You're lucky I can't play the accordion.



More Than A Little Tired

I'm more than a little tired, I'm
Not just a bit worn out, I
Won't be alright in a minute if
I can just put my feet up

And I don't think this will be fixed
Within the space of a cup of tea
It wearies me to breathe
I'm more than a little tired.


---
I asked Mr Bea the other day what he thought of the idea of a memorial service for our embryos. "One day in the future, I mean. Once we've finalised the body count."

He grimaced at my choice of phrase, but said he thought it would be nice. Hopefully folded into a Christening. A "Christening And Memorial Service". It's strange to think we might celebrate one without commemorating the others.

Looks like transfer next Tuesday, he says. And I remember. The please-let-them-thaw-ok. The please-let-them-divide-and-grow. The please-let-them-implant-and-properly-this-time and God-let-this-be-the-one. So much for ticking off one more transfer.

---
My mother wants to know if it's ok to fly during the two week wait. I nod and shrug and tell her not to worry. "So you've asked your specialist about it?" she asks.

"Ah, no, well, I didn't really see the point since I'm going to fly anyway." She purses her lips at me.

---
I skip the NICU documentary program. And the comedy called "The Worst Week Of My Life" about the last week of the main character's pregnancy. I bet I can think of a story to top it. Except mine won't be funny. It's the second series - the first was about the lead-up to the wedding. I find myself thinking, "Shit - when we started trying these fictional people hadn't even been invented yet, and here they are having a baby."

---
Grandma rings to say Cousin has had her little girl. At twenty-eight weeks. She says they are both doing fine, but I can't help but add the silent "considering".

---
I play phone tag with That Friend and we finally catch up. But my voice has gone brittle, my sentences clipped. I am not as ok as I used to be. I hear her draw a deep breath, sucking in courage, and brace myself instinctively. "K had her baby," she tells me, and I ask when - a little too quickly, perhaps. It was a full week after my would-have-been-due date. We both exhale, relieved, and move on. But I have nothing much to say. Nothing except please-let-them-thaw-ok, lease-let-them-divide-and-grow, please-let-them-implant-and-properly-this-time and God-let-this-be-the-one.

---
FS asks me how I'm doing. I tell him I'm doing fine, and I am.

Considering.

---
Give me life, give me pain
Give me myself again...

Oh, these little earthquakes
Here we go again
These little earthquakes
Doesn't take much to rip us into pieces...


---
---
Teendoc has a point. Go around there to read more if you think the fact Amazon requires a due date in order to create a registry is arbitrary and stupid.

It's Fly Day. Two months and two days since Mr Bea flew away. Last week, he wrote me one of his lovesick poems, of which this title is my favourite line. Being of a less romantic bent, I replied with a shopping list. Flour, bicarb, sugar, eggs, oil or butter, milk, syrup, thickened cream, bacon.

Since he's been gone I've waited out a two week window, had morning sickness, received a more-than-negative-but-less-than-positive beta result, made the decision to take a break, quit my job and move to a country I've never visited before, turned in my notice, taken our beloved dog backwards and forwards to the vet clinic for a mysterious waxing and waning illness, applied for and obtained a Singaporean residency visa, witnessed (indirectly) the births of three children - two of which were the second born since we started trying, the other of which was born to my first IVF cycle buddy, and one of which I wasn't told about at all until after the birth, filed tax returns for myself and Mr Bea, completed the pre-removal insurance and customs paperwork for our shipment, sat for a long-deferred family photo, had a general anaesthetic, laparoscopy, hysteroscopy and dye study, attended a weekend conference related to my job, taken our beloved dog backwards and forwards to the university teaching hospital for specialist care having reached the limits of experience of half a dozen general veterinary practitioners, worked full time during the busiest two months of the year, congratulated several more people on their pregnancies, whilst wistfully thinking about how close in due dates we'd be if only that beta had been a teensy bit more positive, sorted and packed an entire household of belongings and transported most of it into storage, made some decisions about my career path, cooked real food, finished dozens of DIY jobs in order to make the house ready for tenancy, contacted insurance companies, mortgage brokers, and banks in order to completely rearrange our finances, finalised our utilities bills and arranged for bills to be paid in our absence, voted in a by-election and changed both our addresses on the electoral role, worked through a big backlog of thoughts and feelings related to our cycles so far, arranged to have our property marketed and rented out, had the car serviced and detailed and put up for sale, revealed and discussed our infertility amongst selected family and friends, booked myself on a plane, supervised shipment of the core of our belongings, kept the house in presentation condition for viewing by prospective tenants at a moment's notice, blogged, applied for a new job in an entirely different industry, mentally prepared myself as well as can be expected for our treatments to come, arranged for our beloved dog to be cared for by family until she's well enough to fly, held someone else's newborn and smiled, researched the rental property market in Singapore, and ovulated, on time, by myself.

Can you hear me roar?

I want you to know two things. First, I didn't do it by myself. I had a lot of help from family and friends, and I do include you guys under "friends". Thankyou so much. Second, a lot of people have implied that I might be finding the move to Singapore stressful. All I can say to that is, "Not compared to infertility." Compared to infertility, it doesn't even raise a flutter. So if you've read this far and thought, "Wow - I couldn't do that!" like I thought two months ago, then sister - you are wrong.

So, where am I at the end of all this? Well, I'm looking forward to tomorrow. Mr Bea and I will be cooking pancakes together for breakfast.

And I'll see you on the other side.

I see you standing bravely and I see you standing true
And I wonder how you stand at all with all that you've been through
And I want to soothe your hurting and I want to hold your hand
But I never want to be someone who truly understands

And if I can I'll...
...let someone else walk with you.
And if I can I'll...
...move on ahead and leave you.

And I see you huddled by yourself, black against the sky
And I want there to be somebody who holds you when you cry
And I wish you hadn't lost so much for what you hope to gain
But I plan to be just one more girl who doesn't know your pain

And if I can I'll...
...let someone else walk with you.
And if I can I'll...
...move on ahead and leave you.

And what I really want to do...
...is tell you sorry then just pass you by.


---
I thought of dedicating this song to a few people in particular, but I kept thinking of more and more candidates, and I didn't know how to choose. Let's just say if you think this is for you, it is.