I’m now struggling to tell the time – it’s what happened to Bernie and it’s scary

In her no-holds-barred column, Irish singer, actress and TV star Linda Nolan speaks candidly about living with cancer, a disease that has also struck sisters Anne and Coleen and took the life of their sister Bernie. This week Linda can't read clocks and is scared the cognitive part of her brain is going…

I can’t really explain what it’s like to look at a clock for a few minutes and not understand what it’s telling you (especially when you're very aware of your minutes running out.)

I know it’s a clock and that it’s showing me the time – but the time doesn't land. And heaven help me when it comes to setting an alarm.

Denise filled the house with clocks some time ago. Big, digital clocks with the date as well as the time. Along with my diary which she writes every little thing in, it’s the only way I can keep track of things.

Now though, even the clocks are deserting me. It’s frustrating but also frightening. Clearly it’s the cognitive part of my brain going. It’s what happened to Bernie.

I think one of the saddest parts about it is how it makes me think of Mum, too. She struggled with clocks when she developed Alzheimer’s after Dad died. I didn’t realise then how she must have felt.

We often talk about losing track of time as a good thing, but it’s really not. Especially when you have as many appointments as me! You’re lost, and it’s scary.

It’s not great for the mood, either, all this clock watching. I even turned down a lunch with friends recently because I couldn’t trust myself to sit opposite them and be nice. That’s not me. I’m very nice, honest! Sometimes though, you just have to admit you can’t be smiley all the time.

I did attend a wake, though. (I know, I know – I’m not helping myself.) I wouldn’t have missed it. My dear friend of 51 years, Annette, lost her mum recently and nothing would have stopped me going to support her.

She’s from such a big family of girls they’d often got mistaken for Nolans when we were growing up. Me and our other fabulous friend, Suzanne, remember loving going round as Annette’s mum used to let us play hide and seek in the house which was way bigger than ours. (Our house was tiny and Mum was always too busy to play. Back then we thought she was boring when actually she was a saint!).

I couldn’t face the church bit of the funeral, that felt too close to home, but I really wanted to be there for Annette (and yes, Denise made sure I was on time).

I thought afterwards, as I always do, how lucky I am to have friends like Annette and Suzanne. We tell each other, “I love you,” they’re like sisters. As if I didn’t have enough.

Things haven’t been easy lately, but my friends always lift me up. Even if I can’t be smiley. Or meet them on time.