So I was just sitting in the bathroom on the floor, looking in the full length mirror, thinking about virtually nothing. I seem to do this a lot at the moment… I sat on my phone and a song started playing, and rather than stopping it I decided to start singing along really loudly (said song was No More Running Away by Air Traffic). When I was singing along I started to think about how much I’d love to have proper singing lessons. I sing all the time around my house - I don’t claim to have a good voice, but I have A voice that’s not completely tone deaf…. but, my breathing’s all over the shop. I have good breathing control (you have to to stop yourself coughing and panicking and all sorts) but I don’t know how to use that to make NOISE… ha.

ANYWAY, when I went to Harefield (my future transplant hospital) they had a poster up in my room advertising ‘singing for breathing’. It’s a workshop they run for post lung transplant patients to get them to use their lungs properly. This class not only helps you to sing but more importantly breathe - we’re obviously not used to such a crazy lung capacity after years of having less than 50% (or in my current case less than 30%) available, so we need to learn to control it. I asked one of the nurses about it and she said it’s a great thing and some of the patients actually have semi decent voices, so I was intrigued - hopefully if I get a transplant I can have a go when I’m in recovery, see if we can make this voice a little less painful for my neighbours! ;)

This thought drifted and before I knew it I was ‘speed daydreaming’. I call it ‘speed daydreaming’ because a multitude of thoughts unfolded in quick succession - all linked, but loosely, almost like separate mini daydreams. It started with me auditioning for ‘The Voice’ Don’t laugh! I know you’re laughing inside. It’s ok really. Me? Singing on The Voice? PAH. The reason I was thinking about it though, wasn’t for the being on telly part or the going any further part - what scares me about going up on a stage is everyone looking at me. And I KNOW on The Voice there’s an audience, but if you were going there, would you really be that bothered about the audience, when you have 4 massive (well…) recording artists sitting with their backs to you? I don’t think you would. Well, I don’t think I would. And I think that would be the most comfortable way for me to have a go. Even though it’s on telly. Does anyone see where I’m coming from?

This short daydream, of me auditioning and having the balls to actually do it, post transplant, then went onto me thinking about what else I could try post transplant. I had clear visions of me absolutely knackered, running the london marathon. I’ll say it again, don’t laugh! I know it’s a massive long shot, but it has been done. It can be done. And if I have any say on the matter, IT WILL BE DONE.

This then somehow went onto general images of me waking up after the op. Now after transplant you’re kept in intensive care, sedated, supported by machinery and with tubes and shit everywhere - I won’t be aware of any of this and hopefully won’t remember,if all goes to plan. When I’m ready, IF I’m ready and there’s no complications, I’ll come off intensive care and onto a ward, where I’ll be slowly brought back to my senses. I’ll still have lots of tubes and wires attached but I’ll be conscious. And I had visions of seeing my mum and asking if it had been done and all was ok and her simply nodding. And dya know what happened? I started to cry real happy tears. I was fucking daydreaming, and I cried happy tears. It was the most bizarre experience of my life I think. I don’t know whether it sounds bizarre to anyone else or not? I’ve daydreamed about my future and amazing scenarios before, and I’ve got a little happy or a little sad, but it was like an out of body experience, as if I was actually there, seeing it happen, and it made me so happy for a second, to think that that could be me, eventually, if I’m lucky.

I then went on to think about something that I somehow got talking about today - having babies. I pictured calling my mum and asking her to come to a serious hospital appointment, keeping the whole thing a secret. And then turning up and telling her it’s a 12 week scan. Now, I KNOW that’s REALLLLLLLLLLLLY WEIRD. Really weird. But when you’ve been told that you can’t have children because it will kill you, even though it’s one of the only thing’s you’ve always wanted, and someone at Harefield turns around and tells you you can have babies 2 years post op, it becomes something you allow yourself to think about again. And this, after the weird crying moment I’d had a couple of minutes before, produced the most unholy amount of happy crying ever. It was so so odd. It was as if I could see into the future, like this could actually happen like it did in my head, to the point where I had happy crying giggles. Yep. REALLY REALLY.

So yeah. That was basically the weirdest 10 minutes of my life. And it all happened in my head while I was sitting on the bathroom floor, looking into a mirror that initially felt like a brick wall and turned into a garden of roses. It’s the happiest I’ve been all day, and it was all in my mind. It’s tragic when you say it out loud, terribly so, but it was a slice of something quite lovely that’s given me a bit of a lift really.

I hope this weird little story has made you think about your future and little things that you really want. It does help to keep you going. And I also hope it’s made you feel a little less weird about the things you want/do/think about/etc…?

So while I’m attached to my drip I’ve been watching One Born Every Minute. For those of you that haven’t seen it, it’s a programme that follows women as they give birth and bring beautiful little babbas into the world. It’s one of those programmes that gets you right in the gut - when you watch the women with their partners (or on their own/with a relative) through every stage of that pain, you can’t help but feel fucking terrified for them. The thought of my vagina stretching to a considerable size to push what is essentially like the biggest poo of my life out is horrifying. And the thought of losing control of my bowel or bladder during delivery, harming someone out of frustration and generally being mumzilla while giving birth doesn’t fill me with pleasantries. But at the same time, the relief on their faces and the sheer joy when the baby pops out is so overwhelming. The moment that they catch sight of their child is something so amazing. As a woman, when you watch that I think your maternal instincts kick in and you feel a sudden rush of love for this little bundle that isn’t even yours. I know that sounds weird, but there’s something magical about seeing a baby the minute that it enters the world, even if it is prerecorded and you don’t personally know the mother.

Having CF and having a baby is itself a challenge. It’s doable, but takes a lot of preparation, determination and hard work to get pregnant, let alone get through the pregnancy and deliver without a hiccup. Male CFs tubes are blocked and so they can’t conceive without help, and some female CFs are infertile (due to CF complications, or sometimes just good old fashioned bad luck). Having a baby after transplant however is another challenge entirely - it again is doable but it’s bloody hard work. I’d like to think that if I make it through to transplant successfully though and recover well that I can make it through anything, and I would really like to have children of my own. Let’s just hope I can find someone willing to donate their swimmers and time to put up with me when the time is right ;) I’ve always said if I couldn’t conceive I’d look into surrogacy and adoption but it’s a million miles off yet, things could change. I’ve also said I’d happily raise a child alone. It’s a mean feat and definitely a risk, but one I think I’d be willing to take. Some people may think that’s selfish on my part, I don’t know. I just think being a mum is something I’m supposed to do. Either that or I’m gonna be a perpetual godmother/’auntie’. I’m a tough cookie, I’ve been through hell and back through my short lifetime, I think I could manage to be a bloody good mum by myself.

Anyway, this has gone off on a slight tangent. Just wanted to say that I think babies are the future! Kind of like garlic bread…

I wasn’t arsed about that whole tingaling, but while having a panic attack cry thing post asthma attack in the car (I know I know, very confusing) I was thinking about the fact that I’m probs not gonna live long enough to have kids so I’d like someone to love me instead.

Is that cool? Is that doable? I don’t want to be doable, I want to be LOVEABLE GOD DAMN IT.

It’s not like you’re not fucking anyone so… how is it THAT different to what you’re doing? And why is it a bad thing to accept the responsibility of a product that is almost inevitable, as that’s what sex is actually for anyway?!!

Some people are ridiculous.

Just another thing while we’re at it - young mum’s have the bonus of being able to slim back to their former selves almost naturally post pregnancy. When you’re old and sensible you’ll be saggy too. You should think about that and think about exactly what YOU ARE PROBABLY ALSO DOING before you go around branding teen mums as slags or anything similar.