That is the thing the tidy version of this story always gets wrong.

I did not feel like a woman who had won.

I felt like a woman who had been given no choice at all and had done the one thing left to do, and who was very, very tired, and whose body still ached from being opened up to bring two people into the world.

There was no triumph in watching Flynn dragged from that lounge.

There was only a grim, exhausted relief, the relief of a person who has been holding a door shut against a storm and finally hears the wind drop.