Evening - Wednesday 23rd June: Intensive Care Unit.

They tell me to stay in the waiting area while they take the Old Man through to the Intensive Care Ward itself.

There are armchairs and sofas. And a fish tank containing three very small fish, and nothing much else.

And there are lots of people in this room. All in varied states of distress and talk and mobile phone fingering. Pacing and changing their groupings. Eating and drinking. All seem to belong to the same family group.

One gets me a small plastic chair and sets it against a wall some distance away. And I sit there for some time.

I think, in fact, for an hour or so.
It is very hot in this room.

At one point, I am asked to go into a small interview room, along with a few other people, so that a member of staff can talk to the large group. There is not enough space for all of them to fit into the "interview" room - so we must go into it instead.

I take my plastic chair and sit in the interview room. But I'm not very interested in the jug of orange squash and the four plastic cups on a tray that I believe must be by way of apology for any inconvenience.

I wonder idly if I have been forgotten. I take out my mobile phone and have a go at fingering it. I lose my nerve for calling anyone.

When I am let out of the Interview Room the large group has gone. I sit there in one of the armchairs. I get the phone out again. Then I ring my friend and ask her to come and get me. I can't do this much longer.

At this point they call me in to see the Old Man.