But my recovery was not to be quite as straight forward as it first seemedmature

The group of strangers left the room leaving just me and this man that I could not remember, he continued to hold my hand as he sat beside me, I leaned back against the pillows and closed my eyes. He began to gently tell me what had happened, that I had gone to bed without saying goodnight, a very unusual thing for me apparently, he had immediately become alarmed and came up to see what was wrong, finding me unable to speak any intelligable word he had immediately called for an ambulance and I had been bought into hospital.

As he spoke, the fog gradually cleared from my mind and I realised that this man was my husband Steven, and that we did indeed love each other very much, I also realised that, although my speech was garbled, there was no way that I'd had a stroke, my brain was working overtime, trying to piece together the previous evening, gradually working out what we had been doing before this had all taken place.

I opened my eyes and Steven realised immediately that I recognised who he was, his face lit up, as did my own and once again, he held me in his arms, telling me all the time, that it was all going to be alright, we would get to the bottom of it all.

Just then the door opens and in walks a man in a white coat, he introduces himself as the on duty doctor and proceeds to bombard me with questions, to which I could only answer in the same garbled fashion as I had been doing previously. In desperation, i mimed writing and Steven says'she wants a pen and paper' so the doctor leaves the room and returns a few minutes later with a notepad and a pen, which, after Steven has helped me to sit up, he hands to me and the questions begin, he asking, me writing the answers, ' where are you?' he asks, in hospital', I write, 'what day is it? whose the queen of England? and so on and on he went, until suddenly, he turns to Steven and says ' this is no stroke, what's she been drinking?' Steven turns red with rage and retorts, 'my wife does not drink!', 'then she must have taken something, what medication is she on?' again Steven retorts ' the only medication my wife takes is for her ulcer and her asthma!, he hands over the medication that he'd had the foresight to bring with him, the doctor grunts and walks out.

By this time Steven was furious and tears were streaming down my cheeks in frustration, neither one of us knew what was going to happen next, but we didn't have long to wait. The door opens and a lady enters, saying that she needed to take some blood samples, this was going to be fun as I am not known for being generous with my blood. First she tries the left arm, no joy, then the right arm, mumbling under her breath, she returns to the left arm, still no joy, so she decides to try the back of the hand, I grit my teeth as yet another needle enters my vein, only to have the vein collapse yet again, she walks out and five minutes later, a young nurse enters the room, 'i've been told to take some blood' she says timidly, by now, i felt like a deflated pin cushion, but resigning myself to the inevitable, i handed her my arm, she tightens the tourniquet and slaps the inside of my arm a few times, then on finding a promising vein, she pushes the needle in ve-ry gently, and joy of joys the blood comes pouring into the syringe, minutes later, having quickly replaced the first syringe, with 4 more without loosing impetus, she leaves the room, looking a lot happier than when she entered, I lay back on the pillows exhausted.

By now we had been in this room for the best part of 4 hours and Steven was looking distinctly frazzled, but he simply refused to go home for some rest until he knew what was going to happen next, he sat and talked to me, telling me repeatedly how much he loved me and that he would always be there to help me through whatever was to come. my mind was reeling with the past events, twisting in a vortex of interminable thoughts some of which, I knew were memories, others a jumble of what if's and when will I's, I was wondering if they would ever find out what was wrong with me, but I couldn't quite work out how much of this turmoil was actual memory and how much was my imagination working overtime

The door opened and the doctor walked in with another doctor, who he introduced as a psychiatrist, Steven was furious raging at the two doctors that there was nothing wrong with my mentality,

I just lay there totally bewildered by this sudden turn of events, the doctors tells Steven that as it was clear that I hadn't had a stroke and my blood tests had come back clear, then I must have had some sort of brainstorm and the only way to get to the bottom of it was for the psychiatrist to assess the situation.

Steven agreed reluctantly, but refused to leave me alone with the psychiatrist, who proceeded to ask questions along the same lines as the doctor had, with me writing my answers on the notepad. He then proceeded to to ask me what I did during the day, whether I was under any undue stress, did I have any worries, on and on and on he went, until in the end, he too left the room as bewildered as Steven and I were. A few minutes later, a nurse came in, took my temperature and blood pressure, and told Steven that I was to be admitted to a ward and the consultant would see me in the morning