She used the word suggestive in her letter, saying that my symptoms were suggestive of it. It feels right. It makes sense. It was a shock. For both of us. Neither of us slept. It wasn’t what I expected for my life. I thought it would be long. So be it. Yesterday I talked about the power of acceptance, so this is to be my test. I don’t want the treatment. There is no cure, so what is the point? All that discomfort. I would rather live as well as I can till….till what? Well, we don’t know. She wrote that the MRI will confirm it, one way or another. I hope he keeps steady. Reading about it doesn’t help. I just need to wait, we both do. Wait and see. Meanwhile, there is work to do. And later, I hope the nurse can do something about my septic finger.

A grey morning. Been up to work, shopped and now have two hours to do a modicum of work before I have to go up again. I am detached. Tired. Watching. What will come?

By Ellen Bell

Artist and writer currently living in Aberystwyth.