Northern Irish writer and health advocate; two‑time winner of the New Zealand Local Hero award.
I’m Irish by birth, Kiwi by choice. My life includes a heart transplant, mate pukupuku (cancer), Parki (Parkinson’s), thedeathof my wee girl Kenzie, and building a national charity from the kitchen table. I run Kenzie’s Gift, I write, I speak, I swim in water that bites, and I tell the truth without bowing to buzzwords.
There’s an old Irish saying: “If you’re born to drown, you’ll never hang.” Grand. But what the feck do you do when life doesn’t offer ups and downs so much as a relentless bollix of the impossible?
In 2005, Kenzie was diagnosed with childhood cancer. I was diagnosed with breast cancer at the same time. Kenzie died, and I didn’t. Later came heart failure from hypertrophic cardiomyopathy and a transplant in 2022. Parki waltzed in like an uninvited guest who refuses to leave. People still say “everything happens for a reason.” Aye, right. You can feck right off.
This isn’t a tidy tale of triumph. It’s living when life doesn’t go to plan, grief with no expiry date, and a body that malfunctions. It’s refusing to be defined by death, illness or other people’s expectations—and stubbornly carving out joy and black humour in the small moments that keep us breathing.
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