I had bad dentistry which should have sent be back to the dentist immediately but something strange happened. I became this other person. My darling husband knows this as does my sister and my children are mystified.

I did not know it as I had never heard of it but I developed Trigeminal N. The doctor diagnosed depression. So January 2009 I started my journey and began a new life.

I was employed part time, had a small pension as I was 57 and previously made redundant. I had been exstremely proud of my working achievements working as data production manager for The Financial Times, manager for Freight Train South Western Region, England UK and finally Engineering Estimator for bespoke products.

10th October 2009 I began the day making a garland from home grown hops. I still have it and it looks lovely. By the afternoon I was aware of a terrible burning to my temple and just thought 'not something else' but having suffered a bout of shingles twenty years before just thought it would take a month and just accept it. Ironically I had shingles firstly on the left side of my face, head and neck, but this time it was the right side same as the filling.

The doctor suggested that he did not feel antiviral drugs would help. I told him that I was not so bothered when I had shingles before as I am partially blind since birth in my left eye but to think he would be so unconcerned that I may lose the sight of my only good eye was not very professional. After I asked for him to seek the assistance of a more caring doctor he reluctantly prescribed the pills. This action saved my sight I am certain.

11th November 2009 not feeling very well, plonked in front of the TV with the cat curled up, locked in feeling quite secure, away from the cold dry day when this axe crashed into my head, ripping off the right temple and slicing through the skull to the base of my nap.

My memory of this is a mixture of total recall and yet filled with confusion. I had been fatally wounded and the cat did not stir? He didjust as I heard myself screaming. Some help he was (Harry died peacefully aged 19 a couple of months ago).

Next I made the biggest mistake of my life. I tried to phone a friend. No answer. Husband, away from his phone. Doctor. I now know that I had, in my panic, messed up the speed dial for the doctor. Instead of getting the other handset I kept trying this number and there was no answer. So finding the phone book I found the number and after many attempts to dial got through to the doctor's reception. I remember looking at the clock at this point -12 noon.

I don't know what I said, I must have been crying. 'This is the emergency phone how dare you use it. Phone back on the correct number.' And she hung up.

Then my line of thought changed. If I was going to die I would like to speak to my sister first. I live in the west country and Chris lives 110 miles away in the midlands. It was going to be a social call? Goodness did I worry her. I think she asked me to put the phone down to allow her to check with number recall that it was actually me. She called back and all I remember her saying was for me to put the phone down and dial emergency. I tried to ask her to do it for me but all I kept saying was sob sob sob.

Ironically I live three doors down from the ambulance station. So I decided to walk in as I could not get to grips with the phone anymore. My only memory of this journey was arriving there and a man in uniform looking at me and I walked back home. I do recall thinking that if I was 20 years or more younger he would have at least noticed me. Not only ill but old.

Patrick comes home to find this wreck on the settee. I can still see the confusion mixed with horror on his face. I am now at the doctors, which is a five minute walk away. All the eyes in the waiting room were on me.

Post herpatic N. This is not how I imagined PHN to be. This was not the 'lingering pain' I had read about. This was morphine, gas and air pain.
(I have since found that all professional who deal with and write about pain use descriptors such as 'comfortable' instead of 'unbearable' etc.)

I tried to go back to work, but after my resignation was refused and my caring employer ensuring me he would be a good employer and support me I was sacked on 14th July 2010. Good end to a 35 year career.

My meds were changed yet again. They were good and I felt marvellous, the pain was bad but bearable with them. I was happy. I booked a three week holiday to see my son and family in Australia. I bought food. Drove the car. Went shopping and bought more food. My exstremely patient husband spoke gently to me before he left for work with the words 'We don't need anymore food'. He was right and I bought some more. I went to the open markets buying up all the bulk vegetable and fruit. I made jams, jellies, chutneys, sauces, we had crates of jars, I bought more jars to make more preserves.

What I don't understand is this. We will eat about two jars of jam a year and we don't eat chutey at all. My husband grows vegetables and so I had to make more things from these home gowns as well.

A beautiful day, August 2010, we went out to a pretty village about 5 mile train journey away. Have a glass and lunch in a quaint 18th century pub. Chose a table, grabbed a menu savoured that first sip of chilled wine and the next thing I said was 'I've left the jam cooking on the hob'. Leaving the taxi after going against alerting the fire brigade, who incidentally are four doors down the road from us, we decide to look through the kitchen window to ensure we would not be opening the door to a fireball. There was no fire, just Harry sitting waiting for food.

I don't have another memory of anything until I find I am at the doctors and Patrick is explaining how my behaviour is insane. I have the larder overfilled, holiday to Australia planned and my suicide all sorted.

We went to see the family in Australia. I amazed my son as I was not the Mum he remembered. I got the special treatment both ends of flights as each time I was the one who looked in most need of the spare wheelchair. It speeds up imigration. I still have the suicide plan but doubt I will use it, not now. But then I used to considered suicide an awful selfish sin. I have learned at least one thing from this. Suicide is an illness that is truely misunderstood and undertreated.

I am still on meds, still can't enjoy outside life due to wind intollerance to my face, head and neck. Still can't tilt my head down. I miss gardening. I have started to dispose of the contents of last years jars.

I don't know if its an up side but a ferral cat is trying to live with us, he came along four months before Harry died. Harry took him in as a friend.

I can't say how things will be and who can? I had an episode last week end, they happen if I am not careful. We spent the day at the seaside, it was hot, it was beautiful. We paddled and I felt well. Spent the night screaming.

Hi anyway. I should become an author.

xx

But what I do enjoy is