I am not someone who finds it easy to ask for help, or admit I can't do something on my own... but here I am. Doing both of those things.

On 5th October 2016, I sat with my fiancé in a small room in front of a geneticist, and she told us that he has Huntington's Disease. The heartbreak was instant. 

From my experience over the recent weeks, there have been two types of reactions. There are the people who are truly, deeply devastated for us and who understand what this means for us. 

Then there are the people who don't know what Huntington's Disease is. And 18 months ago when we first discovered Mark was "at risk", I was one of those people too. While trying to console the love of my life as he told me what could be in store, I said, "don't worry, whatever happens, we'll get through this. There's nothing we can't beat together."

How wrong was I. Because there is nothing I can do. Nothing he can do. Nothing any doctor or scientist on this earth can do. This Disease is coming for him, and there is nothing. No cure. No preventative treatment. No way to slow it down, no way to make the symptoms less horrific. Nothing. Nada.  

He will meet his demise after his body effectively gives itself brain damage. But this will be a slow process. He will suffer for up to 15 years, with a range of symptoms including personality disorders, anger and rage, depression, to the physical side of the disease where he will lose control of his body, every muscle on him will twitch uncontrollably, his limbs will flinch constantly. He will eventually be unable to walk, talk, eat, or remember. There will come a point where I will no longer be able to care for him, no matter how hard I try. He will need to be tube and drip fed, needing 24 hour care from professionals in a special unit. And then, after all his body has endured, the Disease isn't what will kill him. It will likely be a form of pneumonia. 

And that will be it. The love of my life, gone. My rock. My world. My everything. Gone. And while even the thought of this gives me regular emotional breakdowns, I know when the end comes, be it 5 years or 25 years from now, I will need to know that I have done everything in my power to try to rescue him from his inevitable suffering... To know I've done everything I could to try to save his life. 

And that's why I'm here, asking for your help, and admitting I can't do this on my own. 12 in 100,000 people get HD. Just 12. But those 12 people and their loved ones suffer incredibly. And while I understand there are some amazing charities and causes that do incredible work, HD research and the scientists working to find a cure are underfunded. So I've been thinking about what I can do to help raise some money to be donated towards the work that is being done to give Mark and all the other HD affected people around the world a chance at surviving. And I thought about the things I donate towards, and usually what grabs me is someone doing something outside of their comfort zone. So I'm going to run. Yep. The fat girl who hates running is going to do a 10K. I would sign up for a marathon to prove to you how much I want this, but Mark is going to need me and I think a marathon might kill me.... Haha. So yeah. A 10k. Anyone who knows me knows this is a big deal! I'm going to start by running every day in January to begin my build up to a 10K in the Summer. I'm sure you'll be delighted to know a daily sweaty selfie is guaranteed!

As I said earlier, I find it very difficult to ask for help, but if you can spare any amount of money to donate to a cause that is doing everything they can towards finding some treatment, and, in that process, repairing my broken heart... I would be eternally grateful. You cannot understand how much it would mean to me. 

I know times are hard, money is tight, and not everyone can afford to donate a fiver here and there, but I want you to know if you're that person... you can help too. Spread the word. Tell your friends. Tell the guy who serves you your coffee. Tell the people you work with... tell them about this horrific genetic disease called Huntington's Disease, and tell them it's tearing people apart and it needs to be stopped. And maybe they will tell their friends, and their friends will tell their colleagues, and those colleagues will tell the guy who serves them coffee. And then maybe when, in 10 years time, I feel I have to explain to someone why my husband is in a wheelchair and looks like he's having a fit... just maybe I won't need to explain, maybe that person will understand the battle we're facing and the incomprehensible sadness that comes with it. 

If any of you managed to read all of that and stuck with me through the paragraphs, thank you! I just want to finish by saying... It must be possible. There must be a way. There must be a cure. We just need to find it. I have so much hope, because I can't bear to accept defeat, I can't bear to accept the fact I'm going to lose him. And I believe the determination I have is what comes when you love someone more than you love yourself. So please, if you can help in any way, you'll have a little piece of my heart forever.