In normal circumstances, Manpreet and I would likely never meet – our lives worlds apart, and not just because of the 50-plus-year age gap. But in this ward, we are equals; illness does not discriminate and any differences are replaced by mutual understanding and empathy for the situation we’re all in.

The friendships you form in hospital are unique in their intensity and brevity. There seems to be an unspoken understanding among patients that time is both limited and precious, and as a result, interactions seem to become more honest and heartfelt than they would in the outside world. I found myself sharing personal stories, fears and dreams with women I’d just met.

And this vulnerability is also forged because privacy becomes a distant luxury. In the shared space of a hospital ward, there is no room for pretence as only desperately thin curtains provide a semblance of separation. You hear every whispered confession and every cry of pain. You see the leaking catheters, exploding stoma bags and infected wounds. Each day a nurse will ask you about your bowel movements (a big deal in hospital) and we find ourselves celebrating these monumental achievements. In the outside world, I’ve never cared or even considered my friends’ poo schedules, but in hospital, you witness each other at your most unguarded, and these unfiltered experiences helped me find solace in these women, forming bonds that were as profound as they were unexpected.

Being a patient on an NHS ward taught me the true value of female friendship