I was very ill with anorexia when I was a teenager. I went into hospital voluntarily, otherwise they were going to section me.

None of this was supposed to happen. At 38, I wasn’t supposed to lie on my back in the E.R. on a late December morning and be told by a teary radiation oncology resident that the pain I’d been having for two months — that I’d been assured was from having a weak core after months of chemo — was actually from a tumor that had devoured my L2 vertebra. John wasn’t supposed to have to hold me up on the toilet. Put my pants on for me. Do Christmas Eve for the children without me. I’m not supposed to be thinking about where he will sit and hold my hand as I take my last breath.

When I was young, I was pretty reckless – my 20s were quite hedonistic. I don’t know whether I’ve been close to death, but I may have been without realising.

On a flight between Beijing and London with Team GB divers. There was a fire on the plane. We landed on a long-abandoned strip in Siberia. Two days later, the same flight attendants told us we had beaten the odds by surviving.

Fortunately, I’ve often been happy, which you wouldn’t necessarily guess from the roles I play. I’ve always been very happy to have my children with me, particularly on location. My daughter was in in London when I played Mary Stuart at the National Theatre.

I dreamed of being an artistic skater. And a nursery nurse.

A good film, a good book, a good script, a long phone call.