4 days after my last entry the kitchen ceiling fell in due to a leaking toilet and I had ad several wakeful nights with a blocked nose and constant sneezing fits. A visit from the hospice physio and my outburst of sobbing led to my admission to my local hospice where I ended up spending 10 days. The first night was a disaster with nurses unfamiliar with my weak respiratory muscles not realising that lying on my back makes me breathless. Hysterical thrashing from me resulted in me passing out with a full blown panic attack. They ended up ringing gareth as I refused to get back into bed and they didn’t understand that I need to sit forward in order to type and obviously thought I w was trying to throw myself off a chair. The next day full apologies were given and each night after that they were very careful with positioning me in bed. However, for 10 days I barely walked and by the time I got home my legs had turned to jelly and instead of feeling glad to get back I felt very insecure and vulnerable. Never in all my previous catastrophic imaginings had I listed the walk to the toilet as one of my fears but now the effortt now needed h ad suddenly become immense. In ten days my legs had become almost as feeble as my arms. Depression descended As I realised everything had changed again and I had gone down a few more steps on the motor neurone staircase. A hospital bed arrived filling our tiny bedroom and leaving g and scrappy sharing a tiny z bed. Two falls resulted in a very sore arm and after Xmas we waited for my new carer to arrive: someone who would be spending all day with me.