It is now almost four weeks since the cat tried to kill me. After my last blog post, the surgery decided to send out another paramedic, and the result was a trip to hospital, driven by Lou, for Xrays. And a ride in a wheelchair! Phone call the following day from one of the doctors at the surgery (my own was on leave) to tell me "Sorry, Mrs Cookman, I'm afraid you have a fracture."
Since then, Miles has bought me a stick and I have only been able to attend one of the functions I was supposed to attend. Haven't been able to audition for the big production next year, nor go to the First Night performance and party of my friend Dr Evadne Hinge. My Big Launch Party in Wales on Thursday has had to be postponed.
I am very pleased Louise has offered to "do" Christmas at her house again, because I'd never lift the turkey out of the oven, and I'm even more pleased that I can do my present shopping online. But there are little lessons I learn every day. Some I can't write about, having due respect for my readers' sensibilities, but the biggest ones are: don't try and cut your medication too drastically and when you're feeling better, don't do silly things like changing the bed on your own. That sent me back to the sofa and the painkillers with a vengeance.
Today, in a final admission of weakness, Miles is coming round to move the office computer and the lovely big office chair which currently lives in the conservatory into the kitchen. I will be able to work.
Murder On The Run will be out on Thursday, and my author copies arrived last Friday. Some things are normal!