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I became ill on the flight back to Manchester, collapsing in the aisle, fortunately next to a doctor returning from holiday. There was an ambulance waiting on the tarmac when we landed. Not that I was aware of it, I was comatose for over a week.
I had an ectopic pregnancy, complicated by also having contracted a sexually transmitted disease. When I came to, I had been aborted. I was very ill, I almost died. Which is one of the reasons why I am fond of Manchester.
The experience brought my wild lifestyle to an abrupt halt. I resumed my studies, was awarded a double first and was head hunted by my current, soon to be ex-, employer. They had been my father's employer and, unknown to me, had been following my progress through university.
My appetite for sex soon returned, but now I have monthly check-ups at a private clinic.
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