I was diagnosed with Cystic Fibrosis at birth, and have grown up accustomed to the daily regime of physiotherapy, nebulisers, enzymes and antibiotics.  As a child I was relatively well, with only occasional admissions to hospital for intravenous antibiotics to treat chest infections.  Whilst I was at university, my lung function began to decline faster, and I started to feel the impact in all areas of my life.  Simple tasks such as getting dressed or hoovering would make me breathless and exhausted.

My number of hospital admissions was increasing, and at one point I was in and out of hospital on a monthly basis.  By my final year I was struggling to complete the course, having to employ aids such as oxygen cylinders and a wheelchair to allow me to get to my lectures.  It was at this time my doctor suggested the need for a transplant assessment and I was referred to Harefield Hospital.  On the 17th February 2005, I was told that Cystic Fibrosis had ravaged my lungs beyond repair, and I needed a double-lung transplant in the next year in order to survive.  So far I have beaten the doctors’ predictions, and one year on…I am still here.  But I am also still waiting for that life-changing call, and I am only too aware that time is running out.  With the current shortage of organ donors, half of us waiting for lung transplants will die.  Waiting for a transplant is a very surreal experience, because whilst you always stay hopeful that you will get the transplant and a new chance at life, there is the very real possibility that that chance will never come.  I feel like I have entered a kind of half-life state, half of me wanting to cocoon myself away for self preservation reasons, and the other half of me wanting to rush out and do everything I have ever wanted to do, whilst I still can.

I am fiercely determined to be in that 50% that gets a transplant, and optimistic that somewhere someone will make that amazing decision to give the gift of life, and donate their organs after their death.  I have so much I want to do, get a job, go abroad again, and get my own house.  But I have lost many friends over the years whose time just ran out, so know that the threat is only too real.  Whilst I am not scared of dying, I love my life with a passion, so the thought of not being here makes me incredibly sad.

Even if this campaign doesn’t save my life, hopefully it will save others, and I am determined to fight till the end.

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