With one hand against the bathroom sink, I steadied myself.
With the other, I started brushing my teeth, moving the toothbrush back and forth as I looked in the mirror.
Two dark circles had made a home under my eyes – I was absolutely exhausted.
After a minute or so, even handling a toothbrush had taken it out of me, and I stumbled back to my room, collapsing on my bed.
Laying back, my chest tightened, as if an elephant was on top of me, suffocating me.
Deep breaths love,’ my mum Karen, now 43, said, rushing in to take my hand.
‘You’re doing great,’ my dad Mike, 44, smiled.
Back in 1996, when I was just six weeks old, I was diagnosed with cystic fibrosis after a routine heel…