August 29thI wake up early as George asked me to come in for 7 am. I get out of my bed. I haven`t had much sleep last night. I feel like the Polar Express drove through me, and reversed back on me and repeated this a few times. The mirror reflects this. I look awful, really awful. I wash my hair out of respect for George and out a little bit of makeup on and try to dress up properly. I pick a pink sports bra, long black gym trousers and black trainers. I`m on the edge of crying every second. I decide that I won`t put George in this silly situation. I try to force some happiness on myself. George was a key part of my recovery, I don`t want him to remember me as a person who moans all the time. I get in the car quickly, I look for an upbeat song and I hum while driving to the hospital. Georg
