Mama Bear is a genius. Truly. She had warned me I’d feel rough at the weekend and wow, she was not wrong. By Saturday morning I felt TERRIBLE. Capital T. The pain in my chest and back was so bad I tried every position in the yoga dictionary. Unfortunately, I have never done yoga, so this basically meant contorting myself into shapes that would alarm a chiropractor. Nothing helped.

Meanwhile, The Rock didn’t just return to The Worrier. He evolved into Superhero Worrier, cape, tights, the whole emotional ensemble. All day Saturday he hovered like a very anxious hummingbird, while I insisted, “But Mama Bear said I’d feel crap.” As if her words alone could banish organ-level agony.

We’d been given a wee card with a special number to call “if anything unusual happened.” I had just been pumped full of radioactive drugs, so frankly, I wasn’t sure what counted as unusual anymore. Glowing in the dark? Growing an extra toe? Becoming telepathetic?

By Sunday, Superworrier was pacing the floors, insisting we phone the number. I kept chanting, “Mama Bear said!” like some sort of medical cult follower. Finally, on Sunday night, I gave in. I called, explained the situation, and the nurse said, “Please hold.”

If the next thing I heard had been “Your call is very important to us…” I swear I would have hung up and taken my chances with the pain. But instead she returned and calmly said, “The ambulance is on its way.” Ambulance?  But Mama Bear told me I’d feel a bit unwell. A bit unwell does not usually involve sirens.

Ten minutes later I was in the back of an ambulance with a very cute driver I couldn’t even flirt with because I was folded over like a collapsed deckchair.

A quick x-ray later, the doctor announced it was acute pancreatitis and I’d be staying for a few days. Lovely. I got my first proper dose of morphine and watched the pain melt away like butter on warm toast. I had to miss a couple of my daily spa-torture mask sessions, but honestly? Didn’t care. The pain was lifting.

Further tests revealed I was also harbouring a nice big gallstone, which at this point ranked about 47th on my list of medical bingo concerns. I simply added it to the collection and moved on.

Once home, I headed straight back to treatment the next day. Mama Bear was waiting, and the first thing she said was, “Right. I’m never telling anyone they’ll ‘feel a bit rough’ again.” She may not be perfect, but she is still one of the loveliest humans walking the planet.

LESSON 13: IF SOMETHING FEELS REALLY WRONG, SPEAK UP. THE WORLD DOES NOT NEED A MARTYR WHILE YOU ARE GOING THROUGH THIS. BEST CASE: THEY REASSURE YOU. WORST CASE: WELL, AN AMBULANCE SHOWS UP AND YOU SCARE THE BEJEEZUS OUT OF YOUR ROCK.