As I walked down the aisle towards my fiancé Jesse, then 33, he turned to face me and beamed. ‘You look beautiful,’ he smiled, taking my hand in his. It was summer 2014 and, after six years together, Jesse and I were finally getting married. We’d been through a lot over the years, but now, as we exchanged vows in front of our closest friends and family, all our worries seemed to disappear. In that moment, it was just Jesse and me.
When I’d first met Jesse in 2008, I was working as a waitress in a cocktail bar and he was a customer. With his blond locks and stellar smile, I fancied him instantly.
Jesse worked as an artist, painting portraits, and was so much fun, always cracking silly jokes and making me laugh. He had an incredible zest for life, and with good reason. Jesse had a life-limiting condition called cystic fibrosis. The condition causes breathing and digestive problems for which daily treatments and medication are needed. But the worst part was that the average life expectancy of W P sufferers was just 37. ‘I’ve accepted that I’ll die young,’ Jesse told me, explaining that he understood if I wanted to walk away. But we had such an incredible connection, I knew I wanted him in my life, no matter how short our time together would be.
TRANSPLANT HOPE
We enjoyed attending live music events and nights in cooking all sorts of dishes. I loved that Jesse got along brilliantly with my family, too, especially my little brother Kyle, then 17. And while Jesse’s days were interrupted by taking his meds or practising breathing techniques, he never complained about the chronic fatigue or pain.
This story is from the December 27, 2021 edition of WOMAN'S OWN.
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This story is from the December 27, 2021 edition of WOMAN'S OWN.
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