Free drinks, my two belly buttons and one Graham Norton Big Red Chair

Gripping the scarlet upholstery of the Big Red Chair on The Graham Norton Show was certainly not what I was expecting to be doing last Friday. After booking a spontaneous trip to London to catch up with some friends, I applied on a whim for tickets to the show for the dates I was going to be there, racking my brain to decide which of my many ridiculous stories I could share.

The belly buttons were an obvious subject to go for, but which belly-button chronicle to share with Graham and his guests? Would it be the time I went viral on Australian radio after telling a popular Facebook page how I use them to get free drinks on nights out, or the time I was kicked out of a tattoo shop for asking if I could get them both pierced, with a chain to link them?

The buttons have punctuated many experiences, and The Graham Norton Show was by far the best. My unusual medical history does not end with my little moneymakers, however

Eventually I decided on the tale of traumatising a poor bartender with a belly-button phobia in exchange for free cocktails from her prankster colleagues. I could never have expected the reaction the buttons got from Graham and his couchful of fame: Stormzy, Geena Davis, Stephen Graham and Motsi Mabuse.

“Bring it home, Ireland! Bring it home!” Graham shouted when I delivered my unique opening line — “I have two belly buttons, and I use them to get free drinks” — to the Big Red Chair camera.

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The buttons have punctuated many experiences, and this was by far the best. My unusual medical history does not end with my little moneymakers, however.

I live with many chronic illnesses, type-1 brittle asthma being the most noteworthy. Only 0.05 per cent of people with asthma have this particular type. In layman’s terms, my lungs decide at random to shit themselves and land me in hospital every three to five months. My longest stay was an impressive 8½ weeks. Every day, morning and evening, I must channel my inner Darth Vader and use a nebuliser to help keep my airways temporarily open so I can live my best life during the day, as well as plenty of other meds to keep me and the buttons afloat.

One of the times the lungs had a hissy fit was Christmas Eve 2019. (Great timing — yay!) As I was in the ambulance things started to go really downhill: I was essentially looking towards the light. They say the last thing to go is your hearing — and all of a sudden I stopped hearing everything except for music playing inside my head, as if I had noise-cancelling headphones on.

I was fuming that Crashed the Wedding was going to be my parting song, as it wasn’t even one of Busted’s better hits. If I’m going to cark it on Christmas Eve, at least give me Year 3000

They were all songs from my early teens. The last one I can remember is Crashed the Wedding, by Busted. I was fuming that this was going to be my parting song, as it wasn’t even one of their better hits. If I’m going to cark it on Christmas Eve, at least give me Year 3000. I think it’s why I pulled through, however: I refused to be so basic on my last legs. Luckily, I’ve lived to tell the tale — but am now slightly traumatised every time Busted play on my throwback playlists.

Even though it’s obviously not ideal to live with such a condition, I haven’t let it stop me from going on every adventure possible and grabbing life by the buttons. This summer I did a tour of eastern Africa, travelling overland from Cape Town, in South Africa, to Nairobi, in Kenya, and covering 11,500km in the process. This was my first big adventure since my lung function had significantly decreased, so it was quite different from most of my other big trips, consisting mainly of trying to find electricity in the African bush, to plug in my nebuliser, and having to be visibly sick in front of my able-bodied fellow travellers. (They were amazing: they couldn’t have been more supportive, and they made me believe in humanity again.)

I encourage you to embrace the weirdness. If you have an extra nipple lying around, a scar the shape of the Nürburgring, a funny-looking toe or a freaky party trick, whip those bad boys out

The funniest example of my lungs being hilariously tragic was when we were camping in the bush in the Serengeti, in Tanzania, while on a three-day safari. When I say bush I mean right there in the savannah with nothing but a tent protecting us from some of the world’s most dangerous animals. As luck would have it, the only available plug was back in the safari vehicle — which happened to have a 700kg buffalo chillin’ outside it. Fantastic. A ranger with a very big gun had to escort me to the vehicle so I could hop in and hope to the asthmatic gods that the beast wouldn’t be spooked by the nebuliser’s very loud “nrrrrrrrnnnnn” and charge into us.

Fortunately, he couldn’t have given less of a shit. How very un-ableist.

Some of my funniest yarns are because of my illnesses, and when all is said and done I wouldn’t have it any other way. I am working on writing down all my ridiculous stories while I can, before my untimely demise, so look out for a 10,000-page book hitting your shelves soon. But, for now, I encourage you to embrace the weirdness. If you have an extra nipple lying around, a scar the shape of the Nürburgring, a funny-looking toe or a freaky party trick, whip those bad boys out. It might even get you on telly one day.