To pass the time until Dr Harlow visits my bedside, I switch my iPad back on. My finger is hovering over the Safari icon, ready to resume my wedding-related research, when I spot the app for my work emails. Unable to resist, I bring up my inbox and scroll through the unopened messages from the afternoon before. Most of them are business as usual, but there’s also a thread titled ‘Re: Contingency for Finance Systems Project’. Curious, I tap on the latest reply and scroll to the bottom so I can read from the beginning. As I take in the words before me, I feel a sense of anger rising.

‘No. NO. Definitely not,’ I say out loud. ‘Laura, what are you doing?’

They’re putting plans in place for a temporary project lead to take over in my absence. What is Laura doing? She has no idea how long I’m going to be off. Neither do I yet. But one thing’s clear. It will be for as little time as possible. Hell, I’ll be back next week if I get the all clear by then. It’s only Tuesday. There’s plenty of recovery time between now and Monday.

I send an email to Laura to this effect and impatiently tap the side of my iPad with my fingers while I wait for her reply. It arrives quickly and her message is clear. I’m off sick, which means I’ve to stay away from my work emails or anything work-related. Full stop. It’s a message that’s padded out with supportive words, concern and querying how I’m doing, but all I can focus on is the line that says Alan Davies, my deputy project lead, is about to take control of my project plan, my team and my board reports.

As I’m working myself up into a well-pulverised stew, I initially miss the approach of people to my bedside, looking up only when someone starts hauling the curtain noisily open.

‘Oh, hello.’ I force a smile, wrenching myself away from my work-related crisis, wondering why I have so many visitors.

‘Alexandra. Good morning.’ The oldest of three doctors, a very tall, thin greying woman, who smells a bit like my late grandmother’s wardrobe and sounds like she’s swallowed a broken harmonica, addresses me. ‘I am Dr Harlow. I understand you had quite a bump to the head yesterday.’

‘I did, yes.’ I hit the button to lock my iPad and give her my full attention. ‘Please, call me Alex.’

‘Of course.’ She nods stiffly, then gestures to her companions. ‘I am accompanied by two medical students this morning. They are here only to observe and further their learning. Are you comfortable to continue the conversation with them in attendance, Alexandra?’

I glance at the two students hanging at the back, one male, one female, peering at me like I’m some newly discovered species. Although Dr Harlow is asking my permission – and she’s doing it very politely – I don’t really feel I have a choice. It reminds me of when I was a child and got a telling-off for asking my mother if Sasha could stay overnight, when Sasha was standing right there. I did it on purpose because it meant my mother couldn’t say no. Karma. Serves me right.