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!