I was awake shortly after the 7am alarm. I had an eye test booked at 9:30am. I had a quick coffee and a shower and teeth clean. Then I drove over to the house to check on the husband, and fed and walk the dog.

Initially, I let the dog out and gave her some breakfast, while I had a coffee and my breakfast (which I’d brought with me). Then I went upstairs to see how my husband was doing and give him his morning medication.

He was lying on his back on the floor, the bed was in the middle of the room. It looked like he’d gotten lost trying to find the bed and just passed out on the floor.

I think the light disturbed him because he started trying to get up. His eyes were rolling all over the place, I tried to help him up, thinking that maybe I could get him into bed, but he kicked and punched me, although not with want great strength.

He clearly wasn’t right.

Then I noticed the empty box of zopiclone.

He’d taken an overdose.

I called 999 and before I’d even finished talking to the call centre about his symptoms, the ambulance was here. I tried to help them move things out of the way, but the noise was impossible.

I found myself curled up in the armchair, trying to stop up my ears hiding under a cushion.

I know the police came. I know that my husband thought they were going to shoot or stab him. He swore and kicked and lashed out. I think that the air ambulance came to deliver sedation, but I might have imagined that. I was there only in body.

Somebody got me outside and asked me questions. I sat on the floor. I think I answered, but I have no idea what I said.

They gave me a blanket, which I immediately put over my head while trying to drown out the cacophony with my hands.

Then I’m in the front of the ambulance, blanket still over my head. The clicking from the HDR l hazard lights was too much and I had to turn them off.

Somebody did check on me a couple of times.

I could hear my husband though the door of the ambulance, through the blanket, and through my hands, but it was quieter. Eventually the noise stopped and when I was next checked on, I asked the ambulance guy if he’d bring me my bag and sunglasses: the light was killing my eyes.

That ride to the hospital didn’t take long. The husband was silent in the back, but I could hear them talking and the rustle of packaging and the hideous beeping. The driver was sweet and asked a few gentle questions, which helped calm me a little.

At the hospital, the driver took me to a relatives room. I asked her to leave the light off. I curled up with the blanket over me again and tried to stop the beeping of machines and the squeaking of shoes on the floor.

Any normal day these noises would have irritated me, today they were physically painful for me. When I’m anxious, or have a migraine, or am overwhelmed by something, then light and sound are too much and are painful. I don’t much like the smell of hospitals, but I could tolerate that.

Somebody came and asked who I was and what I was doing there. I tried to say, but I don’t think I made any sense because shortly afterwards the same voice ordered me to leave or security would escort me out of the hospital.

I just lay there for a bit, then I wandered into the corridor and stood there with marching feet not knowing where to go or where I was really. I went back into the room briefly before deciding to see if I could find somebody to ask.

In an emergency ward I tried to talk to a nurse at the station, but the noise and hubbub and beeping and shouting and bright strip lights were blowing a gazillion fuses in my brain.

She told me to go back to the room and that she would come to me shortly. She seemed kind.

Back in the room I curled up under the blanket and cried.

I have been in hospitals for my husband so many times before. Each time was difficult, the noise and light was uncomfortable, but bearable – besides, each time I was there for my husband and I could defer the inevitable collapse until such time as was convenient.

The nurse did come to me and she was quiet and reassured me that it was safe in that room and that security wasn’t going to throw me out. She said that he was very poorly, which meant that he was now in intensive care. A doctor would come to me in a little while and explain what was happening.

The doctor wasn’t too long after. He turned the light on without asking. He told me that my husband was sedated and intubated and they were awaiting the results of various scans. He did ask if I wanted to see him. I needed to get out of there.

I walked from the hospital to the house. I tried to do that 5-4-3-2-1 thing that you’re supposed to do with people in a panic attack or PTSD flashback. Naming five things I could see, four I could hear, three I could feel, two I could smell, and one I could taste. The last two are always the most difficult. It did help to calm me down, although the traffic and wind continued to hurt my ears.

Back at the house all is quiet. The back door had been left open, so the dog was ok. I’m writing this down as best I can because the memory will fade, but I will be left with the trauma of it. I know this. I know that it has happened before … I just don’t know when or how often.

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I’ve been at the house for three-and-a-half hours. I have eaten, but I’ve sat in silence the whole time, occasionally messaging friends.

At 15:40 the hospital called. He is safe but sedated and intubated. They are just waiting until the morning for his medication to wear off enough before removing the tube and sedation. I could go in and see him any time up until 8pm. I don’t think I could drive now, so I’m going to leave it until after 6 I think.

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I fed and walked the dog at six, then drove over to the hospital. It was really hard to find the intensive care department, nothing seemed to be sign posted. When I got there I rang the buzzer for the main desk a dozen times over a twenty minute period, before just pushing the button for one of the “pods” at random. It happened to be the right one.

I had to wait another ten minutes while they did some “personal work” (which I took to mean washing him and changing things). I sat on the floor with my head in my hands and waited.

Exactly as she promised, the nurse came and fetched me after ten minutes and walked me to his room. She warned me about the tubes and things, but I’ve been in intensive care watching my husband fight for his life before – I was mentally prepared for what I saw and it didn’t overly distress me. I was also relieved to find that nothing was beeping and there were no alarms. I wasn’t quite as sensitive as I was earlier in the day, but I welcomed the relative peace in the room. The lights were a problem, but I kept my sunglasses on.

I held his hand for an hour before it was time to go.

Physically, he’s been in worse states. I used to be able to cope with these situations – almost enjoying the adventure (which feels like that’s the wrong thing to have felt – I mean I was immensely worried about my husband foot so his many hospital admissions – but there was a resilience to me that is gone now).

So, I am returning to the house to look after the dog.

I miss my little flat and it’s peace.