E-INTERVIEW with Michael Cunningham - Cystic Fibrosis ...

ITALIAN CONNECTION
Mothers, who would have them? The nagging that
goes on is unreal, particularly when it comes to
holidaying.
Yes mother, I have the blue European Medical card.
Yes, I have the number of my VHI on that yellow
post-it you got laminated. Yes, I remember how to
use an ATM machine. I am bringing the travel nebuliser.
There is no way in hell the other big white yoke
is coming with me! Insurance, err, nooo. Why would
I need it? I've all the other stuff. Will I have room for
Ciproxin in my hand luggage you say? Well, considering
medicine is all that's in it, why the hell not?
Jeez.
LESSON ONE: Listen to mother.
That first conversation came back to me as I stumbled
headfirst into a pizzeria in Florence. I'm sure
they thought I was on drugs (no, not the cf kind!). As
an incomprehensible language suffocated my ears I
recalled the conversation my Mom and I had before
I left. Ah, mothers. How quickly their ten minute call
to the insurance company while you're deliberating
over shorts, skirts and flip flops turns them into Life
Saving Mothers. The last thing Mom asked me
before I set off to the 38 degree of Florence was if I
had printed out the insurance. And as all daughters
have the gift of doing; I smiled sweetly, kissed her on
the cheek and in a much lower voice drawled "of
course", as if she were the stupid one. Leaving for
the airport at the furthest point of my mind there was
a mental note pinned - find internet café, print out
insurance.
Ten days later after the most precise medical compliance
I had ever followed in my life I booked into a
well air-conditioned hotel alone. It was superior to
where I had been staying with my colleagues and I
was in complete desperation. I knew something was
wrong. It's really hard to explain but although I knew
I was unwell I hadn't realised it was so bad until
then. It's at this time that I took a stroll, or rather fall,
into that Pizzeria. Imagine walking around the spire
four times and that was roughly the distance from
my hotel to the pizzeria... In there my drunken staggering
caused a big scene and I left the place in a
bigger muddle. Sure, I'd thought about drinking a
fifth litre of water, but that diet coke was just so
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By Orla Tinsley
much more appealing. However, according to U.S.
researchers the aspartame in it encourages dehydration,
which in my defence I did not know! Before
long they were hauling me through Florence in an
ambulance with my excellent Italian friend. It was an
experience.
LESSON TWO: Inform your travelling party about
your condition & warning signs they need to look out
for (and not when you're being carted away by that
ambulance..).
Stay hydrated and make other travellers aware, or at
least one. I appreciated their help much more than
the gutter I would have ended up in. Being that
dehydrated left me at serious risk of heart attack
which in turn affected my chest and diabetes, which
caused minor respiratory failure. I knew no Italian
but luckily enough I had a remarkably calm Italian
friend to translate for me and stay with me, but he
couldn't stay during procedures. Yes, those ten minutes
where an inexperienced nurse rammed a giant
nail, sorry needle, into my fragile portacath and continued
to bang it with her big Italian momma hand
were priceless. If in doubt, ask for the anaesthetist,
or alternatively, don't travel. Which is the exact
advice that charming lady proposed when she bellowed
- "Why you go on holiday if you know you
have this illness?!" Trust her to be able to string an
insult together yet not speak any other English to
me. Her temperament made me cry a little and beg
with praying hands and rocking body for my translator.
It sounds pathetic but my port felt painful and
broken. Her reply was to loom over me, her toothless
gob grinning as she brandished a syringe full of
sedation. Before long I had grabbed it, my fist waving
it at her and the two assistant nurses who had
been stroking my brow and sighing "tranquille" in a
creepily holy vibe and who were now holding me
down in a bid to restrain me. Note to self - easier
option, drink and bring salt supplements. Tell friends
warning signs; listen to mother and bring neb that
does Tobi.
LESSON THREE: The importance of having holiday
insurance.
After a night in a high dependency unit (HDU) I finally
got moved to the CF unit. A real CF unit. Own