"Are you sitting down?" my friend asked, carefully.
"Go on," I said, staring out of the window.

Conversations which arrive at this point aren't usually going anywhere nice. It's my ex, I thought with a dull reflex, done something stupid.

I'd had a text from her that morning, backing out of some commitment she'd made, saying things were terrible with her boyfriend, that she was no use to anyone at the moment.

So no real surprise. She'd taken an overdose and was in hospital. An accident, she was telling the friends who turned up to help her. That's possible. She's on some pretty powerful drugs - painkillers, over-the-counter sleeping pills and anti-depressants.

"But I'm ringing you to tell you she's alright," said my friend. "And it's not your responsibility."

No, no I don't suppose it is.

The following day I saw her in a different hospital. Back in the children's ward with our son, in for a fairly routine operation, one of the side effects of his ongoing medical condition. It didn't go quite as easily as we'd hoped, he was very upset, we comforted him. Like we always did.

We've spent some long hours in those wards and corridors over the last 12 years, doing what we could against the tired, dull work of chronic illness. Looking after him, looking after each other.

We sat in the canteen, a break for twenty minutes.
I asked if she was ok. She said an argument had got out of hand, she'd lost it, then felt like all the problems were her fault. At that point she took the pills.
"I was so tired, I just wanted to get to sleep," she said.

She seemed steady, coping. Our son's back with her tonight, back with me tomorrow, back into the normal routine.

What do I do?
Initially, nothing. She's getting therapy, our friends are looking out for her.

What do I do if it happens again? If she has the complete breakdown I've been half-expecting?

I'm going to bed. I'm so tired, tired out by these questions, by a sleepless night on a hospital couch. I'm apt to confuse and brood (like why hasn't the woman I was seeing last year bothered to ask how I am when she knows I've been in hospital, like why can't she be here to put an arm around me now....)

Shit. Bed.