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How many women stand up to Britain’s cash-strapped National Health Service and strip its policies bare to reveal a strange, ingrown corruption that declares some patients inoperable, and sends them home to die, in order to balance their books and reduce waiting lists? The dual culprits in my husbands' potential demise were a nastily burgeoning aneurysm on his aorta, and a National Health Service so good at hiding life-saving information, even from itself, that it could spend as much to kill him as to save him. When a doctor can save a life, he is supposed to do it, but some keep silent about expensive treatment. Dead patients don't cost the NHS a thing. This could happen to any one of us. To capture all of what happened I have written a novel based on the events. Names are changed and some of the more complex events are compressed and simplified. This is a fictional account of a real experience and has featured in 'Take a Break' magazine in the UK.