I was born in 1963 into a troubled family where poverty, violence, addiction, neglect and abuse with frequent changes of address meant everyday was a fight. I was fourteen when I left home, although it was no home to me. I drank heavily, sniffed solvents, heroin and cocaine and worked in a strip club until I became pregnant at 16.
In 1986 I received a contaminated transfusion after haemorrhaging giving birth to my second son. This resulted in my contracting Hepatitis C.
In the late 1990s I received treatment for this as I was beginning to show signs of long term liver damage. As a result of this treatment, the hepatitis was resolved. Unfortunately I developed drug induced systemic lupus. This has debilitated me ever since.
My entire life has been punctuated by periods of despair, where I thought that the only way to make life bearable was to end it. I don’t think I am different or flawed because I have been depressed. I challenge any feeling person to have my experiences and not be depressed at some point. [From ROAR revised]
Since I received that transfusion, I have fought to ensure ill health has not become my vocation in life. Sometimes when I first meet someone new and they ask me what I do for a living, I freak out. How the fuck do I answer that when my health seems to mean no one will employ me when I tell the truth about my health and lack of education. A life of benefit dependency is counterproductive to my wellbeing. I need to be acknowledged for my contribution to society and not my debilitation. In short I require dignity to survive. Dignity for me equals hope.
Fionamackinnon.com is I hope a tool for maintaining dignity in adversity, an outlet for creativity and hopefully an inspiration to others.
My employment history has been marred and tenuous. A cycle of trading health and well being for minimum wage, ending usually with a melt down into debilitating pain and despair, then picking myself up and trying again.
On one occasion my employer learned through local gossip of my contaminated transfusion. Out of ignorance, extreme precautions were immediately put in place. Overnight I became a modern day Typhoid Mary.
Four years ago, in an attempt to break this cycle, I decided to take my lifelong passion for textiles and dressmaking and pursue a fashion design degree. This seemed to be my hope for a better future.
My goal is to generate enough income to live and assist my children in the most basic of ways. I refuse to allow lupus, cancer, hepatitis or any other challenges to my health and well being enforce a life of poverty upon me.
In 2007 I discovered I had breast cancer. The lack of consultation between the breast surgeon and the plastics team meant I did not have the planned reconstruction. I acknowledge now part of my need for reconstruction was a belief that my survival depended on how I presented. Inside this injured girl from Otahuhu foresaw more abuse, rejection and humiliation.
The learning environment I was in at the time was small, intimate, and predominately female. I managed to finish the design degree in the required time, despite ongoing surgeries and treatment. Completing the degree empowered me and made me believe that in the right environment I was as productive and capable and as the next person.
In November 2008 I was diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. This diagnosis was attributed to cancer compounding existing health and emotional issues. My student allowance stopped and I needed to find a way to support myself and my son.
Presenting to potential employers remains a challenge. I have made a choice to be honest and not lie when asked pertinent health questions. Recently I approached a successful designer seeking employment. I hoped after seeing my portfolio she would acknowledge my skills and find a place for me. I was desperate and it probably showed! Somewhat begrudgingly she employed me on a casual basis. After all the years of study and hard work, I was back to minimum wage in a menial role. Unfortunately the workplace was unsettled. After further surgery this year, I returned to work. My health deteriorated. I’d had a major bleed during surgery and then again post operatively, resulting in chronic anaemia. I may have been able to work through this hurdle in a more supportive work environment. Unfortunately this was not the case and I had no option but to resign.