The verdict

I don't think I've ever dreaded a day as much as I'm dreading tomorrow. If I don't fall asleep, will that avoid tomorrow from coming? Tomorrow we will get the verdict. If it worked or not. Not that it can ever work in the way we want it to. But I guess everything is relative. Even this.

In English people sometimes say 'I'm scared to death.' the Swedish equivalence is 'scared for my life'. My mum said that earlier today about tomorrow. And usually when those words are used they aren't literal. Rarely people are actually scared for their lives. In this case it couldn't be more literal. I'm scared for her life. I'm terrified to the extent that I'm not quite sure what to do. I've written earlier about living in my bubble of denial. Now that's getting more difficult. But I still avoid thinking about it. If I let myself do that I can feel myself falling apart.

I really really really don't want tomorrow to come. While I'm so grateful I'm home so I can be here for this, a part of me wishes I was still in London. Then I'd be far away from this nightmare.

The thought of falling asleep and having to go to the hospital tomorrow makes me nauseous. Why did this have to happen to us? To her? I am so angry. And sad. I am really sad.

My goal tomorrow? To not faint. That's what I (almost) did when we were there in June.