Corrie was going through the stages of menopause, or so she thought.
The trouble was, she was in acute pain nearly all the time.
After trying to convince her GP that this was different from normal menopause symptoms, a CT scan discovered huge fibroids, and so a hysterectomy was arranged.
The operation seemed routine, and she was out of hospital quickly, however a tumour was found in the soft wall lining of the womb and a diagnosis found it to be a Uterine Sarcoma.
A rare and potentially deadly type of cancer.
However the consultant was fairly confident that they had got all the cancer during the op, but even so, referred her to the Sarcoma expert in Christies hospital, Manchester.
I went with her in February for the first appointment, where the consultant confirmed that they believed it to be a 'stage 1' sarcoma and they would just keep an eye on her, no treatment necessary.
He had also organised to get the biopsy re looked at by his experts at Christies.
Towards the end of March a letter arrived, saying that they were re grading the cancer to a 'Stage 1b', a more aggressive type of sarcoma and a further appointment was made with the consultant.
Corrie was a confident person and was not too concerned, as she felt they were on top of things.
She saw the consultant in April and he organised a chest x ray whilst also explaining that due to the re grading they would be keeping a closer eye on things.
Corrie had the chest x ray a couple of weeks later, and it was clear, so things seemed to be fine.
A CT scan was arranged for the beginning of June.
In May, Corrie was complaining about a severe pain in her neck and right shoulder.
She went to the gym regularly so she thought she had pulled a muscle.
However the pain was unbearable, driving was a problem and sleeping was difficult.
Still under the impression she had pulled a muscle or trapped a nerve, she went for the CT scan.
I went with her to get the results during the second week of June, as she was in agony driving.
The Registrar came in stony faced, and told us that her cancer had spread.
She had a lot of clusters of tumours around her pelvic region, on her bladder and bowels and pressing against her kidneys.
He was very sorry, and I was shocked and upset, but Corrie acted like she had just been told someone had knocked over her cup of tea.
She hardly blinked, and asked him what he was going to do about it.
He was surprised by her reaction, and asked her if she wanted to know what that meant in terms of long term prognosis.
"No," she said.
"I just want to know what we are going to do about it.
" He asked her if she was feeling any symptoms, and she mentioned the pain in her shoulder.
After a quick investigation he ruled out that it was connected as "these type of Sarcoma's rarely affect the bones.
" So we left the hospital, me shell shocked, and Corrie trying to get an appointment at the GP's for the pain in her shoulder.
It was like I had had the cancer diagnosis, not her.
Corrie had to wait until the experts had got together for a meeting to discuss what treatment they would do.
She saw the consultant the following week, by then she was in sheer agony.
He said they had decided on a new trial hormone treatment.
He was puzzled by the pain she was in, so decided to arrange an MRI scan.
However there was no urgency to it, and we had a holiday arranged for the following week.
The week away in a holiday cottage was awful.
Corrie was sick because of the amount of pain killers and hormones, she had lost the use of her right arm and she was in agony.
Her partner seemed to have no idea of the seriousness of her diagnosis, and when I questioned him one night when she was in bed, I realised that Corrie had told him that the hormone treatment was going to manage the cancer and she could just live with it.
It was like they were in complete denial, and I felt really helpless.
I have worked at a cancer hospice for two years as a family support counsellor, and I had already realised that she was probably dying.
She looked awful, and her pain was over whelming.
We returned home and the nurse at Christies arranged for her to have a bone scan on the Friday, the day after she got home.
She was waiting for the results before they would start any physio treatment.
I didn't see her for four days, then I had offered to take her to a meeting at her Occupational Health department at work on the Monday morning.
When I got to her house, I was shocked at the deterioration.
I had to help her get dressed, and she told me she could no longer feel the need to urinate.
She had to guess when she wanted to go.
I told her to phone her contact nurse at Christies and an appointment was made for her the next lunchtime.
It was now the first week in July, and I went round the next morning to take her to Christies.
She had been unable to get out of bed, so I helped her up, got her dressed, did her hair and tried to get her to eat something...
I guess I knew then she wouldn't be coming home, but we tried to stay positive.
At 1pm they were waiting for us when we arrived and the Registrar told us that the cancer had spread into her bones and spine.
She had a tumour on her back and her neck.
She burst into tears, and I knew this time she was listening.
The pain had taken all the fight out of her.
She was sent down for an MRI scan, which we walked to, it took hours because of the pain and then Corrie was sent straight to a ward.
She couldn't move her right arm, was losing feeling in her right leg and her left side was tingling.
She was made to lie completely flat, no pillows and they gave her morphine.
By 6.
30pm that evening she was completely paralysed from the neck down.
She still did not want to discuss the prognosis, but as I knew her children were abroad I pulled the Registrar to one side and asked him if I should get them home.
He said it would be wise.
It was going to be really hard to put a time limit on what she had left.
it could be two weeks, but if she responded to treatment it could be six months.
From then on things got horribly difficult.
Corrie was a very independent lady, and she was also very, very angry that this had happened to her.
She had a catheter fitted, but the nurses did not seem to be emptying it regularly, and the result was fluid backing up into her kidneys that were already battling a tumour the size of a jug.
Her body swelled, she was in agony, she couldn't move and she felt she was being bullied by the other ladies on the ward.
Everyday I went to see her I got a tirade of anger, some of it justified, some of it just ludicrous, but none of it doing any good whatsoever for her or her family.
She finally had to hear the terminal diagnosis, and I think that tipped her over the edge.
Here was a fit and healthy 51 year old woman, it was unfair, as cancer always is, but to Corrie it was like it was a personal attack on her.
She started re hashing old arguments with people, and ranting for hours about them.
She was sure the nurses and healthcare assistants were plotting against her and she refused to have any conversation with any of the other patients, who had similar diagnosis.
She complained about them constantly, yet seemed to be completely unaware of her own behaviour.
After spending time with her daughter one day I decided to have a chat with her to see if I could help her.
She was ranting about some woman she thought her partner had had a fling with.
I stopped her and tried to point out how crazy it all sounded and that she would be better putting her energies into more positive goals, like leaving good memories for her three children.
She went very quiet and I felt absolutely awful.
I was shaking all over and felt like I had just punished a small child.
The next day, however, there was no change and once again she was furious at somebody else.
She had radiotherapy on the tumours on her neck and spine, and some movement had returned, so she could feed herself again.
However she was totally reliant on people for everything else, and if you didn't do it right, then you incurred the wrath.
It was so difficult, and everyone was on eggshells around her.
She had so many complaints about staff put into the system, yet all I ever saw when I was there was very professional, round the clock care.
They had decided to start chemo, with the view to buying her a few more months.
She already had stents put into her kidneys that had helped the pain level there.
I kept hoping the anger would subside, and we would get the old Corrie back, and be able to start trying to look forward to things we could do to make her last few weeks more meaningful.
But it was not to be, the anger over shadowed everything, and everyone was feeling the strain.
Even I snapped one day I'm ashamed to say.
Something I regret now as it was pointless.
I was tired, emotional and embarrassed at some of her behaviour towards the nursing staff.
It was a petty argument really, but I was wrung out.
They managed to set up her house so she could return home.
She was still pretty much bed bound, but they had a hospital bed installed for her and round the clock care.
She had lost her hair with the chemo by then, and had blood clots developing in her heart that had to be treated, but she still managed her energies complaining about the care assistants, ambulance drivers and her boss.
There is no respite from this and it scares me that this anger and bitterness will be the legacy she leaves behind.
You always hear the stories of those who embrace their passing, the ones who fight to the last and leave cherished memories.
But really what sort of person do you have to be to be like that.
You are healthy, have everything to live for, you have just paid off your house, can work part time and take holidays when you want.
Then someone pulls the rug out, tells you your going to die really soon, and as well as that, you will probably be for the best part paralysed whilst you wait to die.
How do you cope with that? It's not quick, it's not painless and it's not brave.
I can wait all I want for her to come round and die the way I want her to.
But who the hell am I to tell her how to die.
Why shouldn't she be angry? Why shouldn't she make sure she has the best standard of care? I don't know how much longer she has, some days I think it will be soon, whilst other days she looks a bit better.
I have a new boyfriend, the first one since my divorce seven years ago.
She is my best friend and I can't tell her.
I am missing her very much and I would love to share this with her, but I am afraid it will just make her angrier.
I have put this story down, because sometimes I think people have an almost romantic idea of how they will face death.
The truth is, none of us know how we will react when our lives are ripped away from us.