It was a beautiful evening. The domed hills south of Aberaeron were rendered in warm hues by the last of the sunset, the light breaking below the layered cloud casting long shadows of trees and hedgerows across the fields. But turning eastwards at Synod Inn reminded me that this was no casual evening jaunt, as my son drove me into the gathering dusk to a hospital a hundred miles distant – the unexpected result of a sudden phone call from a concerned consultant. A couple of weeks later I am back on my home turf, chastened and facing some new and uncomfortable realities – but with renewed respect for the good folk of the NHS, who may just have saved my life for the third time.
