Angela is staring at the blood-strewn vomit splattered across the bathroom floor. She is in shock.

In a few minutes she’ll be in the car, driven by her husband Kirk, through the Sydney streets to Royal Prince Alfred Hospital, where doctors and nurses will fight to save her life as her organs start to shut down.

Time accelerates before splintering under the velocity. There’s the moment when she has reached the hospital, crawling out of the car, more vomit at her feet. Then the rush as onlookers run to gather her up. The moment when her sister is grabbing her hand — eyes filled with fear — telling her what the doctors are saying.

She looks at her sister. “I don’t want to die.” She thinks of the baby she is carrying inside her. “I love my baby, but I don’t want to die.” Then Angela’s mind is carried elsewhere and she’s looking down from above, on the nurses and doctors swarming around her body.