I crawl out of bed, mouth clamped shut, and stumble to the toilet, hang over it, limp as a rag doll, my skin all clammy. Within seconds, last night’s curry makes another appearance.

Round about midday I rally a little and go through into the kitchen to make some toast. Ross rings while I’m waiting for it to pop out of the toaster.

“You looked so peaceful this morning I couldn’t bring myself to wake you,” he says.

“I wish you had. I’m late taking my meds now.”

As soon as the words are out, I regret them. I don’t want him thinking of me as someone who needs to be looked after, someone who has to be reminded to take her tablets. I’m his fiancée, not his patient.

“Shit! I didn’t think.”

“It’s not your fault. Even if I had taken them on time, I’d have probably brought them up by now.”

“Why don’t you go for a walk in the park? That’ll make you feel better.”

He’s right. Some fresh air will do me good. He was right about not dragging me to Aberdeen as well. There’s no way I’d have coped with flying today.

“Where are you now? Are you at the Beeches yet?”

“No, I’m in a cab leaving Dyce. The plane was delayed. I’ll text you later.”

After we’ve said goodbye I eat my toast with a banana. Each mouthful I swallow and keep down feels like a small victory.

—

It’s sunny outside but there’s still a chilly breeze. I zip up my waterproof jacket and stride to the end of the street and the entrance to Maryon Wilson Park. It surprises me sometimes how much green space this part of London has. I won’t have far to go to take my baby for a walk.

Ribbons of hair flutter round my face as I pass through the gate. The park seems to be full of mothers and pushchairs today, or am I just more tuned in to noticing them now?

Dr. Ahmed has been very reassuring, and Ross has told me I’ll be better looked after than most pregnant women, but I’m still really scared. Getting through the pregnancy and labor is frightening enough, but what happens after the baby is born? I’d hate for something bad to happen if I start having seizures again.