The memorable moments of my life, no, the testing times of my life, I have anchored with references that will always whisk me straight back to that moment.
Ten days before my 21st birthday - the sudden death of my beloved Nangran. I can picture the box room of my university shared house. Sitting at the desk, bursting into tears, the draining and sudden shock of the knowledge I would never see her again.
Eight weeks after the birth of my first baby - the calm voice of my mum telling me her leukaemia diagnosis. Sitting again, following instructions, in the flat we rented at the time, shaken and dizzy. The horrifying prospect of having to navigate my new role as mummy without the steadying presence of my own.
When Dadd outlined his own medical challenge, prostate cancer, 95% chance, biopsy results soon, the most common form of male cancer, very early, treatment options, I was already marking the spot, holding on to the moment - one week before my second baby's second birthday.
Compared to sudden death and a complex aggressive cancer that stacks the odds against you, it was relatively mild. But still, when the results came, when the all-clear was given and the lighthearted comments about having more faith in the five percent were being aired, the relief was immense.