The reporter is young, with too much gel in his hair, and had a habit of saying "wow, yeh, right," after everything Meg says. She doesn't seem to notice and has been happily chatting to him for half an hour.

I had cancer when I was a toddler." she tells him. "I got better, but the treatment left me with a heart problem." She shrugs, as if it was nothing instead of an illness that has taken over our lives for the last 12 years. She is on the sofa in our living room, the reporter opposite her, on the armchair Steve sits on to watch the footy. I'm next to Meg, trying not to answer questions for her.

"Wow, yeah, right," says the reporter, scribbling in his notebook. He's wearing a suit that looks as if he's borrowed it from his dad, and I wonder if he's on work experience. I look at my amazing daughter and - like I do every single day- count my blessings. We have almost lost her so many times. Yet here she is my strong, beautifu daughter, calmly explaining her illness.