XVII

This is a different sort of pain. Someone is squeezing my insides. Twist. Squeeze. Twist. Yellow blobs float in front of my eyes. My stomach heaves. Nurse has a bucket ready.

There is nothing of me but pain.

I am on fire.

Nurse lifts my nightgown. ‘I think we’ve won!’

Someone kisses my forehead. ‘Something else to drink.’

I float away on the pain.