I don't usually share fundraisers, and I don't have any time for often vacuous fundraising campaigns, but this one is so far from vacuous, I don't even know where to start. I've said time and time again that Cystic Fibrosis is a fucker of a disease. It takes everything both necessary and dear to you … Continue reading With a little help from my friends?
We all reach places in life. Crossroads, turning points, junctures, choices, decisions - even Rubicon moments. For me, after nineteen years, I've reached a place of happiness and peace having come into the quiet of my heart. I feel settled. Life is simple, so I'm going with the ease and grace of that. I've done … Continue reading Transplanniversary, with a solar eclipse chaser
I've been sorting through index cards, rogue pieces of paper and old photos because I'm moving. Moving out of the city, and returning to the trees and all of the secrets they're waiting to tell me. They've been calling me for a while, and it's time. I've become weary of city living over the last couple … Continue reading A trip of infinite sadness and regret
Life. It gets in the way. That's why I haven't blogged for three months because there's been a lot going on. For the last month or so, I've been down with the lurgy (the flu), but after two courses of antibiotics, probiotics, lots of vitamins, good food and rest, I'm on my way to being back … Continue reading Where in the world are you, Carmen Sandiego?
A little follow up from yesterday. I've had quite a few transplant recipients contact me about how they are now going search for their donor and I want to give them some words of wisdom from my perspective. Tracking down your donor is greatly frowned upon due to privacy laws in Australia. These laws are … Continue reading Post-script on ‘The day I met my donor’
I never thought I'd do it. It's been seventeen years, after all. And even if I did do it, I never believed it would be this hard. Mum and I had talked for years about going into Births, Deaths and Marriages to see if we could find her, but today on my own, I went into a quiet room … Continue reading The day I met my donor
There is beauty in the ordinary. Waking up, making coffee, washing my hair, going to the post office. All ordinary things made extra-ordinary because I am here to do them. I woke early to watch the moon sink and the sun rise. The east screamed tangerine and the sun pierced the thin veil of sky with … Continue reading The night I lived again: part three
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
May-August 1998 I was in the dying room. You know the one. It's quiet. People slip in and out as though they were never there. Festering in a bed for three months, I had grown tired. My arms were the shape of soft baguettes, peppered with freckles like sesame seeds. Lips, a permanent shade of blue. Colourless … Continue reading My night without armour