I’ve always enjoyed the festive season; mind you, every season tended to be festive for me, as before I was an invalid (just look at that word!) I was a wild one. But I didn’t enjoy this one because last month, on Friday the 13th, I was taken to A&E in an ambulance and whisked into surgery for an emergency operation on an epidural abscess. Had I not finally caved in and admitted I wasn’t tough enough to never, ever need medical attention, I would probably have lived for no longer than 48 hours.

For about a week after the operation, everything was a beautiful blur due to the amount of superb drugs I’d been given before and after my spinal surgery (‘It’s like a five-star hotel here – I don’t ever want to come home!’ I excitably, if inaccurately, messaged my husband from intensive care) but I gradually pieced my missing week together, albeit foggily.

I had crawled from my flat at around 5pm, lain on the floor of my landing and cried, ‘Help me! Please help me!’ My lovely neighbours came out from all floors and called my husband, who arrived quickly, followed by an ambulance. I waited in A&E on a trolley for a while, had loads of tests and was then told that I needed an operation immediately. There would be a chance I wouldn’t walk again – but if I didn’t have it, I would probably die.

The reputable Johns Hopkins Medicine website says this about my mysterious lodger, the epidural abscess: ‘Typically, an epidural abscess is caused by a Staphylococcus aureus bacterial infection. It could also result from a fungus or other germ circulating in your body. Quite often, it forms in the space between the bones of your spine and the lining membrane of your spinal cord. An epidural abscess results in a pocket of pus that builds up and causes swelling. It can press against your bones and the membranes that protect your spinal cord and your brain. An epidural abscess needs to be treated right away. Much of the time, healthcare providers can’t find the exact cause of the infection.’