I had what I can only describe a small stroke on Saturday. I was painting the ceiling in the living room, just part of the keep myself busy policy I've adopted. I did in small sections, so it took me a week to do complete, as I can only do a few minutes at a time.
I took a dizzy turn, and the whole room moved, sideways, spun around, then turned outside down, I couldn't breathe, my chest was pounding, I was sweating. I managed get down the two steps, and tried to get to the front door to get some air, hanging onto the walls as I staggered.
But when I got outside I still couldn't breathe, I was hanging onto the rail of the ramp, wrapped my writs round the bar, trying to cool my blood down, felt I was going to be sick.
It's the closest I've come to dying, since an incident a couple of years ago, I thought, this is it, I'm going.
After half an hour I recovered, I felt so relieved and glad to be alive, and straight away my thoughts went back to that night a couple of months ago when I was on the point if ending it all, and how I thank God I was stopped before I did, as it's good to be alive.