There are rough Christmases and there are rough Christmases. We've all had one or two. My 19 year marriage breathed its final, awful breaths over one particularly rough Christmas. There was a worse one tho. Christmas 1999. The year of the sausage casserole.

Son 1 was 3 years old. Full of excitement and awe. I was 5 months pregnant with triplets. 3 days earlier, son 2 (triplet 1) had died inside me and been brought back to life via a blood transfusion through my stomach and into him. I can never thank Dr Kypros Nicolaides enough.

My then husband was working 12 hour shifts over Christmas and New Year. After Son 2's dramatic heart stop shenanigans, ex Mr M began randomly bleeding from his mouth - apparently a stress related issue. He continued working 12 hr nights. The OT was to pay for the triple pram.

I was mostly unable to get out of bed as my liver began to fail (I can't describe the itching of the salts leaving via your skin when your liver doesn't work) & I had been throwing up for 4 months solid. But ex Mr M had to sleep off nights so, on Christmas Day I needed to get up.

His grandparents had the turkey and trimmings but they cancelled on Christmas Day due to feeling poorly. So I found a frozen sausage casserole in the freezer and defrosted it. Son 1 still can't eat sausage casserole, so awful (but memorable) was this meal.

I didnt know if my babies would survive. Son 1 didn't know what had happened to Christmas. Ex Mr M didn't know what was happening full stop.

The next Christmas was better. We've had good ones and bad ones since. None quite as awful as that one. Life does move on.