As I weighed up the effort it would take to unhook my Bi-Pap versus waiting a few more moments to see if my phone would ring, it did.

Donated lungs were available.
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The truth about my health
When Grant and I got to the hospital, there was a sobering truth to face. In ‘normal’ circumstances, I would be prepared for surgery while under general anaesthetic, then ventilated. Once I was all prepped, the lead surgeon would check the donated lungs to confirm he was happy for the surgery to proceed.

Dr. Mike told me my lung function was at the point that once ventilated, if the donated lungs did not pass the surgeon’s inspection, I would need to ‘live’ in ICU and wait for the possibility of another offer. As a compromise, I would go through and have all the various lines installed and primed. Intubation would only happen if the surgery were to proceed.

The team prepped me and installed all my lines. They covered me with warm blankets before leaving to inspect the donated lungs and scrub in. They say your life flashes before your eyes when you are about to die. I had a full five minutes to think and reflect.

I’d had a great life — and achieved some remarkable things. I knew I was rolling the dice for a chance to have a future, knowing that I might not be strong enough to survive the surgery.
I knew that these lungs were my only hope — at that point, one thing was sure.
Without donated lungs, I was going to die.

I’d like to say once I woke up, I took that opportunity and ran with — but who am I kidding, I don’t run anywhere. But I have made the most of these extra years and will continue to do so as long as these fabulous lungs keep breathing for me.

Dale, my homecare worker from CFWA, came twice a week to take care of light housework and assist with physio treatments. John, my homecare nurse from CFWA, came once a week to change the dressing on my port.
Physio staff from both hospitals compiled exercise and muscle strengthening programs for me — which I call “pilates in bed”. Jamie did my lung function at Charlie’s clinic until it dropped so low that measurement was pointless. (My last official measurement indicated less than 10% of my lungs were working — that’s less than a can of Coke.)
Paul kept an eye on my calorie intake and weight loss, while Dr. Joey kept an eye on my blood sugar levels.
Sue looked after my various prescriptions and arranged my weekly tub of supplies, full of syringes, saline, alcohol wipes, etc., ready for Mum to exchange an empty tub for a fully stocked one. Sue would also take blood from my infusaport, and collect sputum samples to save me the walk to Path West.
Uncle Gerry saw me weekly and would liaise with Dr. Mike to keep Royal Perth updated with my status (important for your ranking on the transplant list.)

Behind the scenes were people I never saw.
The pharmacist checking my various medications to make sure there were no contradictions. The Pathology staff who checked all my various samples. Along with the various researchers over the world who developed new medications and technologies that had gotten me to this point (the new improved enzymes, ciprofloxacin, azithromycin, and Pulmozyme).

I had one job
All I had to do was keep breathing. It may seem easy, but the effort required to lounge around in bed all day and continue to breathe caused me to lose ½ kg a week despite my calorie intake being three times over the daily recommendation.
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I was clinging to life by my fingernails.