I don't like talking about what I do for a living. I go to these social gatherings now and then where people ask me and then when I tell them they look all enthusiastic for about twenty seconds because it sounds like something that should be interesting to talk about, even though in practice it's not. Then they come up with these stories about so-and-so who really wanted to be what I am but never quite got there, and inevitably they ask me why I chose my job. I dread these conversations. Perhaps I should explain.

You know those women who decided on a whim one day not to use contraception and are now complaining about getting knocked up and raising a kid? Don't you just hate them? Well, metaphorically speaking, I am such a woman. People kept asking me in high school what I wanted to be when I grew up and I got bored with telling them I didn't know, so racked my brains and gave them the best idea I had at the time and, well, since then I just haven't managed to think of anything better. That's the whole story. And now I'm here, I don't exactly like it, but I still can't think of anything better. Well I can, but, see profile re: infertility.

And to make matters worse (warning: middle-class whining about complete non-problems continues for another whole paragraph) my sisters are, metaphorically speaking, the infertiles who struggled for years to gain what I take for granted. Woe, and again I say woe is me. I like to say I inspired them. Whatever - point is they both chose the same career path I did, and they both strove hard for years to claw their way into my position whereas I skipped and hopped straight from highschool to uni to graduation to my first job in the minimum possible time, all the while trying (but failing) to think of a more appealing alternative. Yes, it really sucks being me.

I think I'm ready to get over it.

If the longest I can work full time without throwing some sort of "stuff all this I'm going to Morocco to find myself" fit is under a year, it's time to move on. Mr Bea, bless him, has been very tolerant up til now. He says, as if he's not directly contradicting himself, "Sure! Alternative Career Path A sounds perfect for you - go for it!" and also, "You know, the career path you're on suits you so well, I really think returning to it** is the right choice!" plus, from time to time, "Well, just don't forget to send me a postcard! With camels on it!"

The fact is, what little satisfaction I do derive from my job is completely offset by the enormous level of stress it causes me. Causes me, mind you - other people don't seem to respond this way. And there are many who find my job intensely satisfying, but for some reason not me. The bottom line is I've been trying to follow a career path I find to be highly stressful and mostly unsatisfying. I mean, it's just stupid, isn't it? Plus I'm not very good at it.

Also - and this is key - in the shit fight between Mr Bea taking the job he really actually does want in Singapore, continuing to do IVF, and devloping my career, developing my career got so totally done over by the other two it woke up in hospital in a completely foreign state where the authorities are still waiting for it to recover its memory so they can ascertain its identity and contact its next of kin. And no-one, it seems, has so far reported it missing.

To sum up.

Please help Bea discover her purpose in life. A small prize* goes to the winner.

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*Prize may be, like, really really small.

**Read "falling back on it".

Well, I've had my last day at work*. I am now officially "between jobs". I worked the last shift alongside a colleague who has been wonderful to me all year. She's taken up slack for me, covered and swapped shifts for me, she even came in on her Sunday off to help me out for two hours during the pre-beta crisis of our most recent FET.

But here's the thing. She did all this without knowing. She may have suspected that something was up, but she never asked questions or demanded explanations. If she saw I needed help, she gave it. And she never once acted like I owed her one. I am, and will forever remain, thoroughly grateful for her.

I guess I felt she had earned a right to know. So before we said those last goodbyes, I told her. Just a brief outline - nothing detailed, nothing heavy. She said she was amazed at how well I'd held it together, and I laughed drily and said it was comforting to know she hadn't been spying on me closely. And she wished me luck, and she said she hoped I found happiness in the end.

And then she paused, looking worried. "I just never realised it was so common to have trouble," she said. One of our colleagues has just given birth to an IVF baby, and another has been advised to start treatment, and is weighing her decision. Three other workmates have lost unborn children in the last twelve months. We are only a small business.

"And you know how I feel about kids," she continued. She feels ambivalent, and more inclined towards her career at this stage. "My mother and sister conceived fairly easily, though," she added, looking sideways at me.

I shook my head firmly. "My mother has three children," I replied, "and never spent longer than two months trying to conceive any of us. You're not your sister, neither are you married to her husband."

And there was a pause, whilst I considered what to say next. But in the end I felt I had to.

"It's more common than you think," I told her, "and you have less time than you're expecting. You're already in your thirties - your fertility, and that of your husband, will start to decline significantly in a few years' time, and dramatically once you reach forty. Don't assume. Don't wait til you're ready, or finished with your career. Above all, don't wake up on your forty-first birthday with a sudden and burning desire to procreate and not enough time for Plan B."

In the silence that followed, she played absently with her ear lobe and stared at her lap with a troubled expression on her face. I waited. When at last she looked up, she promised to give it some serious thought, and I felt I had done my duty, so returning part of the enormous favour she'd done me.

She'll probably be fucking pregnant by March.


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*Actually, they've asked me to do a couple of casual shifts next week, and like a fool who thinks time will just expand to allow me to get everything I need to done and then some, and is having many moments of anxiety over how we're going to pay for this lifestyle we've agreed to follow, I accepted.

You guys rock. You really do. Things are much clearer to me now than they were this time last week, although I'm sure it won't last. Luckily, we've written it all down. And now, for what it's worth, I want to tell you what I've learned.

I've learned that, in this uncertain world of infertility, it's impossible to set the rules ahead of time. Saying you'll quit after cycle X, or you'll do as much as it takes, no matter what, is a recipe for anxiety - as is any other rule about how you'll react on a given day, or to a given situation. There's enough worry without the fret over whether you'll be able to follow through on your self-made promises. And that's not to say you should throw out all your standards - but you need to give yourself permission to take it as it comes.

As for the short game, the flash points where everything is an overwhelming crisis - they're going to come and go. You may be able to identify a pattern, or a situation that sets you off, or you may be struck down without warning. Whatever the case, you need to ride them out, nothing more. Analysing and problem solving mean nothing here. The only thing that counts is your ability to distract and de-stress. Meditation or exercise, whatever music puts you in a better frame of mind, breathing exercises, or busying yourself with some sort of achievable task - whether work or recreation - can tide you over until the panic subsides. Until it's time to make the next choice; to roll the next set of dice.

And if you're ever wondering why, and there's no logical answer, try picking up a coin. Weight it on one side, according to your prognosis and the number of embyos you're transferring. Then flip. Because the universe plays just such a mystical game of chance.

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If anyone still has any bullet-proof coping strategies they just have to share, you just have to share them. I can't speak for anyone else, but I'll be reading.

So much of the stress of ART is not based around specific events where things have gone wrong. Rather, it's a background stress - the not knowing how things are going to turn out in the end, and the wondering what bizarre and unexpected twist is going to derail it all next. Good, I can see you nodding along.

What I've noticed, and what I don't know how to deal with, are the flash points. The predictable meltdowns that punctuate a cycle. It's taken me four FETs to identify the pattern, and though I imagine it's not the same for everyone, I also suspect I'm far from unique.

Two days before the next test or procedure. That's when it happens.

Two days before the next blood test, ultrasound, or transfer, you can find me crying, hyperventilating, snapping irritably, unable to sleep properly, having difficulty getting through my day to day life, and feeling generally overwhelmed. On these days it reaches a point where having children becomes a secondary priority, eclipsed by the desire to just make it all stop. Of course, after a few hours, I am back on track. But while it lasts, it's horrible, just horrible.

I suppose identifying the pattern is the first step. Well I've done that. Good for me. But now what? Tell me - I'm not the only one, am I? So having been there, dealt with that, what advice can you pass on?

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I'm going to throw out the first suggestion. Try to arrange things so I'm not facing additional stress on that day. Turn down the invitation to that social event. Arrange my work so I'm not doing the shift that causes me the most anxiety.

There's a balance to be struck between giving myself permission to opt out on that day, and keeping myself busy and distracted. But I think I'm working out how to strike that balance. Example: getting a haircut and having coffee with a good friend would be a good idea. Working a long and hectic shift followed by dinner with nosy relatives who can't stop talking about who's had which baby and when am I going to follow - bad idea. Sitting at home with nothing to do but twiddle my thumbs and consult Dr Google - another bad idea. You get the picture. Still working on how to arrange my life so this is possible, but that's another post. Let's work with theories for the moment, and forget the practicalities.

What else?

I guess we tend to use "should" and "shouldn't" a lot more than is good for us, when it comes to what we think or do under certain circumstances. Because it seems for every permission there is an equal and opposite permission.

Permission to hope, and permission to not hope. Permission to be sad, and permission to have fun. Permission to get out there, and permission to stay in and crawl under a rock. Permission to give up, or to keep going. Permission to make your own choices, and not follow everyone else's - and I'm talking about those who have been in your shoes (those who haven't we obviously ignore because how do they know what they'd choose?).

Permission to indulge and nurture yourself, whatever that means today. But also permission to scold yourself and tell yourself to buck the hell up.

Permission, in short, to do what you need to do, instead of what you imagine you should be doing.

And here's one to add to the list - permission to change and grow. To start reacting differently to certain situations.

It's easy to fall into patterns of behaviour and, having established them, to repeat them ad nauseum well beyond their period of relevance. To choose an example - I think we all know what it's like to carry on as if we still like talking about other people's pregnancies. When people expect you to be "Pregnancy Sympathiser Person", it's easiest to play along. But if you eventually break this pattern, it's just as easy to get stuck in the new rut. People expect you to be "Don't Talk To Me About Your Pregnancy Person" and it can be just as awkward to move on from there.

Why do you (ok - let's switch to "I" at this point) feel the need to automatically respond the way I did before? To save myself the energy of coming up with a new behaviour, and establishing new social patterns? To meet the expectations of others? Whatever the reason, I'm sure it's not a good one. This is, apart from a shitty, fucked-up situation, also a life-changing series of events. I need to give myself permission to grow, to change, to adapt, to accommodate - to become the person I'm going to be because of, or despite it all.

I hope she's nice.

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I also want to say thanks for all the thought-provoking comments. I feel I'm really learning something here. If anyone has any more, I'm all ears. Meanwhile, I'll be working on Strategising - Part Four.

Oh - also - I started temp charting today! I'm a little bit excited. Do you think "first thing on waking" means upon becoming "consciously aware" or "able to perform the brainstem reflex of hitting the snooze button and tying yourself up in the sheets for half an hour before realising it's morning"?