I survey the contents of my tray: a glass of fresh orange juice, a bowl of cornflakes, two slices of white toast accompanied by individual portions of butter and jam, and a plate with a metal cover over it. I tentatively lift it and immediately regret doing so as I’m engulfed by the smell of cooked egg. This sends a fresh wave of nausea sweeping through my hypersensitised body. I slam the cover back down, pluck the orange juice from the tray and push the tray table as far away as I can.

At least there’s one advantage to having a head that feels like an overworked church bell: if it lasts much longer, I’ll meet my goal wedding weight well in advance of my self-imposed deadline. As this thought cheers me slightly, another moves across my consciousness, blocking out my little ray of sunshine. Dr Amani’s words from the evening before: ‘some possible anomalies in your scan’. What did he mean by that? It seemed to unsettle Dom, although a lot of things unsettle Dom. That probably means it isn’t anything to concern me. It would be useful to know when I’ll be seeing the consultant though, not least so that I can find out how much longer I’ll have to endure these breakfasts.

‘Excuse me?’ I call to a passing nurse. ‘Do you have any idea what time the doctor will be seeing me today?’

She approaches the end of my bed and takes a quick look at my chart.

‘You’ve been assigned to Dr Harlow. She’ll be doing her rounds late morning, so a few hours yet. Probably best you settle back and relax. Are you still feeling sick?’ She surveys my untouched breakfast tray.

‘Oh… a little.’ I shrug. ‘But not as bad as yesterday. At least my juice has stayed down this time.’ I tap my glass of orange juice.

‘That is a good sign.’ The nurse smiles at me encouragingly, then walks away.

For a few moments, I just lie quietly, trying to persuade my body to surrender to the rest I keep being told I need. It doesn’t work. As someone not used to doing nothing, I’m soon looking for something to occupy me. Reaching over, I pull my phone and iPad out of my bedside locker. It’s early, but Dom will be up and getting ready for work by now. I tap out a WhatsApp message:

Morning lover. Hope you got more sleep than I did. Been told the doctor will see me late morning. Fed up and bored. xx

While waiting for Dom to reply, I open the BBC News app and scroll through the top stories. I’m halfway through reading about the latest political drama at Westminster when a WhatsApp badge notification appears at the top of my screen, indicating that Dom has replied. I immediately click into it:

Morning kitten. Sorry you didn’t sleep well. I didn’t either without you beside me. Want me there for support when the consultant comes round? My boss will be cool with that. Dx