There's only eight more days til the Second International Infertility Film Festival, on the theme of "Seasons"! A last-minute checklist has been posted up at the site, and the entries are trickling in already. To fuel the excitement, here's a sneak preview from my film:

This woman is an infertility blogger, so we can't show you her face on television. But we can show you her scrubbing her kitchen floor with a toothbrush.

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.

Today I am shocked and heartbroken.

And tired. So far this week I've been working, studying in the evenings, and getting up at three hourly intervals during the night because the dog keeps wanting to be fed. I have been instructed to feed her as much as she'll eat, so all day I tempt her with various doggy treats, which she refuses. Then all night she nudges me awake to demand food. This morning I didn't have to be out til nine, so I set my alarm for eight, hoping to catch up on some rest. At 6:45 my father woke me up to say, "Don't worry about getting up early - I don't need a lift anymore." Thanks, Dad.

--

On Monday morning I returned to my workplace of yore, and it hit me like a brick. I've come a long way since last November, but the familiar setting brought back overwhelming feelings of despair as if they'd been lying in wait, quietly watching for me to step through that door. Twenty-four hours - not enough of which were spent sleeping - later, I was rostered alongside this colleague (call her S) listening to Beloved Dog's latest blood test results, which are poor. "Fuck," I said, the first tearprick causing a blink. "It must be me. She was getting better before I came back to town. Every time I arrive she gets something else. I swear I'm cursed. Actually cursed." For a second, S looked at me. Then she burst out laughing.

"I was being serious," I said.

"I know - that's what makes it so funny." A few guffaws later and she pulled herself together. "Sorry, but that's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard." Then she looked around furtively and indicated an oft-unused corner with her head and a waggle of her eyebrows. Soon we were sitting side by side on the floor, our backs against the wall, quietly secreted away*. "So tell me about IVF," she said. "How does it work?"

I can't for the life of me remember anything humorous about our conversation, but we spent much of it in hysterics. Such punchlines as, "...which is when I started to think about killing myself," had us doubled over with mirth.

At a certain point we started to talk about her pregnancy. "You think you've got problems - look at me!" she exclaimed, and for some reason we nearly died in the throes of our ensuing merriment. "After that talk," she disclosed, having collected herself, "I started thinking, gosh, you know, my sister got pregnant all the time, often by accident, even when on the pill. And here's me, I've been using contraception faithfully for ten years straight, and not one single pregnancy! So we got a bit sloppy and the next thing you know... then I thought, well that's good, I can do it. Now if I could just put it on hold for a while, because I'm really not ready. You know?"

"I have never experienced that sequence of emotions." (Cue roars of outrageous hilarity, amidst which she managed to choke out, "But I hate kids!") She's on maternity leave soon. We've arranged to catch up for lunch.

Going home, I felt better. When my fertile friends decided I was too difficult to talk to, I struggled with the thought it was all my fault. My conversation with S, apart from providing me with an hour of much-needed laughter mixed with genuine sympathy, allowed me to believe it wasn't.

"Goodness," she said, wiping her eyes after yet another improbable fit of amusement. "I guess you have to laugh, don't you?"

"No you don't," I replied. "It's stressful, and tragic, and painful, and uncertain, and isolating." And just when you think the road is smoothing out, you come home to find the blog world in crisis. "You don't have to laugh. There's not a damn fucking thing about it that's funny."

She nodded. And with that, we fell down laughing too hard to breathe.


--
*We weren't skiving. We'd actually both finished our shifts by this time.

Although, to be honest, if there's two or more of you just take a taxi.


Suburban station.


Suburban Goth.


How can you not like a city with year-round al fresco dining?


Through a strange twist of urban renewal, the local brewery (XXXX, of course) is smack bang in the middle of what we like to call "Silicon Gully" - the dotcom and IT district. Coincidence?


This is a picture of Brisbane's King George Square. I like to call it What The Fuck Are They Doing To King George Square.


The steps to the clinic, from halfway up. I hope there's not this many to our family-building journey.


Hope on the Hill - the clinic is on the left, behind the trees.


St Steven's in town...


...tourist pitstop, school excursion favourite, and good place to pray after your transfer.


Suburban carpark.


The middle of our street. (Our house not visible).


One of the sprawlingest cities ever. Over 30km later, we reach the northern outskirts from the centre of town.

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.