He hesitates for a moment, then makes his way back to the driver’s side of the car and speeds away, keen to get parked and back to me as quickly as possible.

By the time I’ve climbed the five steps to the main door, I’m out of breath again, so I lean against the metal railing, noticing for the first time what a beautiful day it is – the sky is the bluest of blue, not a single cloud in sight. It’s the kind of day that would normally have me itching to pound the tarmac with my Nikes, then laze the afternoon away with Dom or Sasha in a beer garden on Ashton Lane. Instead, I’m facing a day on the sofa, watching my way through a box set on Netflix.

Flattening my palm against the red sandstone facade of our West End tenement building, I enjoy the warmth it’s soaked up from the morning sun: a feeling I’ve always loved, and partly why I had my heart set on one of these apartments. Will that now have to change? It would be gut-wrenching to have to give up our place after it took so long to find, all because there’s no lift. But I also don’t want to be housebound for weeks on end every time I have one of these relapses.

Feeling suddenly weighed down by these life-altering thoughts, I shift my focus back to something more pragmatic: how the hell am I going to get up these stairs? As much as it pains me to give in, I need to swallow the bloody great lump of pride I’m stubbornly chewing on and accept that I can’t cope on my own – just until my symptoms remit.

‘Hey… kitten. Are you all right?’ Dom appears out of nowhere, jogging up the path behind me.

‘I’m admitting defeat just this once.’

‘I did wonder if you’d manage.’ He unlocks the door, then scoops me up into his arms.

‘Hey, that’s not what I meant!’ I waggle inelegantly in his arms.

‘I know.’ He pulls me towards him and kisses my nose. ‘But I like the idea of being your handsome prince. You’re so independent. Let me have my moment.’

I take in his gorgeous, smiling face. His bluest of blue twinkling eyes and cheeky grin. A personality that can light up any room.

‘Fine. You can play the hero today – as long as I get to be me the rest of the time.’

‘Deal.’ Dom grins at me. ‘It’s a bit soon to be carrying you over the threshold, but this might be the only chance I get.’

A few hours later, I’m camped out on my enormous sofa watching an episode of Big Little Lies when the apartment buzzer sounds.

‘I’ll let her in,’ Dom calls from the bedroom, where he’s tidying up. ‘Just you stay where you are.’

Having decided the less physical effort I have to put into anything right now, the better, I don’t argue. Staying still means I don’t have the constant, conscious reminder that my body has embarked on a bewildering and relentless pursuit of self-destruction.