On August 31st, 2023, I drove to a garden centre. I was eight and a half months pregnant. It was hot, and I was wearing my blue dress. 

A loud crash from behind, a split second of dread. 

And then I awoke two days later in intensive care. They told me that the baby that had been growing inside me since the start of the year had died and that I was incredibly lucky to be alive. 

“The presence of the baby in your tummy saved your life.” My pregnancy bump had been my shield from death. If you hadn’t been there to take the force, my organs would have been crushed. 

Where did my mind go for those forty-eight hours while I was in an induced coma, intubated, my body held still by drugs, machines breathing for me? Where did my mind go while I edged closer to my own death only to be delicately and urgently saved by the team of 15 doctors and nurses? I like to think that my mind was with you.