Ma modelling her splint Time: A little after 3pm . I am slowly digesting the radiology report following my CT scan which has just been read to me over the phone. Normal. I don’t think a word has ever sounded so good to me. I still have the symptoms, but it isn’t caused by a growth lurking in my sinuses. Huge, tearful relief. It’s been a productive week at Hotel H , I’ve been balancing work – so tantalisingly close to the end of Book 3 – with trips out with Ma who’s been staying here. We’ve just been for lunch at a garden centre before I crack on with another 1000 words. Ma, who’s been pottering in the garden, calls out from the back door. ‘Have you got a plaster?’ ‘I’ll get you one,’ I say, getting up. And at the back door I see what looks like the aftermath of a fight in a black pudding factory. I know a little blood goes a long way, but a lot of blood goes even further. Ma has fallen out of the greenhouse, gashing open a varicose vein on the frame and badly twistin...
Christine Stovell, author and freelance writer, on living and writing in West Wales