It was the Taylor Swift Eras Tour, London, night three. After queuing up outside all day in the scorching heat, my two teenage daughters and I had managed to position ourselves second row from the front. We were a couple of hours into dancing and singing our hearts out when my eldest had a seizure.

While 85,000 Swifties screamed the lyrics they know by heart, the way most people know their loved ones’ phone numbers, Sophia – who had told me moments before that she didn’t feel well – was on the wet, sticky plastic flooring of Wembley Stadium.

Sophia, who’s 19, is epileptic. It isn’t photo-sensitive and she had been given the medical all-clear to attend this concert – the most epic night of her life – but I still immediately felt stupid for bringing her and her younger sister Ellie (who’s only 14) here; for putting us in this vulnerable position.

The medics soon arrived. I was about to administer Sophia’s emergency medication when one of them attempted to lift her onto the shaky, turquoise wheelchair he arrived with. This is when having a child with a disability as unpredictable as epilepsy really tests your abilities to function under pressure. Even there, surrounded by all these screaming strangers, with my daughter’s idol just metres away from us, I had to retain the awareness and communication skills to be able to question the attending medical professionals.