I must firstly begin with an apology. G-Raze received a plant as a birthday (or Christmas?) present one year from her family. For me to sneer at and whine about plants the other day was unacceptable. I guess some people just like getting plants for gifts. (Sidenote: Rumour has it that plant is long dead)

I found my purse and money at last! I just need to begin packing now. It shouldn't be too difficult, and it would be impossible to make a worse job of it then my sister has done. She was the eager beaver this morning and got straight to work, which gave my Mum ample time to investigate what was put in to cause the suitcase to near burst. Apparently she was way over weight (with luggage ahem) and had the most impractical of clothing choices squished inside. As my mother always says "Pack it, then halve it". Of course by the time I've (started and )finished packing there won't be enough time to remove things. The key is to listen to mother's advice and then choose the best way to avoid it. Anyway, I for one won't be packing three hoodies with me!! Yes, apparently it didn't occur to some that it might be warm where we're headed.

Anyhoo, should I perchance pass an Internet café whilst away, and should I perchance have €2 to spare, and should I perchance already have food in my hand so thus not needing the €2 for anymore, I *may* pop in and write how I am getting along. I will put in a Tuesday blog though tonight anyway.

In the meantime, keep smiling and I'll be back soon. Or as Chanelle in BigBrother said "This isn't goodbye *tearcrytearblubber*, it's.....seeya later!"

The best news ever: I didn't get a PLANT!! *Exhales great sigh of relief*

As always, my family and friends were most generous to me; EILEEN even called me from San Diego!...Well Helen (who would be Eileen number 2) technically made the call... but still. EILEEN is sick and coughing and spluttering with germs - even when we're a thousand miles apart, that child tries to make me sick! Remind me to tell you about the time she landed me in hospital for six weeks after claiming 'There *cough* is *cough* nothing *splutter* wrong *spit* with ME *sneeeeze*'

I'd also like to thank everyone for texting and phoning and bebo-ing and commenting to wish me happy birthday. I did. It means a lot to me for people do that, even people I don't know all that well. So thank you.

I was a good deal fatter on my last birthday from the high doses of medications I was still taking (can someone say CHUBBY CHEEKS?!), so it's interesting to compare photographs. I also got a bigger cake this year, after my Mum realised that last year's cake was gone in a few minutes. It was the steroids that did it - I swear! *Looks nervously around*

Anyhoo, tomorrow I will begin packing for Spain and look for all my various things that have gone walk-about. Like, my purse and money. Whoops.

I shall then go and moan again at my brother for losing part of my tent. He borrowed my tent, claiming he knew how to assemble it, didn't need MY written instructions and then managed to bring only part of it home. Tsk. And to think I was planning on going camping never sometime never ever in the next someone shoot me if I mention camping twenty years my future...Tsk.

Two and a half hours to my birthday!!!

An old man elderly gentleman came into the pharmacy today. I took his prescription and handed it to the pharmacist to prepare. I then turned around, and stood silently, gazing at the floor. Then I felt foolish and attempted some sort of small talk. The weather's always a good starting point..

"It's looking good out there today..." I said merrily.

"Oh...okay..." He replies, *sighing* as he slowly shuffles with cane to a chair, sits down and looks solemn and gloomy. It took him about an hour to reach chair by the way.

Anyway, what did he think I said?! Because old people usually love me!!

It's my birthday tomorrow!!! I will be twenteen! My parents have threatened to get me a plant. What thuh???? A plant?! I have told them if they do so, I shall promptly throw said plant out the window and let it die a cold death in the garden. I will of course tell them that I appreciate the thought...but really, who wants a plant for their birthday? (I hope I have not offended any plant lovers out there; I *do* realise that some plants are of great pleasure/comfort and sources of loving friendships/relationships/bondings to their owners)

My brother 'Willy' (snigger, chuckle, giggle) on the otherhand has promised me great things! I look forward to receiving it/them/those...

In the meantime, it's Saturday so I must work. Or pretend to work. Or whatever you call it - sit around, get bored and get paid. Work?

Question: Anyone know what/where this is?:


Answer: This is Nicolson's Café in Edinburgh. I was in here last week when I visited the city for the transplant games (Jac I welcome next year when you will be on the Freeman team!). While having a diet coca cola sophisticated moca frappa coca something coffee WITH latte, reminiscing about my weekend, the thought struck me. These characters just *popped* into my head. I could see them forming before my very eyes. I was on to a winner here. I grabbed my little jotter and pen that I keep handy and began to write, feverishly scribbling down my ideas before they evaporated.

I've always thought about writing a book, but have always been too lazy. Far too lazy. But this was different. I had a girl, a story, a background, a whole other world created within minutes. Her name would be Harriet. She would be special, a different kind of girl. She'd have a big ugly scar on her head from where she had had life saving surgery. I'd give her two friends...Herman and Don. Yes, the three of them would go off on little adventures. They would meet at school....yes school, a school called....Higwirts! Yes, how perfect. It would be a different type of school, not like a 'special' school for people with learning difficulties, but rather they'd teach different lessons, like learn how to pull rabbits from hats, and card tricks. A fun school!

But then, to make it a bit more serious, I'd put a frenzied killer into the story who escaped and went on the loose. One who wanted to kidnap the little girl Harriet and torture her and her friends Herman and Don. And then eventually the stalker maniac would try and kill her...and they'd have a 'magic-off'. Whoever could do the best tricks would survive.

Anyway, just as I was preparing to create a pseudonym for myself to publish the book (I was thinking J K Tumbling), just as I had the titles all ready, imagining what I would do with the squillians of money I'd make, and just as I was about to pay for my drink I saw it. A plaque.

Seems some woman did the same thing about 15 years ago. Haven't heard much from her since so you never know, may be hope for me yet! Look for Harriet Rotter on shelves next year!

When I was recovering from my transplant last year I was trying to come with a list of some crazy or weird things I could do with my new lungs. I decided, being the avid Harry Potter reader, that since Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows would be the last installment of the series, it was the last opportunity to do the whole queuing up at midnight to get it. I pretty much made up my mind that it was something I wanted to do.

Well alright, alright (you nit pickers in the back - you.know.who.you.are) I know it's not that crazy or weird, and being honest I could have probably done it without the use of new, functioning and working lungs, but still.

Anyway I did. I got the book and I saved it for my holiday to Spain (on Tue). But then I changed my mind and started reading. And now I've finished. And that is all I will say on the matter.

In the airport, in the baggage hall, at the conveyor belt, why do people *insist* on throwing themselves on to their bag when it comes around, making a big fuss while trying to pull it off? And then why does everyone around him reach in and try and pull the pesky bag off too? Don't they realise that these things go around and around and around?? The bag comes back around people! It doesn't just give you one chance to collect your bag and that's it!

On a similar note, why is it necessary for children to stand right.up.close. at the baggage carousel? I've never seen a seven year old haul a bag off the belt. They are clearly just there to take up room, so that when your bag comes around you can't reach it. Good thing the bags come more then once. This gives you ample time to tut and tsk and give disapproving looks to child and child's guardians.

One year ago today I left the safe surroundings of ward 27a and came home, ready to begin a new and exciting life having had my lung transplant. My family prepared a pretty impressive banner and welcome home thing in my porch. People even drove slowly past my house to have a good old gawk ("Oh...I wonder who Rosie is....and where she was..."). It was the last time I ever spent a night in hospital. Excluding the times I went back for bronchoscopies of course. I mean last time I ever spent a night in hospital sick.... excluding that last time when I was sick after my bronchoscopy...but that was coincidence.

That day, I sat in a wheelchair (my Mum didn't feel I was quite ready to manage the airport on my feet) in Dublin Airport and avoided those crushing and unnecessary scenes at the bag collection point. I was wheeled out to the Arrival's hall by the porter. People looked at me in the wheelchair and then people didn't look at me in the wheelchair (didn't want to stare you see...). And then people looked puzzled when I stepped out of the wheelchair and bounced off all excited to start my new life. I swear I heard someone mutter 'Con artist....Fraud!'.... I think that may have been the porter...

I said "Jim, can I call you Jim? I'm very disappointed that I wasn't a VIP tonight as I feel all people with transplants should be, and indeed are VIPs. I feel so socially degraded, alone and down trodden about the whole affair. I guess what I'm trying to say is that even though I was/am a child of the late eighties/early nineties and thus don't have a clue who you are or what (who?) you fix I think you may be able to help. Perhaps it's the whole tracksuit and pink glasses with long hair look that shows age is no barrier, who knows? Either way, with my feelings on the matter I hope made clear (that the term 'VIP' should be changed to 'Official') I guess I am searching for some sort of emotional response to my cry of outcry. CAN YOU FIX IT?".

He said (or someone said, I'm not sure how that programme worked) :"Jim'll Fix It! (for you!)"

*Squeeze*....

(at the TSUK VIP civic ceremony)

Good Lord I am unfit! Yee-ouch! Brief rundown as follows:

Thursday - Team meeting and Opening ceremony which was my first glimpse of what was to come. We (me and the two other Irish people on the team) then blagged/snuck our way on to a VIP bus which brought us to a VIP ceremony. I think team manager (team managers are allowed to go to the VIP things now and again) Mr Boggy was a bit surprised to see us there. He underestimates the Irish I think. I then took a photo in the very swish VIP bathroom which was rather swanky. The loo roll wasn't that VIP though. I met Jimmy Saville too who I suspect has been knocking back a few transplant medications on the side....*ahem*....

Friday - 3k walk and then out to support the Snooker, Ten Pin Bowling and Darts. It was also an opportunity to share taxis with my team mates, chat to the partners of my team mates and get to know them and yadda, yadda. The English people are just so friendly and welcoming!

Saturday - Tennis and Swimming. Amazing day where I got to talk to members of other teams. Inspiring doesn't begin to cover it. One woman's goal was to dive in and swim the length of the pool as she had just learned to dive.

Sunday - Track and Field (100m and Relay). I got to talk to loads of people who I had met at some of the previous events the days before. The fact that my tennis opponent and my breastroke opponents both cheered for me in the relay says it all.

Sunday night - Leann Davidson Gala dinner. Everyone arm in arm singing You'll Never Walk Alone had the more emotional people in tears. If it hadn't been the transplant games, I'd have sniggered at the cheesiness of it all, blogged about it and sniggered some more but here is probably a rare occasion where such antics are just right.

Monday - Home and learn to walk again. My rehab will start next week me thinks.

3k Walk - Silver medal (don't be under any illusions, I didn't come 2nd in total, but rather 2nd in my age category which would be adults!)
Tennis - Silver medal (ahem default medal ahem hem....but 2nd out of 2 isn't bad)
Swimming - Gold and Silver medal (I earned those ones!)
100m race - fourth
Relay - Fourth in final

Thank you to all who wished me well. To those of you who read this who have had transplants, I seriously can NOT recommend the games higher (more highly??). The social aspect alone is worth it!

Also: Does anyone know what VIP stands for? Very Important Person....But what on earth is so very important about a group of people in suits who haven't had transplants at an event where over a hundred people have been close to the edge and been saved and where there are Representatives from families who have donated loved one's organs? Helllo!!!! Pity I didn't make the TSUK agm!....Or maybe I should just buy a suit and pretend I haven't had a transplant...

Karma is:

When you leave your bag on the table. An opportunistic thief (which aren't as bad as the regular riff raff thieves you see hanging around) comes along and sticks her hand into your bag. After pilfering sufficient goods from your bag, the sister opportunistic thief then spots mouthwash. She hawks it back and swishes. She notices a strange and disgusting taste. Puzzled, the opportunistic thief examines the bottle of liquid. It reads:


Antibacterial Hand Gel

I like karma me.

Requests on the Eileen front. So, Get this, she lost her job! Gone. Unemployed. A bum. And unlike the surfing stories of last month, I swear this isn't made up. The restaurant that eventually took her on, after she went and begged to use their toilets and then refused to leave has shut down. Gone out of business. Ka-boooom. One suspects she drove their business into the ground. Made the customers go running. I think when the people of San Diego said how they loved Irish people, she just went too far: Dancing jigs on tables with tea towels to get more tips is never a good look. I pity the people.*



*Details of story may be fabricated but the jist is true: No restaurant; No job. Any comments Mrs E? If not, I suggest you seek out this website in your free time (which I'm sure you have plenty of now...) to meet up with other like minded people as yourself. Enjoy! http://unemployed.meetup.com/cities/us/ca/san_diego/

I saw the dermatologist today (who still seems to think I "got" Cystic Fibrosis when I was six years old, and was on steroids on and off until transplant which I wasn't. I gave up correcting him - he clearly knows better then I do...) and he was happy with me. I have two or three months left on treatment and then I'm done. He's a nice fella but I never know really what to say, as I'm so used to going to see doctors and being as (or more) knowledgeable about stuff as they are: I know nothing about dermatology. At all. Zilch. But that hopefully won't matter in two or three months time.

I then went and replaced my Mum's silicon swimming cap that ripped yesterday. She said that there was no need to replace it, but yesterday she insisted there was. And one wonders how I "got" this Cystic Fibrosis malarky, living in this place...One of these days I'll book her in to see a shrink me thinks.

Apart from purchasing that and a few other items of clothing (whoops) I didn't do much. I bought M&Ms which were gobbled down in my house because I left them on the table. My Mum always tells me I shouldn't leave things lying around like for some "opportunistic thief" to take them. I don't really see the difference between an being an opportunistic thief and a regular thief myself, maybe that's the label my thieving family use to make themselves look less like THIEVES!!! Huh...

Transplant Games start tomorrow, so I'm off yet again. Until Monday. I told my dermotologist about them, and how I will be swimming to which he asked me questions about 'always using moisturserisers and shower gels "and bladda bladda after my swimming trainings. "Trainings"??I don't think he understood me: I should have really emphasised the 'I will be' part....Oops

Ohh, would you look at that! It's yet *another* cheesy 'look how my life has changed' moments that still, 12 and a half months after my transplant continue to pop up. *Twirl*

Today we went out to the National (left that bit out yesterday) Aquatic Centre, complete with three slides and a lazy river and wave pool. It was nice. Except for the part where my hat snapped. Or...my Mum's hat that I had borrowed snapped. Right. Down. The. Middle. Forcing me to go out and fork out €1.50 on a new, stupid, red and white material (*shudder*) hat. I hate material hats!

We did a few lengths in the competition pool, had another go on the slides and came home. It was at the point of transferring paraphernalia from the locker to the cubicle and back again that I realised the change:

In October 2005, mere weeks before I was told I need to go and queue up for a transplant, myself and my brothers and sister went to Disneyland in Paris. I knew it was coming (the whole lungs being useless thing) soon and that trip served as proof that things weren't...ahem...great.

In our hotel we had a pool with two slides in it. I only went on the big slide three times as the steps were too much for lazy lungs. Afterwards, when we had all had enough we all went to get changed. And that's when I had to stop. I couldn't get changed. I sat, huddled in my towel, in the cubicle, breathing and panting. The heat was too much. The effort was too much. And I just couldn't (No such word as 'can't' but couldn't sure exists!). I sat for an eternity, eventually struggling bit by bit to get changed- even the socks were a chore. My sister called into me twice, and I did my 'Oh yeah, I'll be out in a sec-COND!' cheery routine. The third time she came pestering looking for me, I told her simply to go on ahead.

Needless to say when I caught up with them some time later they were all confused and all like 'Like where WERE you' and 'Wow, you took your time...like..'. Fools.

So today, sitting in the heat, in my towel, I COULD do it. And I DID do it. And I was first ready. And there it was: the moment when I was reminded yet again of just how lucky I am. *cheesy cheese cheese



See those stairs (get the magnifying glass out, because they ARE there)...I could only manage those three times. Three. THREE!!! Something about that doesn't seem right...although neither does being vomited out of a dragon's mouth...

Being the mature and grown up that I am, I am a terribly responsible and independant adult.

As such, when I don't want to work, I feel it is my responsiability to be the big person that I am and be the one to arrange for my work place to know. Hence, I ask my Mum. Becuase I can NOT say no and I hate doing it.

Pity, as she completely forgot*, meaning I HAD to work! I stamped my foot and slammed doors. Because I am a mature and grown up grown up. It is a good way to relieve stress.

So I worked today, 9-6 for money which makes it completely NOT worth it. But such is life.

Tomorrow I am off to the Aquatic Centre, which houses a 50m pool and the biggest waterpark (slides and chutes things) in Ireland. I believe they now have FOUR slides! That's us good ole Oirish for ya, always ahead of the toimes with a chuckle and a leap and a "Toppa tha mornin to ya!!".

* Forgot after she did call for me but claimed the phone was engaged and THEN forgot.

*Still reading Harry Potter and Deathly Hollows and fighting to put it down*

Having briefly mentioned the proposal of an 'opt out' scheme for the organ donor list in the UK last week, I feel I should give my whole take on it. Well "should" is a bit strong, but as the title suggests this blog is all about me, so I'll talk about what I want to. So huh.

There is a real desperate shortage of organs for people waiting for transplants. Transplant is a "last option" treatment for many people. They will die without one as there is simply no other treatment left to give them. But despite the hope that the prospect of a transplant can bring, because of the terrible shortage, it's not as simple as sitting at home planning life post transplant. You live in a limbo, knowing very well, that for a large proportion of transplant waiters, their transplants will never come in time and you may well be one of the unlucky ones.

So, how do you get more donors? You campaign to get them to carry donor cards, and ask them to talk about their wishes to their next of kin. But the reality of it is, is unless you have been personally affected by the issue of transplant (be it through a relative, friend, neighbour, colleague or postman) it may never even cross your mind. Hence the campaigny bit...

So in comes the opt out scheme. Everyone automatically is on the register and must go to their town hall (or if like here there are no town halls....you go...well somewhere) and take their names off the list. It would mean that all those people who "always mean to register, but never get around to it" are automatically on. But I think that people hate being forced to do anything; there would always be a big hoo-haw about being pushed into giving their organs, their choice being taken away. But you see they're NOT being forced; they still have a choice. But you'd have more donors, you'd have more transplants. I think though, with the implementation of any such proposal, that education on the issue is critical.

So am I for it? YES I AM. And I know if I was still waiting for a transplant, I would be even more for it. I'm lucky. I'm on the other side. But too many people aren't.

In the meantime, go AND GET A DONOR CARD.

Or if you are in the UK, visit: http://www.uktransplant.org.uk/ukt/how_to_become_a_donor/registration/consent.jsp

And. Talk. To. Your. Relatives.

And please, please, please, please just do it.

Well it's been 21 hours since I got my grubby hands on the last and final *weep* Harry Potter installment and I've read one chapter. Yes, one. I decided to save it for two weeks time when I can read it beside the pool in Spain. But then, being the ridiculously indescive and fickle person that I am, I changed my mind an hour ago.

G-raze, her sister (Mini G-raze), me and my sister and my "Hello, I'm way too cool to queue for Harry Potter" brother went and queued for Harry Potter. We were gobsmacked when we turned up to our local book shop and actually had to queue for the darn thing! Our bookshop is smaller then a public loo; and that queue was dang-darn long! And just for any Harry Potter dislikers, there were very few children in the queue so huh.

I think we actually missed the official launch because there was no whooping and cheering (apart from myself and Mini G-raze singing the Harry Potter tune). That or our queue were rather tired and only there out of curiosity or to buy the latest Oxford dictionary. When we saw the first book holders walk past us, we muttered MUDBLOODS under our breaths and cursed 'Pesky Muggles!' at them....Oh wait, maybe that was just me.... Ahem.

Anyway I was going to bring it to work today. But I'm fickle. And couldn't make up my mind. So I didn't.

Work was boring-ring-ring. We had about 20 customers in TOTAL. I spent some time mopping the floor where I nearly broke my neck by jumping over a wet patch and ended up doing a piroutte and tango with the mop before steadying myself. THAT was embarrasing. Especially when the pharmacist saw and I had to act like I was all cool and fine when secretly my big toe was actually throbbing! But then you see I have dignity. Unlike (keep you speakers on! It will be 1 minute and 25 seconds of your day spent well):



Or for those musically inclined, please view:

Apologies to those (Irish people) who tuned into Newstalk on Tuesday morning with high hopes of hearing my Dad talk about transplants. It would appear either Russians in Britain or British in Russia was more interesting. Hmmmmm.

I am back and feeling much refreshed following my break in England. It was gloriously hot over there so to return to grey skies of yet more rain was a little depressing. Add to that that my suitcase got left out in the rain at both airports so was wet both times was a bit annoying. Huff, never mind.

Sailing was marvellous and I got to sit in, laze sail my Uncle's boat with he and a canny young lad. We raced but unfortunately got ourselves disqualified by accident by not passing some buoy or something. But I do believe we were 'placed' anyway which was nice. The boat was a teensy bit 'whoah' to begin with because we sailed on our side (as opposed to flat) which I thought was an accident, which wasn't, but once you got used to it, it was fine.

I had a truly splendid time and came back ever so relaxed. My Aunt's cooking was/is scrumptious; their house is scrumptious; their boat is scrumptious; it was all marvellous.

Tonight I am off to dinner with G-raze, her sister, Victor and my sister. And then what shall we do?? We shall go out and get the last installment (cry) of Harry Potter.

Short and to the point blog today as I'm off out to get food in a moment. I will blog about England, Eileen, How people who don't like Harry Potter just because everyone else likes it so it looks cool and 'different' not to like it annoys me, and a host of other rambles and waffle. Pleh.

Hellurghhhhhhh!!!

Short blog, yay for you, nay for me.

Tomorrow the Papa Bear of my family (aka Homer Simpson, aka Dad) will be doing a spot on Newstalk 106 at 8.20am to talk about transplants and the opt out scheme for donors.

For those who do not know, the opt out scheme means that by law everyone will be an organ donor and they make the decision to take themselves off the register if they are against (at the moment you put yourself ON the register).

Anyway, since I am away this week, and have probably had my lifetime's fill of 15 days of fame(!) anyway, I shall pass the torch on.

Off bright and early in the morning so probably no blog until Friday. Toodle pip!

Medical Stuff blog updated! Click, Click, Click. It's just a blog about my Newcastle appointment, minus the waffle! ;-)

In hindsight, I realise that I may have blocked, alienated and excluded yet another group of society from reading with my blog yesterday. I hope I did not offend those who are Celiacs, those with egg allergies and those with nut allergies. I can say with confidence people who fall into those groups would probably prefer to have that sort of problem then have mine so each to their own!

A forewarning: My blog has been rather abandoned as of late what with me away and the like. Unfortunately for la blog, it's going to happen again.

I am off sailing from Tuesday until Friday in the South of England. No, I cannot sail. And I shall probably only be sailing for one hour on the Wednesday anyway. And 'sailing' is such a strong word anyway....crew/spectator is probably more appropriate. But I shall still refer to it as a 'sailing trip' as it makes me sound really cool.

Today I had to order a batch of gluten free bread for a Celiac customer.

I have two friends who have an allergy to eggs.

I know someone who has such a bad allergy to nuts, that even a trace of it in food can bring on a severe reaction which would require immediate treatment and the administration of an emergency injection.

What relevance has this I hear you ask?

Well, while I as a diabetic who requires an injection before most foods; a person with Cystic Fibrosis who requires up to eight tablets before I take anything with fat in it can empathise with the above three situations, I have, in my opinion, the longer end of the stick (is that a phrase?). I may have to spend several minutes gathering together all my paraphernalia before the art of eating begins but:

I have absolutely NO restrictions on what I eat. I don't have to stop and think about the contents of food, wondering if could they poison me; I don't have to gaze longingly at tasty food and go without; I don't need to call ahead to other's houses and make sure they don't cook something that could bring on an allergy; I don't need to inquire every.single.time. I visit a restaurant to make sure that the food is safe for me to eat.

I have NO restrictions; all I have to do is prepare my body for it.

Glass empty or glass full? I say full.

Yesterday I woke up still feeling nauseated which was, to be honest, crap. I never realised how awful having that is...

Clinic went well, NO REJECTION which is probably the most important thing. Things looked 'OK-Good'. It's not as clean in my lungs as they'd like, what with there being a few secretions to be found everywhere. (Secretions being like....snot....sorry...). They sent off a few samples to microbiology (the lab) to see if I was growing anything funny.

Sadly, they suspect a bug called Pseudemonas, a bacteria which I grew in my old lungs since I was three years old. It means I have to start taking my nebulisers again (google it) twice a day. I stopped taking them a few months ago, after the docs allowed make the desicion to stop or continue.

Dr. Lordon in Newcastle feels any amount of Pseudemonas, be it tiny or whatnot, isn't a good thing. Considering I once read in a tabloid that this is a "Flesh eating bug", I think he must have been reading the same article and decided to go with the journalist's opinion! ....That or he studied medicine or something like that...

We left at lunch time, went and saw Harry Potter in The Gate cinema and then went to the airport and came home. Good trip me thinks.

I arrived in good time for my clinic yesterday morning (approx 7.45am) but I don't think anybody noticed me as the phlebotomist (blood taking lady) left without my blood! Maybe you're supposed to check in somewhere? Bleh. At about 8.30 a nurse called me in and took my blood (FIRST GO!) and we chatted about something.

I then went and saw Paula, the (other?) transplant nurse, who is always very sweet and nice and let me talk some more! I told her about my man sized dinner portions but lack of weight and she said that may be just the way I am. Hmmm.

I was the third bronchoscopy of the morning and went in, feeling nice and confident with myself. The team were as nice as ever, and the guy who does them (or does something in there) who I refer affectionately as Mr Tayto badgered me once again for some Tayto crisps. And just while I was feeling nice and calm.

Canula (drip needle thing in the vein) went in first go, but the spray, and gel and other crap gunk they put in my throat and nose was mank. The last thing I recall is saying 'Ooooh it's working now!' and seeing the nurse(??? really need to learn the professions of those people) repeating my words to the doctor.


This time though, they changed my fool proof cocktail (why??) and I reckon what they did was: give me sedation, anesthetic and 100% amnesia drugs. Anyway, apparently I was AWAKE and responsive and calm throughout - so much for sedation. But whatever it was they gave me made me so nauseated and ill afterwards. If anyone has seen the Harry Potter film, where he has quick flashbacks, that's pretty much what it felt like. Whack bam and done. I was done by Midday but slept all day until about 9 or 10pm. The nausea stayed with me much longer though. Huh. I also, unfortunately ran temperatures for the afternoon - not incredibly high ones, but high all the same and enough to make me miserable. Coupled with the nausea and ickiness made me feel awful. And here is the part where you crank up the volume of those violins for me!

Anyway, that is my last bronchoscopy EVER, unless for some reason my lung function drops or I take a turn and feel unwell. So yay for another milestone!!

We arrived into Newcastle at about midday yesterday and took the metro into town (or Grey's Monument which I guess is town...). We decided then, since we couldn't decide what to do, to go to the hospital and get our keys for our accommodation. I went up on to ward 27a (transplant ward) which as always was strange. We got to the flat and for the first time EVER discovered there was a kitchen and TV room there. Interesting.

I was walking around the grounds when a car suddenly stopped and a man jumped out. My first thoughts was that this was some sort of lunatic...who then started calling MY name! I hate when lunatics know my name...you wouldn't believe how often that happens. Anyway, lunatic it was not, but rather one of my favourite, if not theee favourite doctors who looked after me. Of course, in the professional capacity of patient I can't and don't have favourites, but if I did, you can be sure he would be the one (let's not beat about the bush, this guy is my topdoc!)! We hugged and chatted and I met his gorgeous little girl. He then said it wasn't me he recognised but rather my Mum, because I look so well he didn't notice me! *gloat*. Anyway after a good ole chat and gabber I/he had to go. It was this doctor who prevented me from going back into ICU when I had the bad bit after my transplant. To say I have respect for him is a complete understatement.

Yesterday evening, me and Momma went out to dinner to a place called Scalini's. YUM!! We went there for my assessment back in 2005, so naturally had to take the 'after' photos.

I slept well in the flat (despite my Mum's constant Laugh Out Louding at her Bill Bryson book)and managed to get up early for my clinic this morning. But because this blog is getting so long I shall put 'today's' blog in Thursday. Uh huh.

I got the flight times wrong. I thought I was leaving Tuesday night, but in fact left just after 11am. In the panic the followed the realisation of my mix up which left me with very little time to pack, the blog had to be put on the back burner.

In case you do not know, I am theeeeee most indecisive person to walk this planet, hence the two hours to pack not being enough. I can spend ten minutes at a time looking at my wardrobe deciding what to bring, spend ten minutes looking at my empty suitcase and turning back for a further ten minutes to look at wardrobe. And then I still can't decide, so pack the most impractical of things. Pah.

Well I am well and truly recovered following the weekend's adventures.

I meant to say that this week is Transplant Week in the UK. I vaguely remember it last year because they were filming on 27a, the transplant ward. We were told to stay in the room for a while, which was fine because I had no blood counts anyway. We saw it on the news later that day, and you saw my arm pop out of the room and call a nurse across. See, I just couldn't resist. That nurse became the ward's talk for the next week. Hey, with only 5beds, it's not like there was ever much to talk about anyway.

I remember eating my breakfast and watching GMTV and seeing a girl with CF who was waiting for a transplant talking about...waiting for a transplant. I only caught the very end but I'm almost certain I now know who that blonde girl is, but due to medications messing with my head I can't be too sure. If it is who I think it is, then she's had her transplant since. Of course, it is entirely possible that I imagined the whole thing.

If anyone from the UK is reading this, I sincerely urge you to sign up as a donor. If anyone from Ireland is reading this, I urge you to do the same. In fact, if you are a human being reading this, please sign up. If you are my dog and reading this, please GET OFF MY KEYBOARD.

http://www.uktransplant.org.uk/ukt/how_to_become_a_donor/registration/consent.jsp (sign up here, those of you in the UK)

As you all probably know, I am one of the lucky ones who received a transplant a year ago. Without that, who knows where I may (or may not) be today- really doesn't bare thinking about. Towards the end, my infections were becoming so severe, doctors told me that it could just be one bad one and that would be it. I only waited six months which is incredibly quick and although in my mind I was in it for the long haul (I estimated a waiting time of 18months +) sometimes your body and mind aren't exactly moving in the same direction. I hope that if you are not already a donor, that you will think and consider it.
Tomorrow I am travelling east to England for my last and final appointment in Newcastle. I hope everything goes OK. It is a bronchoscopy and biopsy (where they put a camera down into my lungs and then take samples to test for infection, rejection, and to make sure all is sparkly).I will be conked out for the day, and no doubt will be thoroughly confused with all the Geordie accents upon my awakening but never mind. It will be nice to see some of the team who have cared for me, but from what I have gathered a LOT of the staff on 27a have changed and moved on. I suppose nothing stands still for long...Now please do not fret, I shan't be leaving until tomorrow evening so will have time to blog before I leave. And THEN when I'm gone you can all wish me luck!!

Oxegen day 2: FANTASTIC. Absolutely breath taking. The Kooks, The Killers, Rufus Wainwright, Daft Punk, Razorlight and a FUNFAIR made for a great day. The funfair part was electric; and it was my first rollarcoaster, heart racing thing I'd been on since Disneyland in 2005. Weeeeeeeeeeeeee-eeeeeeee!

Pete Doherty was there with his Babyshambles crew, but I wasn't much impressed by him. The music wasn't bad, but I got sick of watching the stereotypical rock'n'roll drugged up rock star prance and stumble around the stage. The only reason I know who he is, is because he's the on-off partner of Kate Moss and I only know her because of her on-off druggie boyfriend. Bleh.

Another not so hot fella I heard was that head wrecking Dizzy Rascal. He won some newcomer prize a few years ago, and his yellow and black coloured video was on for a while. He hasn't changed much.

I then saw the BEACH BOYS!!!....Or one at least. I think his name was Brian(?). So Brian the Beachboy played Beach Boy songs and it was good. He was in the Blue tent, where I managed to sneak into the disabled seating area. Innocently of course. It was only when I was enjoying the luxury of being able to sit down when I saw the marshal turning people away, shouting that ONLY PEOPLE WITH THE DISABLED WRISTBAND were allowed in. Whoops. I then got talking to said Marshal which meant that when I left the tent, I was able to get back into the disabled area upon my return without interrogation. Interesting.

The Killers closed the night, and despite rumours that they were terribly live, they were excellent.

After that, there was a push and crush and cram for the buses, but we got there eventually. Eventually.

I'd definitely go to a festival again, no doubts about it but I wouldn't camp. I think I'd just take the bus and get a day pass. That or smile at a celebrity, use them, get and keep their number, ignore them until about three months before the next concert, treat them sweet and keep them buttered up, and then have them invite me as a VIP. I'd have to of course drop in my transplant story to make *sure* they felt sorry for me thus ensuring I wouldn't be tossed out at any stage, even if I *did* develop a diva-esque attitude.

Oxegen day 1: Thankfully the weather was on our side so it was gloriously sunny and hot. Despite my factor 35, I still caught a bit of the sun, and now have a slightly pink glow to me. We set up tent in good time and then rested for a period while we listened to Avril Lavinge singing about being somebody's girlfriend or something...

My latest food obsession is Original Doritos and Peanut M&Ms so I was well stocked up. Unfortunately by late evening, I began to get annoying and niggling stomach aches. They had plenty of Portaloos dotted around the arena and campsite but they were waterless, flushless and stinky. Not to be too graphic, but to say they were quite litreally a pile of **** would be the pun of the century. And last century. Anyway, the prospect of walking around a muddy campsite to get to these 'loos' a few times was not the most appealing. When things like this happen, you just need to be home I think. Or I did anyway. So me and my friend left after Snow Patrol late on Saturday night and decided to come back on the Sunday. It would seem that we were not the only ones with that thought as everyone else on our level of the bus was wearing the campsite wristbands too. I think the mud was putting a lot of people off. Ick.

Anyway, a nice sleep did the world of good and I was rearing to get back out on Sunday morning. Yaaaaaaaaaay!

Second Post:The K club was nice, but the day was fairly long. Myself and my Mum manned the tent with three people from Genworth (google them), the sponsor. They had a three hole putting area set up, and for every hole in one that a spectator could get, Genworth would kindly donate €2 to charity (€1 for Golfaid and €1 for Cystic Fibrosis). It was a good competition really - it cost the people no money to take part, but Cystic Fibrosis would benefit. My Mum stayed out on the path and attracted people in (in remarkably true Apprentice style!) and I (and the Genworth people) took their details and gave them the putters and balls.

I think because myself and my Mum have a personal interest in raising money, we were highly motivated to make as much as possible, whereas the Genworth people were just there to represent the company. That's not to say they weren't enthusiastic by any means, but I don't think they would have gone to the lengths to attract and force and push the people to take part like we did.

Anyway, I only got out on to the golf course for about 30 minutes or so. I didn't think I'd have any particular desire to be there, but having spent a while at the holes, it was rather addictive. Unfortunately the 'big' names were all finished by the time I got out to spectate, with only Montgomerie left. I didn't watch him though. A part of me wishes I could go down tomorrow to purely watch, but what can you do?!

At the holes, the nice golfers threw their balls out to the crowd. But then in a move that came right out of a Hollywood movie a young boy politely asked a golfer (probably his idol or something) for his golf ball. The obnoxious golfer then waved the boy aside with his golf club and hissed 'I'm play---ing with it....(d'Uhhhhhhhhhhhhh)'. He sighed and walked off, caddy in tow. I mean this guy's probably minted, he has a hunderd such balls lying around. Tsk!

Oxegen tomorrow - yipooo!

Today I am going to the K club. Did anyone know that the European Golf Open is on? No? Neither did I.

But what *do* I know?

I know I have Cystic Fibrosis and I sure as heck know I can talk about it. Queue a place at the K club!

A few of you are asking about EILEEN again. That is too long a tale to tell at the moment. I need sleep, because I am going to the K club tomorrow. Did I tell you that? Did I ever tell you my medications cause memory loss? The meds I am on for my transplant...

No? Did I ever tell you I had a transplant? No?? .....

I am a firm believer that men and women are equal. Anything a man can do, a woman can do too - if not better! Any job a man does, a woman can too. And vica versa. Men are no better drivers then women, and likewise, women are no better then men. And so the list goes on (use your imaginations, you can see where my point is going).

But today, I would somewhat disagree. I think had a male been present at the 'crisis', we wouldn't have been in the 'crisis' in the first place.

Location: "Work". No seriously, "work" but I wasn't really, really working so make your own minds up.

Time: Between 9 & 5

Problem: It was cold. Very, very cold. Now something I don't do is complain about the temperature, because as a rule of thumb, whenever I'm cold, others are warm; whenever others are baking, I'm freezing; when they be cold, I be hot, when they be cool, I be a geek.

So the one I work with complains that the heating is broken. The lady above the shop comes down and rants raves shouts complains politely expresses concern that the heating may be broken. I conclude from this, that the heating is probably broken. Our toilet is also blocked. We shiver as we work while we are bursting for the loo. How lovely.

So queue the plumber who comes along and fixes our toilet for us. *Joy*

But a couple of hundred out of pocket, and we're still cold. The plumber looks at us as though we be crazy; pockets his money and walks off. While we stand there like snow-women.

I make phone call after phone call after complaint after phone call trying to get an electrician to come out. We're closing in on lunchtime and the place is an igloo - apparently (remember, I have no sense of work temperature).

So *eventually* at about 3pm, a kind man comes out to us. We tell him our sorrowful tale about how the place is falling down around us and how we have worked so hard through the cold all day. What can be done about this? Can it be fixed? Can he help us NOW? We neeeeed heat!! We get down on our knees and beg!

"Sure" he says "no problem". We about jump into his arms, do a jig, pop the champagne. What a wise MAN he be! He fixes our problem. We fork out *another* couple of hundred for his saving grace.

What was the problem?




Someone had turned the thermostat down.



Man = smarter then woman. For once. Man made a few hundred yoyos from turning a thermostat up. Smart man be he. I wonder does he have any vacancies because *that* sounds like an ideal job to me!

Today the house phone rang. I answered it. It sounded like the caller on the other end didn't realise that they had phoned, as nobody was speaking at the other end of the line but I could hear noise and music. My Dad has accidentally called home a few times without realising it in the past, and you just need to SHOUT and he realises his mistake. I've even heard him chose the wine he's having for dinner before...Anyway, we then taught him how to 'lock' his phone, which basically prevents idiots from making such idiotic mistakes again. Fool proof.

So figuring this was the case, I started shouting "HELLO?! HELLO!?! HELLOOOOOOOOOO!! LO! LO! LO!". My Mom asked me who was on the other end, to which I told her I didn't know. But then I realised that whoever it was had the same radio station on as us. And there was a slight echo on their line. Who was this freak?! Frustrated, confused, annoyed and tired I shook my head in disgust. I then looked down and a blue light caught my attention from the corner of my eye. I reached into my pocket and took out my phone.

Calling Home... 45sec, 46sec, 47sec....

My eyes popped out of my head. I hung up swiftly, smiled meekly at my puzzled mother and ran off. Needless to say my keypad is now locked... *blush*

I meant to tell you about the most important part of the concert on Sunday. I don't understand how it did not occur to some people that umbrellas wouldn't be permitted to a standing concert. Clearly selfish people who have little consideration for the people standing behind them. (Remind me to rant about TALL people who stand at the front, another time...). Anyway, after the concert, all the confiscated umbrellas were up for grabs. FREE UMBRELLAS! I got a beautiful pink and white dotty spotty one. I love it when stuff like that happens!

I may add though, that I of *course* have posters up around town in case anyone wants to claim the umbrella. Anyone? No?? Well if you insist!

Work tomorrow until 6pm. Yadda, yadda yawn.

Also, PLEASE know if you left me private comments (no matter how long ago), I WILL get back to you! Sincere apologies....

Anyone this side of the world, will have noticed the rivers that have been pouring out of the sky these last few weeks. November weather, not mid summer. Sunday was no exception. It didn't stop Justin Timberlake performing, nor did it stop a few thousand fans turning up. He didn't manage to sell out though which is surprising. He had to get 50cent to cancel his gig in town and join him, just to get all the 50cent ticket holders to come to HIS concert. Still, it was brilliant.

We had standing tickets, and although the gates opened at 5pm, we decided not to bother rushing. We clearly were not the only ones as we were really up close. I would estimate about 5-7 people from the front. So, pretty close. While we waited, a fan of this blog came up and asked me for my autograph. I'm joking, I spotted Shell (a regular visitor to the guestbook) and ran over like a lunatic and she did likewise. Luckily we stopped in time though because that could have been one nasty crash. Anyway, hellos and goodbyes done, we made our way back to the stage.

50cent opened up and told us all how 'you didn't think I was gona be hur, did y'all? It was a surprise wasn't it? You guys are all surprised aren't y'all?'....Em actually no Fiddy. It was on the news on Friday, but never mind. He got the crowd warmed up because he 'Told ma fren Justeen that I'd warm y'all up... Ole..Ole, ole, ole...'. He didn't *quite* get the melody right (obviuosly someone just told him to get the words right and we'd take it from there) but that was okay because we all took over and sang it over and over again. For anyone who doesn't know the 'Ole' song, it began at the World Cup 1990 as the Irish chant for Italia '90. We sing it everywhere we go. That and 'The Fields of Athenry'.

We were then all instructed to put our middle fingers up in the air and scream obscenities. Or one obscenity over and over again. That was funny. Of course being the nice young lady that I am, I blocked my ears, shut my eyes and had no partaking in such rude antics. Ahem.

"Fiddy" then threw his hat and jacket out. In OUR direction. But too far over to the right, and too far away. But we were *this* close. My mission is to do two hours of arm lengthening stretches a day for my next concert. I'd love some memorabilia like that. Of course I could just go find someone with connections and butter them up, but that would take too long. I could do my arm lengthening stretches while watching Home&Away.

Timberland then came on and busted a few beats which were swell. We wanted JT though. And JT came. I can't even remember what he opened up with but it was excellent. And he was really sweet, because every so often he would fit 'Dublin' into his songs. 'Ain't nobody love you like I love you - Dublin! You're a good girl and that is why I love you - Dublin!'. He then said how Eyer-laaaand was the best crowd ever. I swear he doesn't say that to all his crowds honest. His dancing was amazing as was his talent. He could play the piano, guitar AND sing.

Anyway, the rain stayed away nicely, only coming down once or twice. Thankfully I had my rain-mac-hat. Unfortunately I did *not* have my camera. D'oh! I took the battery out to charge it and then I forgot the pesky thing. But memories are more important. Never mind, as at times like this, I am reminded of William Wordsworth in his poem, Daffodils when he says:

(Never mind)For oft(en), when on my couch I lie (often!!)
In vacant or in pensive mood (bored),
They flash upon that inward eye (I remember it)
Which is the bliss of solitude (which makes me happy);
And then my heart with pleasure fills (which makes me even more happy),
And dances with the daffodils. (I remember the Justin Timberlake concert).

See photos may and will last a lifetime, and in old age my memory may fade, but at least I'll always have the....oh wait....what a stupid poem!!

Second Post: Well I decided now was as good a time as ever to shout from the rooftops about my transplant....yet again. Since it is raining and pouring (and the old man is snoring) I have decided to blog instead. I have blogged a long (you may need to read this in the segments that I should have written it in) post about it. If it's any consolation there is very little waffle in it, it just so happens I like to drag things out a little bit.

It can be found in my RedBook blog on the right hand side (don't bother your Barneys, I've hyperlinked it) so those of you who wish to read about it, can and those who don't won't have to. I think that's fair. I like fair.

And thank you to those of you who have wished me a happy Txday! Woo! I had a cake, Toblerone, Doritos, and M&M peanuts without insulin. I am an idiot.

First Post: Can you see my ticker up above? What does it say??

That's right, it's my TXDAY (transplant day) today! Happy Birthday to me. I'm loving every minute of it, and long may it continue. I shall continue to make each and every breath count; to marvel in every experience, be they mundane or extraordinary; to use stairs instead of lifts and elevators; to run upstairs and not walk and to live and love life to the full.

It looks like my JT blog will go ahead tomorrow. I may well blog again later-depending.

Last night I received a text from my Mum at midnight. My Mum and Dad are away (again) in England for a while. So I'm lying in the leaba, and I get a text wishing me a happy birthday along with directions to a gift. I got out of my bed, and followed the instructions. I found a lovely present with a Winnie The Pooh 1st birthday card from my family. *cry*

My transplant is a bit unusual in the fact that it happened over a weekend. For those of whom I haven't tracked down and forced to listen to my tale, there were one or two delays before my transplant could go ahead, which basically meant that although it was scheduled for Saturday night, it didn't go ahead until Sunday afternoon. I had to go to bed knowing my transplant was the next day. Weird.

Do you know what happened on the 1st of July last year? England got knocked out of the world cup to Portugal. Ronaldo *winked* and Rooney got sent off. I bet you didn't know that! Or...remember that. Well I knew, because I was resting/sleeping/lazing for the match, so missed the start; flew to England during the match, missing the middle and was still travelling while it was ending. We caught the highlights on the BBC1 news.

It's been a year. A whole long year. And while my 'real' birthday isn't until tomorrow (I was operated on the 2nd of July) I'm celebrating anyway.

I think going to Justin Timberlake and standing about 10 people from the stage; managing to walk and walk and stand and basically not sit for about 5 hours is celebration enough for me. JT is the man, as is 50cent as is Timberland. Amazing. I will write about it tomorrow. Not because I don't have room now, not because I have rambled enough, but rather because I'm not working tomorrow so need some 'stuff' to blog about. It was good though. Or should I say 'sweet'....

I went to the cinema in Dundrum last night. We saw Lucky You. Don't go see it. It's useless. The last time I went to the cinema there (I think) was with my brother to see Harry Potter and the something something. Another pre-transplant memory.

Lucky You is about poker. If you don't get poker you're screwed. I understand a *bit* about it but was utterly confabbled. They had entire scenes of just poker. It was about this guy who gets to the world series, faces his Dad who is his enemy and whom he hates with a passion. They throw in this weird love story side plot with Drew Barrymore which is the stupidest thing I've EVER witnessed. The main guy (the son, Huck) meets her, sleeps with her, steals her money and runs off. And then they're still in love kind of (he wants her, she not him, chase chase, argue argue, chase, fight before the world series yawn). And yadda yadda yawn. If someone did that to me, I'd deck them one. And I'm not even the type to 'deck' people.

In the end (don't read on if you want to see this film, which I swear you don't), he and the Dad form part of the last three in the world series. And the hero (the son) loses. Well he bows out. He comes third. So he doesn't even win. And the father doesn't even win either. So they both lose. If you *do* see this film (don't) there's the most random scene ever which gave us such laughs. It just cuts to Drew and her sister hanging up clothes. The sister says 'I hear Huck is doing well' and Drew responds (after AGES) 'good'. What was the point in that?!

And EVERY time (EVERY) there are three people in a scene and they need two characters to converse, the third person's phone rings and they have to 'take it over here' where they then disappear for ten minutes. No explanation as to who was on the phone. Ugh.

Anyway, after the cinema we came back and sat in my friend's porch/front garden until 2am. I was zonked. I had work this morning and slept in a little bit. Zonked. I really don't like working much.

Ohh meant to say! I'm going to see the man himself, J to the T, Justin. Me and my friend got tickets, as an extra show was put on....or extra tickets were put out (what do I care, I'm GOING!) So I shall be Rocking My Body and not Crying A River on Sunday. Like what I did there? Pretty clever right? Of course, what with the weather being so unpredicatable, I may bring a jacket JUSTIN case!!!! OK, I'll stop.


It would seem the opportunity to get on my 'nice people' list (the one which I haven't created and probably won't but if I do you will definately get on it list) proves to be popular! Thank you to all the newcomers or newcommenters(!) for your lovely comments. It is feeding my addiction well. I may even last MORE then the month with no more comments... Well I won't go overboard, but it's possible!!

Something that really struck me was your opinions (and there were a few) about the severtiy of the 'break the hair straigtner' crime. I would have considered this to be a 'day in the stocks' crime, but judging the public feelings, it may be more akin to an 'electric chair' offense. (Oh the irony, electric chair would DEF cause fuzzy hair wouldn't it??).

Anyway, knowing what most of you look like and knowing what *most* of your hairstyles look like, (which are ALL tamer then mine) I see you have considerably less problems with your hair then I. So if *you* guys think this crime was bad, then that says something. Poor me. I just *wish* the eighties would come back into fashion. Seriously, i can do a GREAT "big doo". You want to see? Well tough, because you're forced to. Every. Time. You. Look. At. My. Hair. ESPECIALLY unstraigtened.


I'm working away and have NO access to the internet 9-6 and when I get home, I'm zonked hence the short blogs etc. It's okay but I'm a bit tired afterwards. I think it's the not being used to doing so much work that kills me. I mean who invented this 'work' business. Ick, not wise.

Work, work, work. I need a break. Unfortunately the person who I *work* with is terribly dedicated, a work horse if you will. And well, if you know me, you probably realise I work at a slightly different pace. Ahem.

Anyway, if I believe if it is quiet; if there is little work to be found; no work to be done. If I really and honestly have done all the work i can find (eg, swept the shop, dusted ALL the shelves) and there is nothing left to do. Nada. Zero. Zilch. I sit down. The person I work with does not believe in this method. I am told to dust. Dust what?? Dust again. Pah. So the day feels long, but I'm getting there.

By the way, dust? I don't think that's such a good idea. Same goes for 'work'.

My first time EVER being well enough to spend an evening at a concert, able to stand for the whole thing, perhaps a dance or two, and not spend a week in hospital afterwards. Justin Timberlake plays this weekend - tickets anybody? Please? *Sigh*.

(a proper blog will follow later - just *had* to get that off my chest)

I skipped along to the Diabetes clinic today. I think I arrived late. About 24hours too late, but they saw me anyway. For more information, see my REDBOOK-MEDBOOK blog.

Upon looking in the mirror today I have decided that I really, really need to get my hair cut. I don't know why I always try to convince myself that *this* is going to be the time when I grow it long. It never suits me!! Guh. It's too dry to go to the hairdressers though, as they'll just send it into knots. And then they'll whine and complain that I should be doing this for it, and using that on it and "OMG do you KNOW how bad doing THAT is for your hair???". I'll probably have to sit through renditions of 'Wow your hair is so thick!" and "HOW do you manage to brush it??". Maybe this time I'll opt for the shaved look.

The reason my hair is so unbelievably dry is because I am still on my acne treatment, Roaccutane. It is a miracle drug, but I seem to have had a small relapse. I blame the sun. All was going swell until that heat wave a few weeks ago, when I literally burned in patches. And now those burns have turned into scar things. And now those scars look like spots, but I swear they're not!! Anyway, since there is *no* oil production anywhere, my hair does not get greasy. If I wanted, I would only wash my hair every 10 days or so. It sounds disgusting, but it's simply not greasy. I reassure you though, that I *do* wash my hair more then once every 10 days! (Ahem9daysHemHem)

My three months are up, but due to those pesky burns, I suspect three more months are on the cards. Bleh.

I'm off to work tomorrow and will work until Saturday. I will obviously get to come home to sleep though, as the notion of working straight, non stop until Saturday is a bit preposterous. In fact, the word 'working' is a bit preposterous in itself. Who am I kidding. I don't work. I sit and get bored most of the day and then get paid. It's a tough life really, I ain't going to lie.

From rereading yesterday's blog I have come to one conclusion. Seals probably don't have hands to clap with. Interesting.

My sister has gone off to Spanish college for the next three weeks. This means there will be more crisps to eat in the house. Before she left, I asked her whether she was taking OUR GHD (amazing hair straightener) with her. She reassured me that no, her friend was bringing one so I could use OURS for the next three weeks. "Fantastic," I said, "That's great".

Five minutes into GHD-ing my hair this evening, I discovered she had broken the thing by dropping it.

I told my Mum I suspected her of breaking it, although I couldn't be sure as I hadn't seen her do it. My Mum said she already knew because she saw [my sister] drop it. Did *nobody* think to mention this to me??? Obviously NOT!

I love an open and honest environment. Where's a clapping seal when you need one?

*claps hands like seal*

Thank you all for your 'hellos'!! It would appear most of you are private little so and sos aren't you! How intriguing... To those who left email addresses, I promise to try and get back to you during the week. Included in that is the person I bumped into in 'House of Fraser about two years ago... I hope you know who you are? Well I guess if you don't, then you will when an email pops into your inbox soon! But seriously, thank you all! I will now put you all nice people on the nice people list which I haven't yet created and probably won't anytime soon (due to my sheer disorganisation) but if I ever do, be assured you *will* be on it!

I'm going to get you all to come back (and some more of you hiders) and say hello again next month. You've put me on a high so it should last me a while before I need my next fix. My injection of approval to ease my insecurities about myself if you will. Insecurities such as:

1. Having hair that makes me look like I stepped out of the eighties
2. Having hair that looks like I have just stuck my finger into a socket and left it there
3. Having hair that has one (or two?) slides lost in it
4. Having hair that I *know* people are staring at and counting their blessings
5. Having hair that I have broken two (not one, TWO) hair brushes with
6. Having hair that I brush everyday, but it just makes it static
7. Having static hair

Is it just me, or is there a recurring theme here? Look closely now... the hints are there.... think about it...

Don't ask me why she's naked. I prefer to wear a coat to match...

OK, first off, I have just finished the 2nd 'Frequently Asked Questions' which can be found in the Medical Blog. I will save you the time of scrolling down and finding the link. Just click HERE. (Lazy *ahem*scoundrels*hemhem*)

Thank you for your questions. (KM, I put in your one from the restaurant that night...same night as I discovered the CULT next door to where you work).

I *love* hearing from people who read my blog. When I go to my inbox and I see someone has left me a comment in my guestbook, I feel like it's my birthday! I positively CRAVE such attention, like some sort of spoiled child and it really, truly makes my day. It's funny how something that takes just a second to do, can make ME so happy! Some people crave cigarettes, for others it is alcohol. Me? I like comments! And yes, I am a self centered, ego tripping...um...person(?) and this is about making ME happy despite the fact that it is all of you contacting me!

In all seriousness, I am not someone who actively goes out and seeks attention (except that time when I wore a rain-mac-hat and some rude person said 'my granny wears one of those' and I turned around and said 'SOOOO??'. That shocked her. Her mouth made such a perfect 'o', I could have thrown a golf ball in. Anyway, that was some good seeking of attention).

So with today being so rainy and wet and floody and miserable, I turn to you, the readers and ask you to take just 30 seconds out of your reading time and leave me a comment. You can make it so only I can read it, or you can display it for all to see! If you are a bit of a NunnyMouse type of person, it may take you a bit of plucking of courage, but I believe in you. You can do it! *cheer* What would I like to know about you?? Well:

Who ARE you? Where are you? How did you find me? Is your weather as bad as mine? Would you ever wear a rain-mac-hat?? I want to know about YOU!! So come on, cough up!! I'm waiting! So don't disappoint....

But please cover your mouth. I don't want to catch anything off you...

A year ago tomorrow. (See what happens when not much happens?? Yes, I live in the past!)

I was about two weeks off IV antibiotics and still feeling OK. This was a personal record of mine and one I was rather impressed with. Was this the beginning of a 'good' phase? Were things going to improve? I still had the ridiculous breathlessness but I felt I could squeeze another week or so without needing more IVs.

I hadn't been out on the town in a LONG time. It was coming up to Helen's birthday and plans were ripe as to where it would be held. I figured I would just go to her house and return home, skipping the whole 'going out in town' bit.

That evening, I was browsing Bebo, and I saw a message from someone I knew from the hospital to another person I knew from the hospital. It read something along the lines of: On a more serious note, [Harry] got called today and is in Newcastle as we speak [for transplant].

I knew 'Harry' from the hospital, although not too well, but she was the first person who I actually knew who had got called for transplant. The excitement I felt for her was unreal. I was nervous and excited and I didn't even know her that well. At clinic the next week, a couple of members of staff commented that I must feel a little jealous but comforted me that my time would come. And to be truthfully, brutally honest, those feelings of jealousy never even crossed my mind. I was only delighted for her, my own case wasn't even on my mind.

Later that evening (it was a long evening) I went to Helen's house, (looking unbelievable skinny and ill) for her party. I had texted a friend and they were keeping me up to date with Harry. I then decided I would indeed go out on the town as I should use up the 'wellness' while I had it. Who knew when I could next feel well enough to attempt a night out?

So I did. We went to Crawdaddy's - a place I had never been before. I was only able for one dance, and my job for the night became to mind the seats beside the dance floor. I also may have got lost on the way to the bathroom at one stage which caused panic but never mind. I had a good night all the same.

And that was the last time I went out before my transplant. A mere nine days later, I would be entering the operating theatres for my life saving transplant. I hadn't got a clue, and I never saw it coming. Sitting in the wheelchair being wheeled down, that 'one in ten don't make it out' ringing somewhat in my ears, I was grateful I had gone out that night. Crawdaddy's was a nice place, and it was a good experience.

It was suitable so that I should return there for my first night out after my transplant to celebrate.

Note: For all those who read the unedited version of yesterday's blog, I apologise for changing it. Upon reflection I had to just glance at the title of my blog and I felt silly. It is all about me. Enough said.

In anticipation of my Diabetes Clinic next week, I popped along to the hospital to get my bloods done today. I had foolishly left my forms for the blood test sitting on my windowsill many weeks ago, so the ink had faded and disappeared. I got someone to fill it in again, but realised too late that I had in fact needed to be fasting. Whoops. Considering I don't really think there's much wrong with me, I don't think I'll bother mentioning that error to the doctor.

This hospital is St Vincents (where I was treated pre-transplant), and has had their outpatients department and clinics all done up since I left. A lot of people complain that it is SUCH a waste of space, as there is a huge big...foyer thing, and the wards are still over crowded. But it must be said, it *is* marvellously pretty!! I'm sure if i still attended that place inpatient I wouldn't agree though..

The stomach bug is ripe yet again, and despite FOUR sterile hand soap things that are put in front of you before you can enter, *I* was the only person I saw use them. Everyone always ignores them - it's terrible. I'm sending an email off to some investigating programme to get them to secretly film these buffoons.

I had blood taken first go(!!!!), by a phlebotomist who I happen to know. I know where she lives too so I shall now go and knock on her door next time the Mater requests my presence for bloods!

Keep the questions coming if you happen to have any!

Today myself and the two Sarahs (whom I call Sassy & Sarah and who I have mentioned once or twice on this blog - the ones I grew up with in my neighbourhood; we had a group, we had our games and stupid 'in' jokes...you KNOW who I'm talking about) decided to have lunch together as it had been a good while since our last meet. We decided to head over to the farm across the road armed with a picnic basket and a feast of delicious foods. The sky looked a bit dodgy, always threatening to open and lash at any minute, but we got lucky.

(I add at this point, that the fourth member of our group, my sister, was working today so could not make it. We do not exclude people who are in the group from the group. It is outsiders we shun)

We had our lunch, munched Doritos, savoured each strawberry as though it were our last, and chittered and chattered. We talked and gossiped and had a thoroughly enjoyable time. And we obeyed the number one rule of the group - bring up embarrassing childhood memories! Ugh.

After we had spent ample time (2+ hours!) eating and talking, we decided to go on a walk around the farm. Our tummys were full but all was going well; we were walking a dusty trail, heads down babbling about something when I spotted a white shape way up in the distance. We continued to walk, while Sarah fixed her shoes. The 'white shape' then became clearer and it looked very much like a goat or donkey or bull. It was running. No, it was RACING. And it was racing towards US. I nearly wet myself! I shouted to the others to run, but Sassy had already taken off as I followed close behind, passing Sarah (who was still fixing her shoe and holding on to the picnic basket!) and thinking how bizarre this whole set up was. (I might add that I did feel a bit guilty for just legging it past the shoe fixing Sarah instead of offering to help but anyway). There was (for all we knew) a BULL charging at us, there was nobody around except the three of us, and there was nowhere to run to. They don't call Sassy a Leinster champion sprinter for nothing is all I can say!

We figured someone had forgotten to shut a gate somewhere. When we got around the corner we caught our breath between the fits of giggles. It was rather alarmingly scary though. After a while, we decided to return and thankfully the bull thing was gone. We carried on about our walk, and made our way into another humongous field where three (grumpy) goats appeared to have escaped from wherever they were supposed to be as well. We then figured it was probably a goat and not a angry charging killing bull (as previously suspected) that we had encountered earlier.

We finished the walk, saw some sweet children and that was about it. It soon began to pour out of the heavens when we returned home, which signalled the end of a lovely day spent out with friends. And so four friends (my sister joined us at this point) who used to spend every single summer day together (except when one or other of us would jet off for their annual two week holiday) parted ways once more. Oh except Paula and I, because we sort of live together, so 'parting ways' for dramatic effect would be a bit silly really....and that rain was coming down HARD! No better way to spend a free day then catching up with old friends me thinks...

I am doing another FAQ (Frequently Asked Questions!) about transplants (or CF if you so wish) in my Medical blog at the end of this week. If you want me to (try) answer anything, please leave a comment (publicly or privately) in my guestbook.

Monday. For once I am speechless. I guess I could update you on the surfing girls??

Well, if any of you had been peeking in my Guestbook of late, you would have seen Helen and Eileen's comments about the fact that there are FOUR people there not just the three (Helen, Eileen and Jenny) whom I mentioned. But you see, if people insist on complaining, I would advise *them* to start *their* own blogs and blog about what *they* want instead of parading about on the 'forgotten one's' blog and giving out as. per. usual.

Anyway, back to the story. I don't think I am bothered telling you about their FAILED careers as surfers any longer to be quite frank, because being quite frank, I couldn't be bothered. At least they have a place to stay now, although they are still jobless.

But the real hero here, HAS to be Gail. Jenny comes a VERY close second. Those two are the ones holding this vacation together. I hope that they will gain patience in dealing with the 'kids' that are on this trip. From what I hear, you may need it.

Gail, I hope you are having a wonderful time! Jenny, the same goes for you too! Helen and Eileen, I hope you aren't bothering these two like you are me. If you are, give them strength!!

And finally, apologies to anyone and everyone who just read the above and their eyes crossed with confusion. I don't have anything to blog about. I'm sorry.

Happy Father's Day!!

My Dad has been a dad for nearly 25 years. That is a LONG time me thinks. Being a Dad is a full time job, a lifelong commitment. Basically he's stuck with us and we're stuck with him. But I wouldn't want to be stuck with any other Dad anyway so I guess I consider myself lucky...

Back in the day:

I used to love the way he had a car-phone back in 1991! (Although it would probably equate to the same size as a small building these days)

I used to love the way his car-phone had speaker phone, which was probably the coolest thing I had EVER seen.

He used to have a tape (a tape! How lame) of these songs and we would listen to them while driving in France. Songs like 'Meeee-chelle..' 'Strawberry Fields' 'Let's go (let's go) to San Francisco (San Fran)" but he lost that tape (tape - snigger snigger).

He used to work near my hospital and would visit me during his lunch break, with his sandwich and bottle of fizzy something or other.

I used to love when he did my physiotherapy and I'd fall asleep.

Nowadays:

I love the way he will (reluctantly) drive me anywhere (most of the time)

I love the way he will (reluctantly) drive with me anywhere (most of the time)

I love how he is patient, willing to help me when I need help. He will say and encourage me in his 'Dad' way. He never lets me think negatively (except when I'm driving).

Finally, when I was away having my transplant, I had one or two dodgy moments (to say the least) and all I needed was for someone (or sometwo) to be there and he (they) was.

Overall I love that he's MY dad.

Well I'm home from the National Transplant games and I'm tired. And proud and pleased but tired! I have decided to add yet *another* blog (which can be found on the right hand side) dedicated to sport and that side of things... So I will write my review in there...

Anyway, I mostly swam, and although I will miss the medal presentation ceremony tomorrow, I think I got about 5 medals. I ran 100m on the track and came second, but I wasn't actually registered for that race, which means I don't actually get a medal for that. It wasn't the medals or winning or lack of medals or lack of winning that was important to me today though, it was the experience, the accomplishment, the miracle of it all and the chance to meet so many wonderful people each with their own story to tell. As my Freeman team manager says "I was just happy to be there".

We went down to the chipper when I got home and I got a delicious quarter pounder meal with chips and after that I retired to bed. Then I got out of bed, let the dog out who then got confused and wanted to go for a walk despite the fact it was 1am in the morning! I really need to teach him to tell the time...

I got hungry. Remind me never, ever, EVER to get hungry outside the comfort of my own home again. Ever. I was babysitting. Having successfully raided their sweet and chocolate drawer I was still peckish. I decided to bite my lip and do nothing. I crossed my legs, uncrossed them, crossed them but I was still hungry. I then went and stared out the window at the rain pouring down in a melodramatic fashion; the rain acting as a metaphor for my tears of HUNGER. After spending a few seconds doing this I moved around but I was still hungry. I don't know where all that food actually goes, because it certainly didn't turn the 'I'm hungry' switch off like it was supposed to!

And then it hit me. I remembered. Their biscuit cupboard. The last time I was there, they had these uber fancy Italian bread stick things, that were like pencils and tasted delicious. I raced as fast as I could calmly made my way to said cupboard. I looked up (it's a high cupboard) and admired it affectionately. A very itsy bitsy teeny weeny tear came to my eye...Or maybe that was dust - quite possibly dust actually...

I reached my hand up and slowly opened the press door. I spotted the bread sticks immediately, gleaming like a long lost child of mine (that I've never had) and then, as if my eyes suddenly came into focus, I noticed the open packet of McVities balancing precariously in front. Balancing poorly. And just as I thought it, it happened. The McVities wobbled to and fro and then to. I tried to close the press as fast as i could, but it was too late. The packet just fell. I actually managed to trap the bag inside the press successfully, but the contents had fallen and snowed (a LOT of crumbs in those biccies) ALL. OVER. THEIR. COUNTER. And I mean ALL. I was in shock. I opened the press to let the now empty wrapper float down. Mocking me.

And after that? I felt hungry no longer. Nothing like a great big mess to clean up that you stupidly created to make you forget about your real problems...