Category Archives: Bayveen O’Connell

I was the tiny child taken straight to hospital in Dublin. I was the tiny child with drugs, concentrated rays, no hair, enduring the looking, poking, prodding, needles and thumb-pricks. I was the tiny child bloated on maintenance drugs.      I was the bigger child playing at nursing toys in old shoes boxes: ‘Dolly, here’sContinueContinue reading “The Real Girl by Bayveen O’Connell”