The truth is I’m not feeling fine. This is the first time I have been back to the hospital since I came out. Every so often I hear sirens outside and it makes me jump up in my seat. I look along the corridor as a man in scrubs and a mask hurries along. Is he responding to whatever is in the ambulance? Is it an adult or a child? Will he save them? And then it comes again, the dream, and I start to wheeze.

‘You okay, Maggie?’ says Sonia, beside me. ‘It’s so hot in here. Do you need your inhaler?’

I nod my head and she reaches down and retrieves it from my bag.

‘Here you go.’

I’m just taking a long inhalation when I hear my name being called. I look up and see a man standing in the doorway of the consulting room opposite. He is wearing a navy-blue polo shirt and pale trousers.

‘This is us,’ says Sonia, taking my arm and helping me to my feet.

‘Hello, Maggie. My name’s Adil. Please come through.’

He ushers us into the consulting room. The walls are painted bright yellow and there are bits and pieces of apparatus dotted around. On the far wall is a large poster on which is written: THE BIGGEST OF JOURNEYS STARTS WITH ONE SMALL STEP.

‘Do sit down,’ says Adil, pulling out two chairs.

We do as he says and I sit there trying to keep the panic that is rising up inside me at bay by tapping my fingers on my knee.

‘Okay, welcome,’ says Adil, smiling. ‘Now as this is your first appointment I wanted to spend some time asking a few questions about your health and your lifestyle so we can go on to formulate a treatment plan that will work best for you. Does that sound okay?’

‘Yes,’ I say. I touch my forehead. It’s damp with sweat.

‘Great,’ he says. ‘Now I have your medical notes here.’

He looks at his computer then blinks awkwardly.

‘I understand that you have been through an incredibly traumatic ordeal,’ he says, turning to me. ‘I’m very sorry about your daughter.’

I nod my head then look down at the floor. Thankfully he takes the hint and changes the subject.

‘Okay,’ he says, clearing his throat. ‘Now I just want to gauge what kind of physical demands you have in your day-to-day life. May I ask if your job requires any kind of physical exertion?’

‘I don’t have a job,’ I reply, too drained to even begin to make excuses. ‘I was a full-time mother.’

‘Oh,’ he says, his face twitching slightly. ‘Erm, right, and how about your house? Do you have stairs?’

I shake my head.

‘Would you say that you were an active person?’

‘Active?’

‘Did you like jogging for instance? Or were you a keen swimmer? Before the accident, of course.’