‘Of course.’ Dr Harlow finally seems to get the message. She and her mini-me stand and move towards the curtain. ‘I understand that you need some time to digest this. I would like to talk to you some more about the treatment and support available to you, but we can do that later. Perhaps with your fiancé there for support?’

‘Thanks,’ I mumble as she pulls back the curtain. The two of them disappear.

I sit in silence for a moment, paralysed into inaction, while my usually pragmatic mind tries unsuccessfully to reboot itself. What the hell was she talking about? How can I possibly have MS? These people around me, they’re sick. Really sick. But I’m not like them. She’s got it wrong. The scan results must have been mixed up or something. I don’t need to understand about treatment and support options. What I need is a second opinion.

‘Hi, kitten. How are you feeling?’

I look up from my iPad to see a huge colourful bouquet of flowers with a body and legs approaching my bed.

‘Hey, lover.’ I grin at him. ‘How was work? Am I glad to see you, this place is driving me insane.’

‘Are you being a bad patient?’ Dom hands me the flowers, which are actually artificial ones, and sweeps in for a long, lingering kiss. ‘I’ve missed you.’

‘I’ve missed you more.’ I rest my forehead against his, breathing in his familiar scent.

‘How are you feeling?’ He pulls back and scrutinises my face.

Not keen to start off on the topic of my health, I try a diversion.

‘I’m fine. Thank you for these. They’re beautiful. Peonies are my absolute fave.’ I stick my nose in the bouquet as if expecting them to have a fragrance.

‘I remembered they don’t allow real flowers in most hospitals anymore for hygiene reasons. Probably for the best though. I’m sure I remember bringing you home lilies once upon a time and getting an ear-bashing for it.’

‘It wasn’t an ear-bashing. I’m allergic to lilies. It was a choice between asking you to chuck them or respiratory arrest.’

‘Slight exaggeration.’ Dom takes the flowers from me and dumps them on my bedside cabinet. ‘But I wouldn’t have wanted to go to my work’s black-tie dinner that evening with a wheezing, hive-ridden date on my arm.’

‘Touché.’ I smile. ‘Maybe ask the nurse for an empty water jug to sit them in?’

‘I’ll do that in a bit.’ Dom plonks himself down on one of the chairs beside my bed. ‘I’m more interested in how my beautiful fiancée is doing. That OK?’

Not really, I think to myself. Because that means you’re going to ask questions I don’t want to answer.

‘So, how are you?’ he prompts me.

‘I’m fine. Told you that already. I’ve not been sick at all today. Still fatigued, but that will pass. Looks like I’ll be out tomorrow or the day after.’

‘Great. And the consultant? What was the chat this morning about the anomalies on the scan?’