During the 16 years of my son’s illness, I seldom slept well and often landed up in the kitchen where I drank something hot and read. My husband did the same but not always at the same time.
One night, unable to sleep, I went down to the kitchen for a cup of tea. I didn’t bother to turn on a light and stepped into something squishy. When I turned on the light, I discovered that our dog had defecated on our new, cream carpet, something she had never done before, and I had stepped into it. Pity I wasn’t wearing slippers. There I stood, perched on one leg flamingo style, with the other leg raised and at first I was furious but then I giggled. I had really landed in the shit this time, and my son, David, who would have loved to see me this way, was not even at home. He was in a psychiatric hospital.
