The birth of my fourth decade

I've been thinking about my thirties. About how they started, and how they're about to end. Ten years ago at my thirtieth birthday party, I was bloated from massive doses of steroids I'd had to have earlier in the year due to a serious respiratory virus. I was puffy faced and swollen, and going into my third … Continue reading The birth of my fourth decade

Ch-Ch-Ch-Chaaaaaanges

Someone I've known for just shy of twenty years said something to me back in September, and I've been ruminating over it as I approach my fortieth birthday. We were talking about our inner voice. You know, about what we say to our selves in the quiet of our hearts; the things we think, but keep … Continue reading Ch-Ch-Ch-Chaaaaaanges

Speaking my truth (and a whole lot of fact)

In May, I was invited to speak at the P.A's clinical ethics forum for National Palliative Care week. This year's theme was 'Living Well with Chronic Illness', and before the forum, I met with three lovely ladies to mull over what I might like to discuss in my talk (sex? It was a unanimous YES). … Continue reading Speaking my truth (and a whole lot of fact)

Riding on elephants and other shit I haven’t done

Shot a gun ✔ I did my firearms safety training in January. Be afraid. Very afraid. Gone on a blind date ✔ Oh, the horror. Skipped school ✔ Watched someone give birth ✔✔ My eldest and youngest nephews, now 14 and 9 respectively. It was an absolute honour. Watched someone die ✔✔✔✔ I think I've … Continue reading Riding on elephants and other shit I haven’t done

When you get punched in the face

A couple of years after my transplant, I was assaulted. Had the shit beaten out of me. What made it even more shameful, was that I was beaten up by a girl. Of course this rationale has evolved with the gradual unfurling of my life and hard won wisdom, so I know that it doesn't matter who … Continue reading When you get punched in the face

Why I’m NOT sorry

Today, my friend - the other Carly, Carly Findlay - wrote a shut up amazing piece about apologising and how she no longer wants to apologise for what is beyond her control. Shortly after reading Carly's piece, I saw the photo Annie Leibovitz took of Amy Schumer in all of her near-naked and non-apologetic glory. I … Continue reading Why I’m NOT sorry

I am an addict

I posted a rant on my chasing away salt water page earlier today, much of which I've included in this piece. It involves the Cystic Fibrosis community - my community, if you will - and my burning question was this: when will people start taking responsibility for their lives? Why are there GoFundMe pages being created to ask for … Continue reading I am an addict

Happy Birthday, M

For M.E.B We became another death (the fulfilment of my internship). Like a false syncope, my grief would not let me claim you. You came to me with bleeding gums and a dent in your jaw, your broken gait like a barber cutting through walls of plasticine with blunt scissors. Bruised pride; your face a field of … Continue reading Happy Birthday, M

The night I lived again: part two

By the time it was definite that the donor lungs were a match, there would have been at least thirty-five people at the hospital – all friends and family. Even a friend’s boyfriend (now husband) had driven down from uni at Gatton, so he could be there for both me, his now wife and my … Continue reading The night I lived again: part two

Getting mouthy

Every morning of late, I stir in my bed until I feel that familiar pull on the roof of my mouth. Has someone thrown an ashtray in there? 'What is this?', I hiss Bellatrix Lestrange style, and with a swollen tongue and the inside of my mouth feeling akin to the skin of a cat (I'm more of a … Continue reading Getting mouthy