“What’s that got to do with me?” I ask. Misha sits forward, staring at her intently.

“Your type of epilepsy is one where it’s recommended that you have the original medicine by the original company. Any deviations can cause bad side effects like the seizures reoccurring.”

“And is that what you think has happened?”

She nods. “You should have had a note on your prescription that you were to be given the original medication only. For some reason, the note wasn’t made, and I can only apologise for that. Please know that it’s there now, loud and clear for the pharmacy.”

I swallow hard, feeling slightly dizzy. I might have been holding my breath since I got into this room. “So that’s it?”

She shakes her head. “It’s a first hypothesis, at the moment. We’ll proceed with this theory until the other tests are back in. As such, we’ve put you back on the original branded medication. We’ll start with a slightly higher dose than before, because we’re essentially restarting the treatment, and I want those seizures under control.” She pats my hand. “I’m afraid we’re back to you feeling like an experiment, and I know you don’t like that.”

I shake my head. “I don’t have to have surgery?”

Her eyes sharpen. “That’s the second time you’ve mentioned that today, Charlie. Is that what stopped you coming in for your reviews?”

I flush. “I was scared.” Misha throws his arm around me.

“Charlie, you can’t do that,” she says kindly but firmly. “You coped so well before with such a massive change in your life that I forget you’re still fairly new with this condition. If something happens, we need to know about it. This is a condition that on rare occasions has proved fatal. You cannot afford to ignore changes in your health.” Misha’s arm tightens, and Freda’s expression softens. “Brain surgery is one option. It works for a lot of people. You’ve always seemed wary of that choice, but it is not the bogeyman. We should talk about it when you’re feeling a bit better. As always, though, the choice will be down to you.”

She sits back. “Now, I understand we’re switching your care to a hospital in Norfolk. I’ll liaise with the epilepsy nurse and the doctors there so we can keep an eye on you, but I’m very hopeful that this is the answer.”

“Thank…” My voice hitches, and to my embarrassment, I feel tears in my eyes. I cover my eyes with my hands. “Sorry,” I mutter, trying to express the mixture of knee-weakening relief and cautious optimism.

“Don’t say sorry,” Freda says softly and pats my head. “I’m going to get you a cup of tea, poppet.” I hear the door close, and then Misha pulls me up and into his arms.