Immunity : Unfiltered

There’s a shift in the air lately. Not just in the weather — though yes, the days are shorter, the evenings are softening into amber, and the air carries that damp sharpness that whispers of change. But inside me, too, there’s a shift I can’t quite name. Summer was slower. I had room to breathe, to exist without constantly bracing for the next thing. Now everything feels fast. Loud. Like I’ve been swept into a current that’s dragging me somewhere I’m not ready to go. And if I’m honest? I’m scared. Scared of what the CT scan might show. Scared of what the sputum and swab might reveal. I want them to show nothing — that we finally flushed out all the stubborn bugs, that this round of fighting is done. But if you live with a condition like CVID, your body trains you to expect bad news. You learn to scan constantly for danger, even when you know it exhausts you. This time, though, feels… different. I have someone in my corner — an immunologist who matches my energy, meets my gallow...

Why Not make a weekly infusion, into a ritual of care when everything else is falling apart? teehee Right, so let’s start with the unsexy stuff: I’ve had a spirometry test this week, and I’ve got a CT scan booked in for Saturday (yes, tomorrow). That combo has firmly hijacked my week, sent my health anxiety into orbit, and basically left me too frazzled to work. I’ve already had two panic attacks and cried twice today alone — glam, I know. The worst part? I only found out about both appointments a week ago and back in May was told by a different doctor that I was doing really well, and they would see me next after summer... False Hope... Emotional rollercoaster.... No time to process, no room to breathe (ironically), and I’ve had to step back from my self-employed call centre work just to keep up with the appointments and the spiralling. Apparently, some of the respiratory team think I shouldn’t have recovered from that chest infection — “people like you never do!” a nurse said that to...

Two Weeks on Lockdown (Again) Subtitle: When You Won’t Rest, Your Body Makes the Decision for You Aaaah sh*t here we go again. Same sinus infection, but different antibiotics....this time, they’ve sent me two weeks’ worth— fourteen days of enforced stillness. It feels less like a treatment and more like a sentence. House arrest, if you will, for the crime of living with enthusiasm. Thing is, it's normally a week of antibiotics... pop a few meds, and carry on.. but this one.. well... we tried that approach... and penicillin at 250mg did sweet sod all... I wasn't even going to wait a week I gave it 4 days, I know my body.. If after 2 days I don't feel better I need something stronger...It's just as well I did as now I have something I can't pronounce... for twice as long... and I can't even travel?  Also.... I have been graciously invited to send swabs in for testing..  because of the fevers I have been running. hot then cold, hot then cold, sweaty, twitchy, ...

aka: Why My Body Might Be Yelling at Me Again I just wrapped up a play. Then I jumped straight into a couple of days on an indie film shoot. And then—because apparently the universe likes dramatic irony—I came home with a raging sinus infection, fever, chills, the kind of cough that makes people recoil like you’re Patient Zero, and vocal cords that have decided to take early retirement. It’s giving: “You’re doing too much.” It’s also giving: “I literally can’t afford to stop.” Classic. Now, I won’t say too much about the shoot. It was decent. I've been very lucky!  The director has a solid eye and a refreshingly unpretentious style. I liked that. But I was thrown in at the last minute, which meant the dynamics with fellow cast members weren’t exactly smooth. Blending was tricky. Let’s leave it there. (What good would it do to dwell, anyway?) So now I’m back in the forest for a little while—home again—antibiotics in tow, hacking like a Victorian poet with consumption and ...

 It's been a while... I have been busy, burnt out, joyful, stressed... chasing my tail and playing an absolute dream role... Playing Nadia Kovlova in Give Us a Sign has been an unexpected balm. She’s half Vlada Bulkakova, half Anna Chapman, with a sprinkling of that one inscrutable blonde Russian model on Instagram who always looks like she’s judging your fashion choices from a marble balcony. There’s something delicious about leaning into that stereotype—mocking my own Eastern European roots with a wink and a smirk in a sympathetic way. It’s been cathartic, even empowering. And lately, I’ve needed that. Because offstage, things haven’t exactly been velvet and roses. Just before I was told by the consultant that my lungs were miraculously clear, I’d had not one but two appointments with a nurse who could only be described as a battle axe in orthopedic clogs. She looked me dead in the eye and said I’d never get better. That pseudomonas would take me out faster than the CVID. Th...

🎭 Theatre, Tears, and Salmon: A Week in My Life So! I’ve been cast in Give Us a Sign by the ridiculously talented Tony Domaille. Honestly, I wasn’t expecting to love this character as much as I do—but she’s fierce, layered, and unapologetically herself. Which, let’s face it, feels very on-brand for me lately. Rehearsals have been intense in the best way. There's something about throwing yourself into a role that makes everything else fade for a bit—like I get to breathe differently on stage. It’s not easy balancing it all with my health stuff, but somehow, when I’m acting, it feels less like surviving and more like living . 🎭 Billy Elliot Broke Us (In a Good Way) I also went to see Billy Elliot with my bestie this week, and… yeah. We bawled . Me during Grandma’s Song , obviously (I mean, ouch ), and him during Expressing Yourself , which absolutely wrecked him in the gentlest way. That moment where a kid just is himself and refuses to shrink for anyone? We both felt th...

I came home on Sunday feeling utterly broken. Not just the usual post-travel exhaustion, but something deeper—like my body was waving a little white flag of surrender. At first, I chalked it up to overdoing it, to pushing too hard. Then came the sniffle. A few days passed, and the sniffle didn’t go away. So, I did what any chronically ill person learns to do: I sent in a sputum pot and a swab, because sometimes, a cold is never just a cold. And sure enough, the results came back with a delightful double feature—pseudomonas and influenza A. Because of course. Because why wouldn’t my flu vaccine fail this year? That was exactly what I needed. The Battle Plan Off to the GP I went, where I was handed antibiotics for a chest infection. I took them dutifully, hoping they’d be enough. But after a few days of feeling just as awful—fever, exhaustion, lungs like lead—immunology intervened. They suggested adding an antiviral to the mix, because apparently, I wasn’t done collecting diagnoses ...

  Weekly Subcutaneous Immunoglobulin Infusion: A Cosy Ritual of Self-Care STAY WARM! Another tip! Every week, I take time to do something incredibly important for my health: my subcutaneous immunoglobulin (SCIG) infusion. This plasma-derived treatment is essential for my immune system, and while it’s a medical necessity, I’ve also turned it into a ritual of care and comfort. Today, however, I had to do mine two days late due to self-employed work commitments—oops. That meant sending a slightly sheepish email this morning, letting people know I’d be running a little behind while I played catch-up on my own health. A Moment of Gratitude for Plasma Donors Before I dive into the process of infusing, I want to extend a heartfelt thank you to the incredible people who donate plasma. Without plasma donors, people like me wouldn’t have access to life-saving immunoglobulin therapy. If you’re someone who has ever given blood or plasma, know that you’ve made a tangible difference in someo...