We move out of the bay and out of earshot. The consultant stops and says, ‘Social services are aware. If her contractions start again, we’ll probably allow labour to proceed: apart from anything else, there’s space on the NICU at the moment, so that could work well as he – it’s a boy, but she doesn’t know – will almost certainly need treatment for Neonatal Abstinence Syndrome. Either of you know the likely symptoms in the infant?’

Laura is on it again. ‘Tremors, uncontrollable crying and irritability. Sweating. Similar to the symptoms of adult withdrawal.’

‘But much more distressing to see, and hear, and it can last for several months.’ The consultant shakes his head. ‘Silly girl. If she’d sought help, we’d have popped her on buprenorphine to reduce the duration of the NAS.’

I wonder if he’d feel as judgmental about my old habits, and any of his colleagues who might use drugs themselves to get through the day. But no, we’re different: our self-medication is necessary, our stresses so extraordinary we can justify most things. It is amazing, the way doctors can place themselves above the rest of the human race when it suits them.

‘Will she be allowed to keep the child?’ I ask.

‘They’ll try with her and if she works hard then perhaps. But would you leave an infant in the care of someone so patently unable to look after herself?’ The consultant shakes his head. ‘I think it’d be a brave social worker who’d make that call.’

I’d been dreading Ob/Gyn, but to my astonishment, I like obstetrics, because there’s hope here, and moments of real joy. Babies don’t judge. If you can work out their needs and meet them, they respond with incredible speed. And labouring women are refreshingly direct.

Woolworth’s helps. I’ve developed my own fail-safe method of overcoming my introversion when I start a new placement: I buy whichever chocolates are on special offer – one box of dark and one of milk – and take them straight to the nurses’ station on day one. I also make it a priority to memorize the tea/coffee preferences of everyone I work with.

When the ward round is done, Laura follows me into the kitchen. ‘I can’t believe that patient didn’t try to detox once she realized she was pregnant,’ she says, as I line up seven mugs and add the requisite teabags or spoonfuls of instant coffee granules. Laura had better not be angling to try to take the credit for them.

‘How do you know she didn’t?’

‘You’d try properly, wouldn’t you, if you were having a baby.’