Things I remember from 21 years ago:
Shuffling, more or less bent in half, from the Portland hospital in central London to a long-gone restaurant called Villandry. I’m with my sister. We’ve gone for coffee. I have my wheely drip thing attached. It is three days post-Caesarian and one day since my baby was diagnosed.
Thinking that I should have gone with my gut and had the baby on the NHS, like her brothers. But we could just about afford to do it privately, and it seemed an amazing luxury. Private room! A la carte snacks! What could be nicer?
A sweet, nervous girl coming to the hospital room to teach us how to resuscitate a newborn.