MOST nights I sleep well, secure as I am in the rehabilitation clinic – no worries about being alone in a French once-farmhouse. But some nights the dark thoughts push through my constant fatigue and I lie there knowing there is no light at the end of this tunnel I’m in.

Last night was bad, for I have only six days left of my time here. They simply cannot justify my stay here any longer and I have been immensely fortunate they’ve had me for so long.

But now it’s home again, or rather what used to be home.

It should, should be, better – help has been set in place. Frankly, I couldn’t afford the full package at almost 2000 euros a month – financial help is given to those below a certain income but I won’t qualify.

So, we, the Social Security woman and I, played around with the figures. Now I will have help every other day and none at weekends. An aide will come every other morning to help me wash and dress and prepare lunch – I will manage the rest with the help of Miriam who I’ll pay separately.

The nurses will now come twice a day (paid through my social charges.)

Basically, then the cost has been reduced to under 800 euros for the aide.

READ MORE: Teddy Jamieson: Missing commuting? Me Too

And so, we’re back to the old dilemma of getting me to London beside my son and with luck the help of the Macmillan Nurses and a dedicated on-call team at the Royal Marsden to continue my treatment.

Many obstacles would have to be overcome in these fevered times to get me there with travel rules changing almost weekly. But the biggest obstacle of all is my fear of travelling as stress tightens my lungs and my breathing becomes shallow and laboured which stresses me more and on and on we go.

What a pathetic creature this disease and the accompanying COPD has reduced me to. I used to boast I thrived on stress and it often gave me the edge over competitors. Ah, those were the days, my friends.

Now even a conversation with my son, who really doesn’t fully comprehend this and expects me to pick up my bed and walk, can leave me panting and involuntarily trembling.

READ MORE: The curse of revenge bedtime procrastination

At least my recent experience of being home alone has cured me of my attachment to my possessions and I know I can just close the door on Las Molieres and walk (if possible) away, leaving them behind.

For as I explained last week, LM is just a house now, no longer a home. I need people – people who love me and want to care for me until the end.

At least, while coming to a conclusion, I’ll hopefully have the help of the sun and brighter nights to lighten my way and won’t be locked behind my shutters at 5pm because Miriam won’t drive in the dark.

And, God willing, I’ll see the flowers push through; the leaves start to fill out the trees, and the birds revelling in the new life.

But if I am capable, and the law permits me to get to London, then I can see human life develop in the shape of my two little granddaughters which ultimately holds a greater attraction than nature.

Sitting here typing this at almost 6pm I’m looking out at a blue sky, sunshine sparkling on the terracotta roof tiles of the south and I remember the heat and the beauty that drew me here. Remember the excitement of bringing LM back to life and of sipping cold wine as the sun went down but the heat remained as the stars erupted above.

Of smelling the night scented Jasmine as I walked through the ever-open glass doors to the welcoming coolness behind old, old stone walls.

I remember lying in my pool singing ‘I’m h..a…p..p..y’ and being almost delirious with the joy of my new life.

I had no thoughts of the future or how getting old would play out in terms of health. Do any of us not already struck down do so? If we did, we’d be paralysed by worry and fear and not enjoy actual living. Oh my, how fast the years go and with them strength and will.

READ MORE: The roads less travelled: why country dwellers need more buses. Country Life with Rosemary Goring

In a way I’m doing this now – looking too far ahead and freezing at what is to come. I have to remember again how to live in the moment and not lie sleepless thinking of the future.

And I have to find the courage to cross the Channel for the rewards of love at the other end must be worth the fear and the pain.

Meanwhile I have to practice steadying my breathing, pursing my lips in a gentle exhalation and not concentrate on being alone again behind those closed shutters.

The days are longer, Spring is coming, all begins to bloom. I can but hope all will be well.