4 doses down: 16 to go.

...And the line has gone. It had enough, it heard us all praising its splendid behaviour and cried "No more!".

Every dose has had its share of theatrical dramatics courtesy of yours truly, and every dose has brought symptoms of line death - stings, aches, swolleness to a small degree and the inability to push water through.

For a start, we can never seem to get the gravity drip mechanism right. It will either start off brilliantly and then cease going in altogether, or else it takes ages to get it going and then realises what it should be doing and acts accordingly. Thankfully the arrival of Baxter's ready made stuff will put an end to this.

A lot of it is positional, meaning that if I wave my arm around it eventually finds its groove and goes in. So much so though, that I ended up lying on my bedroom floor, arm up in the air with the drip dangling from a coat hanger hanging off my lamp. How 21st century. It's a pity this was 7.30am this morning, when one was in no mood to be having an impromptu yoga class.

Anyhoo, for me it's off to the hospital tomorrow morning in search of a lady doctor to insert new line. Hopefully the new one will not require an Indian rain dance in order to function. (The line that is...not the doctor...)

1 and a half doses down: 18 and a half to go.
2 doses down: 18 to go (one went rather unexpectedly quickly in there...)

Having barely slept a wink last night due to Canula-insertion induced stress, I then slept in somewhat. As it turned out it made little difference as I was only going to be able to fit in two doses today anyway (clinic doesn't open its doors at 6am, and I don't know the meaning of that time yet).

Burpy Mc Belch-Burp, the friendly taxi driver brought me from town to the hospital. I thought (and my friends will probably agree) that I burped badly, but I think this guy needed some sort of...Gaviscon or Rennies or something. He was nice though and I read his paper while *blehhh* he *blehhhhh* drove *bleh-blehhh*.

A very nice Northern lady doctor came down with the dubious honour of inserting my canula. I picked out the vein (from memory it was a good one, plus I could feel it which is a positive sign). The lady got it in first go, which is unsurprising as ladies tend to be better at doing them anyway.

I had my first dose which, following a bit of playing around with, took about an hour. I'm so unbelievably terrified of jinxing myself, so I refuse to gloat, boast, or worst of all, praise my baby vein on its great behaviour.

My transplant nurse then rang Baxter(s?) and they have arranged the pre-prepared pods which will be ready tomorrow. For anyone who doesn't understand medic-ee speaky, you need to find yourself a chronic illness. BUT until then, basically at the moment, the preparation of ivs involves using three syringes, with needles, sucking up stuff, spraying it into bottles, shaking bottles, using more syringes and then making the now prepared potion run through a piece of tubing.

Baxter(s?) will just do all that for me, yay! Baxters sure know how to please their lazy customers!

Plus after this evening's dramas trying to do everything (with my Mum trying not to help at my insistence, bless her) I welcome any help. My mum for years was my nurse, whereas now I'm the one who does everything. Except because of the location of the line I can't physically reach it so she still helps. (NOT complaining about very well behaved line) It took us an age to figure out how to do it all (pesky thing wouldn't work) to the point where we were both browned off. She then came into my room and purposely stood on lots of my stuff, humming and hawing. I didn't say anything because that was an invitation for 'maybe you should tidy your room' speech.

Yes I'm really twenty. Hard to believe isn't it. And before anyone asks, I can't afford to move out.

Anyway, nurse Momma is going to help me, and fingers and veins crossed this thing behaves itself. *cross, cross, cross*

PS: "Tish", how nice to hear from you. Are you still working for that secret place that insists you pretend you're an import fish company when anyone rings you? Or did you escape in the middle of the night under cloak and veil??

Photographs don't really do it justice. If I can edit them on Thursday I will!:




Dear Doctor Jabs,

Thank you ever so much for having fun with my arm on Tuesday. You did such a fabulous job with it. And although *I* appreciate the time it took you to create such a monstrosity masterpiece I don't think everyone will share my enthusiasm. Didn't your mother ever tell you not to play with needles or to throw them into other people? Can I suggest that you don't ever go into a line of work where you have to have physical contact with any other living thing people or where somebody would place their trust in you? I guess the kind of careers we're ruling out here would be...oh I don't know...being a DOCTOR*. I hear there are plenty of butchers looking for apprentices with great enthusiasm. Shall I pass on your CV?

Unfortunately though, I shall be sending you the bill for the new jumper I had to buy yesterday. You see, all my other jumper's sleeves were to narrow to accommodate this new, bigger swollen more packed arm. But don't worry, I'll pay for the ice.

Actually I lie, it's not so bad. I didn't get a tan this year (sunbathing's a no-no post transplant) so to go around showing people my new colour on my arm is a conversation starter great. And not everybody gets to have a blue arm!!

Again, thank you.

I'm going off early tomorrow to the hospital, armed with tips and hints to give to the team for the placing of my vein line (known as Venflon or Canula or my favourite, Freddy!). One great bonus of having ivs is getting the day off work on Saturday. Wish me luck!!

*May be a little bit harsh. People make mistakes. But bleh.

Eeeeeeeeeeeeeee! Where to begin?

This morning I went off to the Mater for bloods and review. I'll post the waffle version in the medbook-redbook later, but a brief synopsis is as follows:

We got a *bit* of blood after four attempts, which resulted in a blue and rather swollen arm. My lung functions are down a little bit to 2.84L or 90%. Which considering I have a chest infection, is actually not too bad. My weight is fine, but I told them about my lack of energy. My consultant has made the decision to put me on 7 days IV antibiotics (like a drip). I think he's made the right call here, as at least we know they will work. Usually one would have to go into hospital for this, but because I live in Dublin and I'm so cool and all the jazz, the plan is to do it at home. The only slight problem with the whole thing is that I have no veins. NONE. So it would be a crying miracle if the cannula (drip) managed to stay in my arm for seven days.

Because my arms are all messed up today, we're starting on Thursday instead. I've had a whole year free of problems, and the week I am due to start college, I go on IVs. Typical.

But, it's all good. I've made it a year with no problems at all, and this minor blip will be fixed by the end of next week. I'm a bit like a deflated space hopper at the moment, and these antibiotics will give me a nice boost which will make for a nice bounce.

I guess this also means I still *have* to go to the next two Ireland games with my brother. Shucks.

BFG: The posting time of Saturday's blog (which mentioned the "911" attacks) was a freak coincidence. Couldn't have planned if I tried!...Oh wait, I could...but I didn't.

Now, here is the blog about EILEEN. As many of you know, EILEEN went off to San Diego at the beginning of the summer, tried to carve out a successful summer career in a restaurant, failed because the restaurant shut down three weeks in, and basically bummed around for the rest of the summer.

Well now, EILEEN has returned, and after much time spent avoiding me, ignoring my calls, texts, emails, bangings on her bedroom window every morning, noon and night, EILEEN felt it best for her safety she met up with me. In a public and crowded place of course. I then coaxed her into my car and went speeding up and down the quiet roads. She bored me to tears with her stories, so much so I tried to push her out of the car. Unsuccessfully. Pesky seat belt.

She's trying to make out that she's all popular now and that she has to spend time with another friend tomorrow. She made out that she was talking to said friend on the phone, but the place got really quiet, and I am certain I heard "....At the beep, the time will be..." on the other end. Weird.*

Anyway, it's good to have EILEEN back. She's a goodun. But not a very nice goodun. She was getting a taxi to the airport, when they spotted a car-crash scene with another taxi. Her taxi driver said "Is it ok if I get out and help my friend", and get this, EILEEN said NO! And not only did she say NO, she launched into a shpeel about why he wasn't allowed to stop. Classic! Apparently he was very grumpy after that.

*First two paragraphs may be exaggerated. Taxi one is real.

Later Post:

Today I went down to Kildare to the Shopping Outlets. I have a love-hate relationship with shopping, but upon seeing one particular shop, I ran in! And spent a bit too much money me thinks. Oh well.

Early Post:
For those of you who came to this blog looking for photos of Peg Tubes and Mickey Buttons, I will put one or two up for you this evening. After all, I did have one for 17 years. And now I have an open "hole" which when my stomach decides it doesn't want chocolate or Coke, it spits it out. Charming. For everyone else, random? I think so...

And a proper blog will also come later. In the meantime I need a nap.

*Yawn* I worked today *Yawn*

I also developed puffy legs and ankles, which is a bit of a puzzling sign. I'm also wrecked which is another puzzling sign. It's Saturday, 9.30pm, I'm going to ring the Mater transplant ward, tell them that I have poofed up legs, and then I will go to sleep. Puzzling indeed.

EDIT: I lied/changed my mind. I didn't ring the ward, I got back out of bed having spent the evening in. I went downstairs and watched a documentry on the World Trade Centre attacks. Well I did want something to cheer me up after all. But jokes aside, it was an amazingly powerful documentry, filmed by two French brothers who were documenting life at a fire station in New York, and in particular, a "rookie" fireman. It was just unbelivable.

Where does six years go?

I am no longer blonde!...Well from a physical point of view that is. I've always had "fair" hair, which I pushed into blond since I was 15. So to have absolutely no blonde whatsoever is strange- plus with added fringe, it looks like I'm wearing a wig when I look in the mirror.

They tried to Pob me (which is the "posh spice" bob for anyone not down with the lingo) but I resisted. They pushed and nagged but I said no. It would have looked fantastic today but by Monday, it would be one big, fuzzy, MC Hammer afro.

So this morning, I got up early, "dashed" over to the Mater to give a lovely little sample (from my lungs) for their labs. We need to find a good method of clearing this pesky chest infection once and for all. The place was dead, with nobody about so I went on through to the transplant ward which sits off their clinic. Thankfully I've never had any reason to be a resident in there (I had my transplant in the UK), so know nobody at all, but they seem lovely and were ever so helpful.

Two hours later I arrived and then went down to the hairdressers. I am no longer blonde!... At this point, you can go to the top of this blog entry and start reading again. It's kind of a go-around-in-a-circle blog.

Random observations:

Neighbours (the programme): I've never been to prison (I'm a good girl), and would surely hope I'll never have to go, so therefore cannot really comment on how those places are run, BUT, I am almost certain if ever I were sent, it would not be to the same place as Skye Mangel went. Hers was like a drop in centre, with Harold and Lou and Toadie, her lawyer, coming in and out like it was a café kitchen or something! I always thought those places had visiting hours (or days), not "Skye, ya feemilys he-aah ta see ya" every 10 minutes. What sort of a lesson would that teach a no good-doer??

Airlingus: While browsing on their website, I clicked "special requests". Always one to try and get something more for my money, I followed the link, only to find it was just detailing the various special meals they offer on board. Among those listed were Diabetic meal, Gluten Free meal, Hindu meal, Vegan Vegetarian meal, Asian Vegetarian meal, Lacto/Ovo Vegetarian meal, all very interesting I'm sure. And what do I see, among all these 'special meals'???

Bland meal. Bland meal??? How is that special? How is that any different to what they give you anyway? More to the point, imagine requesting the 'bland meal please' for your dinner. "No, no, I can't eat *this*, I specially requested the bland meal!"

High School Musical 2: Two bags of buttered microwaved popcorn and some Diet Coke later, I finished watching High School Musical 2. Definitely rather disappointing. In the first film "Get your head in the game" was a very popular song and it would seem the creators of HSM2 are trying to recreate that, but with every. single. song. Then the solos they handed out are like pop songs, and don't get me started on Zac Effron's solo, or video for it. They should warn people that too much cheese these days is bad for you.

YouTube: How do you save videos to your computer? Anyone??

Becky: Yes, Hairspray is fantastic... read on for a partial review!

Most of you will know I'm a huge, massive, fan of High School Musical (the Disney film that launched Zac Effron, who now stars in Hairspray). I mean, I could probably stand up and recite the whole film I like it that much. But I'd have to leave out the singing parts, as I can't sing. Anyway, considering I thought HSM was so good, I figured HSM 2 would be even better. But sadly it was not. Well, I haven't finished watching it yet, but I can already tell. There are no catchy songs in it, Troy (Zac Effron) has become way too cocky, both in character and in acting. The huge dancing numbers are gone, to be replaced with smaller sets, with Troy doing some repetitive "break dance" numbers at the front. Gabriella still has an annoying voice, but is less geeky. It's just all wrong. I think the new writers should have taken the advice from the first film: STICK TO THE STATUS QUO. Hmm.

Anyway, Becky, back to Hairspray. I thought this film would be good, but second to HSM1. I didn't want to like it, for the simple reason that everyone else seemed to love it. After all, nothing could ever top my High School Musical.

And then I went into the cinema, missed the first song (yes, I was one of those really annoying make-everybody-move late comers) and sat down, counting down the time until I could get out. I laughed (grumbled) along with the rest of the audience at some of the jokes. I tapped my foot lightly to make it seem to everyone else that I thought this was fantastic. And then, slowly, it seemed to get better. I began to actually get into the film. It wasn't as bad as I feared, in fact it was rather good, and funny, and... good. Before I knew it I was singing along (ignoring the fact that I can't exactly sing) to songs I hadn't heard before (which is always a good sign) and my spirits were lifting.

John Travolta plays the mother, which to me spelled disaster. But funnily enough, he actually made it work. He wasn't a man in drag, he was a funny lady!

So hayle, I emerged from the cinema feeling really good and upbeat!! And then rumour got around that I may have liked the film, and the Hairspray fanatics cult club in the office where I used to work got word and now we're all going to see it again tomorrow. (If I'm not back by 11pm, can someone please call the police!)

Bree: Phantom-step going down is scary, when you think there's another step left and you goose step it. In fact, no stairs related accidents or incidents are ever fun. In fact, they are no laughing matter whatsoever.

Jac: WOW! I'd have *loved* to see that tumble crumble. Of course, I wouldn't have laughed; as I just said, these sorts of things are no laughing matter at all. Ahem.

In keeping with the theme, I found this on www.youtube.com: Some claim it's faked, but I find that hard to believe. Not speaking from experience (obviously), but I would reckon if you're falling on your back, you would try and catapult yourself forward to stop moving. Either way, it's interesting.... (especially the uniforms. Talk about dorky!!!....Mind you, I wore a turquoise uniform for six years, who am I to talk?)

Yes, I really do know that groovy dancing girl and I really did take her job when she left. And yes, it's true I can dance like that too. I just haven't done it yet.

Today I fell up the stairs. When I was a young pippen in secondary school this happened a friend who was a girl in my year. What made it worse was two things:

She had a long, metal ruler with her (the one that *claaaaaangs* when dropped - did anyone else ever have the token person in their year with one of those?).

It was at the top of the stairs, where two double doors open on to the mezzanine level.

So *claaaaang* went the ruler, as her feet went from under her, much like a young calf on ice at the same moment someone swung the double doors open, crashing into and then wounding either her head, or her arm. She just wriggled like a little caterpillar. Probably expecting someone to rush to her aid or something.

By that stage the tears were falling so fast down my face, I was about to lose control of my bodily functions, I was running out of breath because it was that funny. And I was that immature.

Needless to say, said girl ignored me and my friend for all of an afternoon for our despicable disloyalty and uncaring reaction. But it was funny. Hilarious in fact.

And today I share her pain. Well I did in my toe, at least for a few minutes. I suppose I'm fortunate there was no audience watching, and I went up the stairs not down. That would have been dangerous.

A bit like...oh I don't know...running up a 'down' escalator in a public shopping centre, making a successful jump off at the top, then losing my one's shoe as it travelled back down to a gathering queue, and then dropping my one's watch (which had a broken battery anyway) down, following the shoe.

Yes, *phew*, thank GOODNESS that's never happened to me! Only silly fools do things like that...

As most of you know I pretend to work on Saturdays. I started in January of this year, replacing a girl who had been there for a year or two. She fills in for me when I'm off sick/travelling/doing something else and she also fills in midweek if the midweek person is off sick/travelling/doing something else.

Anyway, where I work there are only two people there at any time. Small. Cosy. When the two of you run out of conversation it gets quiet, but it's nice.

So when this girl moved on, it was to better and bigger things. I actually think she went to college - she's very talented when it comes to arty stuff. In her spare time, she can also dance. Check this out: (and the 500,000 odd views):



I might add, that I too could dance like this should I want to. But I'm too lazy. But seriously, it's pretty impressive stuff. Kudos Sophie.

I went and saw Hairspray tonight. It was a slightly spontanous decision which meant I missed the opening song. I had had my eye on this film for some time, as a few people who I used to work with have a freak like obsession healthy interst which borders on illegal intrigues me so much, I decided to check it out.

Anyway, Zac Efron is so totally dreamy(!) and the acting and dancing was excellent. It was a musical and I love anything that has music in it so I was in my element. I can't claim to be able to sing - I blame an undiagnosed deafness somewhere - but I enjoyed "singing" along nonetheless. And I am serious, I really, honestly can NOT hold a note if I was trying to save my life. It's not that I'm tone deaf, as when I sing, I can hear I'm not singing right, I know I have the wrong note, but there ain't nout I can do about it!

It must be noted, I left the cinema feeling in a most upbeat of moods; I reccomend Hairspray to anyone.

Zac Efron as Link Larkin

Need I bother actually writing a blog today? Might it just be easier to copy and paste yesterday's first paragraph?? Heck, why not?!

I got up early this morning for my radio thing, which got postponed because the show grew legs and went off on a tangent. The producers felt they wanted to give the Cystic Fibrosis topic good time, and didn't want to just squeeze it in. So tomorrow Monday, I will be up early again. One wonders is certain this was this a ploy by my Dad to try and get me up early. Pretty original. Hmmm.

Did you know that when this 'get up early' thing started (which I'm certain by now is being orchestrated by my father), I was left to do nothing, at a time which I am not normally up at? I thought, well with all this time on my hands, I should go out and do some errands (see yesterday), but to my dismay I discovered my car was blocked in the driveway by my Dad's car. It would appear my Dad wants me up early and housebound. Anyway, left with little other option, I decided to move my Dad's car.

I drive Delilah, who is a beautiful black micra, with superb handling and is as light as a feather. My Dad drives Bruce, a heavy old tank of a Volvo - very much a man's car. (And yes there are mens' cars and womens' cars!). Anyway, I found the keys and went out, but the car was *slightly* bigger then antipitated, and keep in mind I am rather petite. I brought the whole seat forward, reached up and held the steering wheel and off I went. The problem was, me being petite, driving an obese car, with only my nose reaching the door window, my eyes peering over the steering wheel, the situation wasn't exactly ideal.

I managed fabulously though, despite the fact it looked like a ghost was driving the car. People on our road never pay much attention to us or anyone, so a self driving car emerging from our driveway shouldn't raise too many eyebrows I don't think.

As I finished parking on the side of the road, a kind driver behind stopped so I could get out of the car. You should have seen her face as I got out, in my hoodie and bottoms, looking all of fourteen years old. Her eyes and mouth formed three identical circles. I could have clocked a hole in one (or three) had a golf ball been present. *Caaa-lock* Not only that, but as she slugged past me in her car, her head turned really slowly like some sort of childnapper you see in a film. Creep. Polite creep. She probably thought I was a polite joyrider as I smiled her on her merry way.

Anyway, today I gave the car (both of them) a rest (apart from playing taxi for EVERYONE in my family) and went cycling and then swimming!! It was for my lungs (which are improving I think) and I got a good few lengths in. I feel better but tired. But

I got up early this morning for my radio thing, which got postponed because the show grew legs and went off on a tangent. The producers felt they wanted to give the Cystic Fibrosis topic good time, and didn't want to just squeeze it in. So tomorrow I will be up early again. One wonders was this a ploy by my Dad to try and get me up early. Pretty original. Hmmm.

Anyhoo, it worked out for the better anyway, as I have developed a temporary addiction to Strepsils lozengers, as my persistent tickle in my throat is...well rather persistent. There may also be a colony of frogs living in my throat. So an extra 24hours should do me good.

Being up early, with the rest of the day ahead of me gave me opportunity to catch up on plenty of errands I've been meaning to do for a while. A long while. But how many did I actually get done? None. Zero. Through no fault of my own though of course...mostly. I just managed to use up a whole lot of petrol, come home, and fall asleep. For about five hours. Me thinks/hopes this is a sign that the new antibiotics are fighting really hard inside thus making me a wee bit tired.

And I figure I'll mention this now. My "friend", let's just call her....aesigefheoigfSaraasoigfsef for anonymity purposes is proposing a silly interesting crazy mentally sane death defying defying way to raise money for charity: A sky dive. I think it's a suicide bid that she wants ME to take part in...or else a homicide bid on ME...hmm either way, I'm locked in. I'm trying my best to get out, you know I've had a transplant (Have I mentioned that before?) and did try pawning that one off on her, but to no avail. Seems she's had one too! Two months before me. What lengths people will go to get attention!

Anyhoo, it looks set that this will be in October/November. We are looking for support and/or kind donations. Even something as small as €1 would be fantastic, as every little helps! If there is anyone out there who would like to join our pact (Life is sooo over-rated anyway!) please let me know. After all, if I jumped off a cliff, you'd follow too right?

Health Wise: I decided just to ring the Mater Hospital, after getting fed up coughing so much. I have been on smarties Ciproxin antibiotics for the past 14days, which have done nothing. Zilch. Nada. After a brief call, explaining my symptoms, giving my current doses, my tablets were changed. The funny thing is, I finished the two weeks of m&ms Ciproxin as prescribed and then found a whole PACK out in my cupboard, unopened, uneaten from 2004. How funny. That was when I was in 5th year in secondary school. They don't even go out of date until next year. GAS!

I may also add at this point, that I shall be speaking (briefly and v.e.r.y s.l.o.w.l.y to take up as much time as I can) on a radio show tomorrow morning. And when speaking to the researcher earlier today, and requiring an umbrella to save me from the tickly throat tears coming down my cheeks, I decided that action was definitely needed. I have sent Jeeves out to get me some Strepsils.

Anyway, it's a week of Augmentin for me, and I shall be ringing the team in 7days time and be seeing them in 10days time. Fingers crossed!!

Holiday Wise: I will get around to doing a fully comprehensive report on my holiday soon, complete with photos and....well, yeah, just photos. In fact, if there are even photos, you'll be lucky.

Random Wise: There is the opinion floating about that I do not like plants. Who ever said I didn't like plants? I haven't got anything against plants. If someone were to, say, give a plant as a gift to someone else, I would see that as a beautiful gesture. A kind, loving and most thoughtful present. A few weeks ago, I stated I wouldn't like the idea of getting a plant; having had a transplant, this would not be wise, as I could pick up a bug from the plant, which may, god forbid cause a chest infection. *That* is why I would not like a plant. At all. Never give me a plant.

And now for my complete naughtiness in NOT emailing people months ago like I should have done, I am off to do that now.

I'm home. I'm alive. I have a chest infection, I am slightly pink, I am slightly fat(ter) and am very much relaxed following my two weeks in Marbella/Pta Banús.

It was a wonderful holiday and a wonderful reminder of wonderful holidays in times passed (past?). Since we are a family who usually take a 2week holiday every year (except last year when I needed a break and went off and got new lungs), this one is the first 'post transplant' one. No ringing a UK oxygen company to see where our oxygen machine was, and why it hadn't arrived at our apartment. No suitcase packed with 1Litre bag feeds. We didn't fret when Airlingus chose the day we were flying home to strike, thus potentially leaving us stranded for a week; a week without feeds (couldn't ever happen or I would fade away and eventually get blown away with a breeze). I got to enjoy three course meals every single night. No amount of walking, even with the average daily temperature of 30+ had me stopping to catch breath, had me too breathless to walk and talk, or worst of all, preventing me going somewhere because I couldn't face the walk. Anyway, point being, yadda yadda, it was great.

I didn't go to bed last night since we had to leave at 5am this morning, so I'm a bit tired. I'm not Superwoman (yet) after all. A more fulfilling and satisfying blog will come later or tomorrow.

PS: If anyone watches The Jeremy Kyle show (which I so do not, it just passed the time in the apartment some mornings, I swear!), did anyone catch the Paternity test results today? We were travelling at the time, and despite my sister calling over to my Dad on the bus 'Oh Dad, can we go into your office to see the paternity test results, pleaaaaaasssssse!!' , we didn't. Cheers!

I've just finished packing, whilst my Dad glared and stared and watched as I did it. I'm serious, he stood at the door, annoyed because I hadn't done it earlier and he "wanted to put my case in the car because he wanted to go to bed". What's the point in going to bed, if you're just going to get up again anyway? Psh.

Anyhoo, I thought, since on the topic of packing, I would show you the contents of my handbag, which I emptied yesterday. Now normally a lady would never divulge the insides of her bag, but I think that mine is pretty impressive. I have often been told I'm like Mary Poppins, in that I seem to have a bottomless bag. I like my bag though, because I can throw anything into it and it fits. It gets tricky when I have to locate things quickly though. Anyway, here's a photo, taken yesterday, of everything that came out:

Pretty amazing. The most random object to surface can be seen in the bottom right hand corner. A blue ice pack(!!). Don't ask. There is some suncream to the left beside the Vaseline. There are two pens, a bracelet, money, English money, face moisturiser, insulin needles galore, a tablet holder, make-up galore, tagaderm plasters (don't ask), hair bobbins, tissues, as well as glasses, a camera (which you can't see for obvious reasons), a few forms of ID and an ipod.

Just in case you want more, here is a photo from another angle. I was trying to fill up my memory card you see, in case you think that I always photograph the contents of my bags....

From this angle, you can make out the bottom half of my hairbrush which is standing up. You can also see my dog Sandy, who is completely uninterested in my camera snapping.

I guess you can only imagine what weird and wonderful crap artifacts my suitcase must hold. Adiós mi amigos!

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?? .....