The words were scrawled on the page in a careful, neat hand.

April 4, 2017

We miss you loads...Sofia was supposed to come see you today but couldn't. She had a horrible day and fell out with the world.

A few pages earlier, another entry.

I held your hand and fluffed your head and kept giving your hand wee squeezes. I don't know if you know I'm here.

Both were written from the hospital bedside of a woman the writers were praying would one day wake up to read them.

Sharon Currie, 53, was in a coma. Her family had been told to prepare themselves for the worst.

The diary entries were from them. Her husband William, her sister Susanne and the many nurses caring for her.

She lay in her silent world for so long, their writings fill two volumes of the royal blue notebooks that were their only way to communicate with the woman they thought they would never lose.

"We wanted her to think, whether she believed it or not, that we were all strong and we were all tough, but we were far from that," says Susanne.

No-one had seen it coming. It had been one of those normal Sundays that all couples have, with Sharon and William taking a trip to buy a new kitchen for their home in Cumbernauld.

It was meant to be an exciting day, but while they were out, Sharon suddenly became violently ill. She had severe pain in her tummy and she wanted to just go home but William stood firm. He took her straight to the Glasgow Royal Infirmary instead.

The decision saved her life. Doctors diagnosed her with acute pancreatitis.

A small organ located behind the stomach and below the ribcage, the pancreas produces enzymes that help digestion.

In Sharon's pancreas, those enzymes were not doing their normal role - instead they were trying to digest her actual organ.

About four out of five cases of acute pancreatitis improve quickly and don't cause any serious further problems. However, one in five cases are severe and can result in life-threatening complications.

Sharon was that one in five.

Within hours she had plummeted into organ failure. William was told many times that she might not survive.

As her body battled to stay alive, Sharon slipped into a coma. It would be three months before she would fully wake up.

It was then that the battle for her life spread from her body to her mind.

"I couldn't speak or anything. I was just looking about," says Sharon.

"I felt as though I was in this big goldfish bowl."

Before she fell ill, Sharon was a busy wife, mother and grandmother. She was an early years worker who loved her job.

Emerging from her coma, the 53 year old experienced multiple complications as she was forced to learn to talk and walk again.

This time it was Sharon who turned to the blue diaries. While the notepads had helped her family to write to her, it was her turn now to use the pages to communicate with them.

Love you. She managed to scrawl in large shaky letters.

Water please. She wrote to her nurses.

Sharon spent six months in intensive care. The only way to move her initially was to use a type of hoist.

"I thought, I just can't live like this. I can't," she says.

Her sister, Susanne, remembers the hardest points.

"The conflict came after, where she was panicking about lots of things and we were a lot more confident and a lot more comfortable than she expected us to be," says Susanne.

"Because we thought, you're in pain? Ach,that's good. And she couldn't understand that.

"Because we had witnessed the nothingness, the times when she had, and did and felt very little.

"And all we had to depend on was a piece of equipment that kept her breathing."

When Sharon was at her lowest points, whenever her family got up to go, she would wave them back down to their chair.

There were times though, during her recovery, when it simply wasn't possible for her family to be there at every moment.

"From my family's point of view, if there was one thing we could have done different it would be to have never left her side," says Susanne.

"Because there were times when she was so frightened and we knew."

Small improvements could mean the whole world to Sharon. Having the strength to hold a glass of water. Or making the gigantic journey from her bed to a chair in her room.

The good days could seem to very good. But then, the bad days could sink her so very low.

The turning point, she says, came in the form of a tiny pink bundle named Mila.

"My wee nurse came in and she knew I was having a bad morning," says Sharon.

"She came to me and she said you get yourself out of that bed and you sit there because I have a surprise for you."

The nurse came in with Sharon's four day old granddaughter. Mila had been just a bump when her grandmother had fallen into her coma.

"Oh, and she was just beautiful, absolutely beautiful," says Sharon, crying.

"She was the tiniest, tottiest wee thing. And that's when I said right, that's it, I've got to get better. I'm going to be able to do this.

"Because at that point I was losing it. I was losing the will to live."

Sharon flung everything she had into her recovery.

The diary kept by her family and nurses helped her make sense of her own scrambled memories of intensive care.

"They've helped me to remember a lot of things I didn't know I remembered," she says.

When her daughter, Emma put on a song one day, for example, Sharon suddenly became quite emotional and didn't know why.

"It was dead weird," she says.

The song had been one her family had played to her while she was in a coma.

On some level, Sharon had heard it, even though she wasn't conscious.

"It's like that. It's a feeling," she says.

It has now been nearly a year since Sharon first fell ill and it could be at least another year before she is recovered.

Although back at home, she is still fed through tubes and she is scheduled for more surgery in the coming months.

The determined grandmother, however, has met more of her goals than even she thought she ever could.

"I can pick my granddaughter up, I can cuddle her and I can drive again," she says proudly.

One key part of her recovery, she says, has been the support she and her family have received from an NHS project called Inspire.

Based on an idea of "realistic medicine" Sharon is one in a group of intensive care patients who have been given tailored support at Glasgow Royal Infirmary alongside partner agencies to help her on her journey to recovery.

This includes joint weekly sessions with other intensive care patients who can relate to the many difficult challenges she herself has faced.

"You come out of hospital and people say you're looking great but inside you're tortured," says Sharon. "You feel sick."

The group work helped her. Her sister Susanne says that having the family involved too was a massive help.

"I think everybody on that group realises that getting out of hospital doesn't mean it's over, " she says. "For some, it's the beginning. And it's life changing."

The Inspire project started by NHS Greater Glasgow and Clyde is now being expanded to other health boards, including NHS Lanarkshire and NHS Fife, news that Sharon says she is delighted to hear.

She sees her grandchildren every week, enjoys every cuddle and is adamant that everyone should do the same.

Her family are simply relieved that the woman they love so much is alive.

"If you were to try and measure how you feel on a scale, and if your scale is one to ten, and ten is the death of a loved one - and that is a horrible phrase to use - watching a family member go through that, you're a nine," says Susanne.

"And you don't shift from a nine until they shout at you. Until the complain about something.

"And trust me, when she started to get better, she did shout."

"Our job now is to go through the good, the bad, and the very ugly part of Sharon's recovery," she adds.

"And as she gets better, we get it worst, but that's okay, that's absolutely alright."