Over the last two weeks, I posted some thoughts and opinions on my Facebook page as to why I believe that chasing happiness can be a sickness, and how the pressure to be 'happy' or 'on' all the time can do more harm than good. Here it is in full: Hi lovelies, I read a … Continue reading The other side of being exceedingly happy at all times
I call Cystic Fibrosis a series of small brutalities. But small brutalities multiply and before long you're deep within Traumaland. On Monday, my Mum and I returned to the Royal Children's Hospital for a site visit after it was demolished last year and it made me feel like I’d lost my tribe all over again … Continue reading The sense of an ending
This time twenty years ago, I was dying in hospital. Not to be hyperbolic, but I really was. That's why it was so strange when I had to go into hospital last week to start IV antibiotics for a sinus infection. Sinus - it sounds so innocuous, doesn't it? Except that it's become one of … Continue reading This time 20 years ago: on the waiting list
Last week, I joined the Queensland Writers Centre #8WordStory challenge on Twitter, and out of thousands of entries, the audaciously talented Nick Earls chose one of mine to feature on a digital billboard from earlier this morning until late tonight. It’s a bit of a thrill being chosen, because there have been so many prolific … Continue reading One day only: my name in lights!
One year on, and three years drug free. Just quietly, I’m feeling quite proud. And strong – SO strong.
Always expect the unexpected. Be prepared like a girl scout without the rules (but with teh cookies). That’s always been one of my life’s mottos. After taking my last ever dose of opiate antagonist therapy last Friday, I was relieved when I only had some minor restless limbs when I turned in for bed that evening. I had been on the lowest dose possible, so I couldn’t have predicted what was going to happen next. On Saturday night, I drove up the coast for a prawn fest and I lay awake all night. I only had a couple of ‘punches’, in that my arms went a little haywire and my legs were sore, but it was nothing I couldn’t handle.
I’ve always adhered to the adage that our hell is here on earth, and on Sunday night, that was very much the case. My legs were kicking uncontrollably, my…
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Teddy Pendergrass's 'Close the Door'. Judas Crust on a cracker, where do I even begin with Sir Pendergrass? I've had several lusty* adventures with Teddy, and am ever so grateful that I was introduced to Teddy - the Man, the God. Having had 'Desiderata' on repeat of late, I'm confident in my call that Teddy would have … Continue reading Song of the Week #3
Tonight marks seventeen years since I got the call that would change my life. I feel a little odd after realising that the call came on a Friday and today is a Friday. I wrote this piece (and the two that will come after) two years ago. The gravity of this night will never be lost on me.
I’m finding it hard to concentrate on my study today. It’s that time of year. It’s Transplanniversary* time. The 22nd will mark fifteen years since I was (at least this is how it felt) thrown back into life after being ripped from the tenuous march to death. This is a photo me on my 21st birthday on New Years Eve (my actual birthday), 1997. Between Christmas and here, I knew I had to put myself on the transplant waiting list. I’d been remarkably unwell at Christmas and the days after, but by some strike of grace, I was pulsed with energy for my twenty-first birthday. Looking at this photograph now, I look so serene and calm. Just like any normal kid. I look at this picture and think, ‘Pretty. Pre-transplant boobs. No scar. BT. Before Transplant.’
But when I peel away the layers of this photo, I was anything but…
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Last night saw unprecedented measures of anger, disbelief and absolute exasperation surrounding the 60 Minutes interview with disgraced 'wellness' blogger and creator of The Whole Pantry empire, Belle Gibson. For once, I went against my better judgment and watched the interview and as a cancer survivor, I have a few things to say. Firstly, I … Continue reading Why I forgive Belle Gibson
Twirling. Like many things in my life, I don't know how it began, but its origins are rooted to some means of escapism. I don't remember a time when I didn't twirl. On the New Year's Eve I was born, I twirled painfully around my mother's womb, heavy as a medicine ball. My memory and my body indicate … Continue reading Twirling
I recently saved someone's life after intervening in a critical incident through my work as a pastoral carer. While I can't go into details due to confidentiality reasons, after a triumvirate of serendipitous messages from the universe on this one day, I had to write about what it's like to be at the coalface of … Continue reading Positively spiritual