I always knew that this was going to be a really difficult week or two, but I underestimated just how hard it would be. The list of jobs I still have to get through is vast, and still growing. Today, all I managed to do was the food shopping and buy the bits I need for the pets.

The day started with a challenge. My money hadn’t gone into the bank, which meant my food budget was even more restricted than usual, but I also need that money for our time in the hospital and all the extras I need to buy for that. After the food shopping, I have £20 left to my name, a ton of bills due and all the extra costs coming up.

As I did the food shopping, I could feel my stress levels building to mammoth proportions yet again. In the end, I came home, dropped all the bags of shopping on the floor and sobbed.

I sobbed at the unfairness of the whole situation, and how every single ounce of it falls on my shoulders because there just isn’t anyone else who ever picks up the slack. I sobbed with anger at how Greg has done virtually nothing to raise the girls over the last ten years, and yet I have to share the most difficult day of my life with him at the hospital, which I simply don’t want to do, nor will I be doing. He can sit in a different room from me; I will not allow him to laugh and joke his way through this day. He takes nothing seriously, and I don’t need it rubbed in my face that he has something to laugh about when I’ve done – and will do – all the work for the children we brought into the world together.

I haven’t allowed myself to even think about the operation, nor will I. It’s too much for me to cope with. I can’t help wondering if I’m focusing so much on everything else to avoid thinking about that. I don’t want those thoughts out there just yet. Thursday is the day that will happen, and that day will be awful; the waiting will be awful.