I would get up, boil eggs, prepare foods to take in, get to the hospital at 9.30 am, leave at 5pm, shattered, shuffling back to the car, drive home, cook something quick, then hit the alchohol , while crying my eyes out, until I was drunk enough to sleep.  Then I'd get up and go again, everyday for three weeks. I was drinking 70-90 units a week, mainly spirits.

Mums ward was full mainly of men and women suffering from various stages of dementia. Screaming, swearing, wandering, some in another world completely. And some would pass away, well one day, passing the next. I tried to shut it out and concentrate on mum

It wasnt meant to be like this. They had sold mum the operation based on a 7 day stay. She wanted to live and get on with her life. At one point in intensive care mum said.."I didnt know it as going to be like this". Now a few weeks later she was a shell. A hospice stay with the cancer would have been a far more dignified end. The full irony was when the surgeon came to give mum the good news that she was cancer free. "Oh Good" mum said and weakly smiled.