ABSTRACT
Eating and sleeping have become things of the past. Nothing matters except survival, for the children's sakes. The thought of making a will had flitted through my mind occasionally in the past, but was something to do when I became old. Now I may not grow old. Explaining to the solicitor's secretary why I need an urgent appointment is stressful. Climbing the stairs to their office is worse. I am about to make vital decisions which will affect my children within the context of my death. And my head is a wasps’ nest of chewed paper.
