“I paint with my feet.”

Words I didn’t expect to read, based on the intricate portrait in front of me.

Recently I ran an art competition where I invited ABC Radio listeners to paint portraits of Jenny Woodward. She’s the ABC’s legendary weather presenter so I expected rainbows and umbrellas, but I never expected to meet the force of nature that is Trish Jackson.

Trish was born on the 23rd of August 1962 with “seal flippers” as she calls them. Very short arms, three fingers on each hand and a heart full of holes. She was a blue baby, she tells me.

Trish is a straight talking powerhouse. She’s a Thalidomide victim. And she’s about to get an apology from the Prime Minister of Australia. The offical invitation has finally arrived.

For Trish’s mum, Margaret, it’s almost too late to atone for a lifetime of guilt after swallowing one pill.

Margaret suffered severe migraines and visited her doctor for an injection to stop her vomiting. Trish says her mum recalls the GP throwing a packet of medication across the table saying she could take a tablet, which might stop the nausea.

Trish’s mum says she took one pill and weeks later found out she was pregnant. She told Trish she returned to the doctor who denied that she’d ever been a patient.

Nine months later, Trish was born into a family full of love where her older siblings treated her like any normal little sister. But Trish also had major heart complications due to Thalidomide that led to her first open heart surgery at the age of two. The first of many.

When Trish started high school, her mum would drive to school every lunchtime to take her to the toilet. Her girlfriends would help carry her around school. A group of good friends who remain in close contact today.

Of course there were bullies. Mimicking, name calling. But Trish prevailed. In fact, she thrived.

“Thalidomide baby” Trish Jackson with Bec Levingston. (Image: Supplied ABC)

Trish finished school and got a job as a receptionist and later worked for the Health Department. Ironically the same department she’d spend a lifetime seeking justice from in the form of compensation and apology.

Her own baby girl arrived in 1994 and Trish remembers taking her out in a pram for the first time where a woman complimented the new mum on her beautiful bub.

“I”m really glad you have a baby,” she said. “At least you have a reason to live.”

The shocking sting of those ignorant words still rings out so clearly out in Trish’s mind.

There’s nothing simple about life without arms. Trish says her neck and hips are “stuffed”. She says everyday is about contorting her body and a reminder of the life sentence of Thalidomide.

Despite the pain, Trish has run a household where she can cook a roast, peel potatoes and pop a cooking tray in the oven. She says her mouth is like another hand. She brushes her teeth using her feet.

And she paints. First picking up a paintbrush with her toes as a way of escaping pain. Trish is incredibly talented. The detail of her artwork is delicate and accurate. She paints until it’s painful. A tricky balance, like so many elements of life with Thalidomide.

On the 28th November, 2023, Trish and other Thalidomide survivors have been invited to Parliament House in Canberra for a National Apology and Dedication Ceremony lead by Prime Minister Anthony Albanese.

Trish will go. But she’d like the apology to be followed by action. For starters, reduce the paperwork she and other families have to fill in every time they have treatment. A fourteen page document is required each time medication or therapy is sought.

Trish’s mum is unable to attend. At 96 she’s frail. The PM will deliver the apology. If only Margaret could forgive herself.