I'm in the care home, sitting next to her bed, writing on my phone. She's sleeping, lying there with clenched fists and a cross face as if even sleeping is a battle. She was discharged on Monday as the infections were all gone, seen off at last by the third or fourth or fifth set of antibiotics, but since then there's been endless panic, nurses and doctors and 999 calls, which in the end I think have probably been unnecessary. Kidney stones are breaking up, coming through the catheter into the bag causing intermittent pain, for which she now has co-codamol and morphine for extremes, but also causing panic amongst all the fucking staff and medics and now me. I have been pretty solid, I reckon, but all this she's dying, she isn't, she is, she isn't has tipped me into meltdown. When they phoned last night and said they'd called an ambulance to go to A&E I just lost it and cried and cried and cried, just saying I can't, I can't, ach it was all crap, in the end a big clot came through into the bag and the urine ran clear and the paramedics sought doctor's advice before taking her to hospital and the doctor came out and sat with her for two hours while I tried to call Samaritans - engaged for two hours and mental health emergency helpline, also engaged till I gave up and took a sleeping pill and had terrible dreams where ED had emerged from her silence to testify against Bloke who was now chained to the radiator with a bag over his head. And here I am still not sure where we are or where we go next. I have my yoga clothes and swimming stuff in the car, my knitting and my kindle with me now and I'm going to try to keep going given that there is no fucking help. The photo for today is meant to be 'yes' which isn't inspiring me so far. I want someone to lean on but there's only me.