Please meet Carly Jay. She is the most courageous young woman I know. She doesn’t mince words and has something important to say, always!
Cystic Fibrosis is an often invisible dis-ease. Because my body is working as it should be right now, I’m not underweight as I was pre-transplant. Weighing 38kg was certainly not invisible, and it came with stares and whispers of anorexia and bulimia. I know people who suffer from eating disorders and would never say, ‘if only it was that simple.’ Because it’s not. It never is.
That’s not to say my body is free from the ravages of C.F. Even after transplant, I STILL have C.F. There is no cure. I’m buying time – coming up sixteen years in August, and I’m so bone achingly grateful for my donor and her family. We all have scars. Some are visible; others are seemingly silent and buried like a restless river before the bank bursts.
I am a quilt. My upper chest is a patchwork of scars from CV lines, port-a-caths, chest drains, my transplant…
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