Thank you for taking the time to come to this page. I want to explain a little bit about what this fundraising event is about, and why I care about it.

Firstly, in case you're wondering why I tagged you on twitter and asked you to visit this page - I am a music student living in Cambridge, currently studying for a PhD at the University of London/British Library. I have a condition called Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome which affects almost every tissue in my body. At the moment I take part in three disabled sports - para-rowing, wheelchair racing and horse-riding. I have tried to contact everyone I know in each of these spheres to raise awareness of my fundraising drive! Please read on...

On the 6^th February the British Heart Foundation (BHF) is organising a series of fundraising events, ranging from wearing red clothes to holding bake sales. The BHF is a charity which aids research into diseases of the heart and circulatory system. They also provide information to people living with all kinds of cardiovascular illnesses. These are things affect around 25% of the population, so it's definitely work worth funding. However, I also have personal reasons why I believe we should donate to the BHF.

On the 6^th February 2015, whilst people up and down the country are raising money for the BHF, I will be remembering 6^th February 2011 – the day my dad suddenly dropped dead of a heart attack. I was at university at the time, and I can remember every detail of the way I found out. It was a Sunday. On Sundays, we had rowing followed by a pub lunch. I'd just got back to my college when I had a phone call from the college Dean – he wanted to meet me straight away. As I wandered over to his rooms, wondering vaguely what was going on, my two big brothers suddenly emerged from his staircase into the court. My first thought was how lovely it was to see them, but after a split second I realised something was wrong – why were they here without telling me in advance, and why were they looking so serious and so strained? They walked up to me and each held one arm, and the elder one said, 'Daddy's had a heart attack, and – he's died.' I remember that word for word, and I remember the awful catch in his voice as he tried to say the last two words.

That was tough. What I think was even tougher, though, was the way that my brothers found out. The younger of my two brothers was at home at the time. It was him who discovered my dad lying motionless on the grass. This brother had been in the army, and only a few months before had returned from a tour of duty in Afghanistan. His first aid skills were therefore better than those of anyone else in our family, but unfortunately it just wasn't enough. My poor, lovely brother had to witness another death, but this time it was his father dying before him. He tried to help but there was nothing that either he or the paramedics he called could do.

My other brother found out because he was driving to the family home for lunch that day. He arrived home to the scene of people desperately trying to save a life, but being unable to. I can't imagine what that could have been like.

Obviously, it was very tough for my mum too. She had gone to church in the next village, and had waved goodbye to my dad as she left. How could she have known what would await her when she returned? Stuff like this simply doesn't normally happen – you don't wave goodbye, shouting, 'see you in a bit, be back around lunchtime', and think that you might never see your husband alive again.

The news was certainly tough for me, but if I could change anything about the way it all happened I would change it so that my brother hadn't had to be the one to find him, and to try desperately but unsuccessfully to save a life.

My biggest regret is a silly one, but sometimes silly ones are the ones that really choke us. It's something I haven't even articulated before, because whenever I think about it I just start crying, so I can't talk about it. Here it is: two days before my dad died, he sent me an email. It wasn't anything particularly special – there was a link to a website that gave money off vouchers to students, and it was just generally chatty and giving news. I read it but decided I didn't have time to reply just then – I'd reply later when I wasn't quite so busy. My biggest regret is that I didn't know that I should have replied immediately. I regret that I didn't take that last opportunity to sign off, 'lots of love from Lizzie xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx'. It wouldn't have changed what actually happened, but it would definitely have made me feel better about the whole thing.

My dad was, unfortunately, a heart attack waiting to happen. His blood pressure was stratospherically high, and although he wasn't enormously overweight he would slather food in butter and cheese, and he took very little exercise. However, he had never had a heart attack before, and he hadn't been feeling ill in the run-up to his death. It was an absolutely enormous shock which, to be honest, I still don't think I've fully overcome. When I'm at home, I pass his grave almost every day, and life in my family has carried on almost as normal – life always does carry on, whether you can keep up with it or not.

But that doesn't mean I don't still have times when I think he's still alive. Last year, I had an offer to study for a doctorate at Oxford. My first thought was that I had to let him know. That crushing feeling when I realised that I couldn't do that was only partly mitigated by my belief that he is up there somewhere, and already knew, and was already happy for me. Other times, I have vivid dreams in which he dies all over again or in which he miraculously comes back to life. Either way, waking up is a bitter pill to swallow, because it reminds me of reality. When someone we care about dies in a dream, we usually wake up relieved that it was only a dream, but in this situation it isn't just a dream. I wish it were. The worst is dreaming that he has come back to life – the utter joy in the dream makes me sick on waking.

In case you thought that heart disease only affects those who eat too much and don't take enough exercise, please think again. I have an illness called Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome – a genetic condition with multiple manifestations in the body. For many people, the heart and circulatory system are affected. I suffer from heart palpitations on a daily basis – sometimes brought on by exertion (although turning over in bed shouldn't really be 'exertion'), but often occurring when I'm simply sitting still and resting. I have trouble getting blood around my body, so I often feel sick and dizzy and find it hard to move. I am one of those few people who have been told to eat as much salt as possible in order to try and jerk my circulatory system into working properly.

Heart conditions can affect anyone – there are things you can do to prevent some of them, but sometimes you just get unlucky. Heart conditions affect an enormous section of society. The experience of my dad proves that heart disease affects not just individuals but entire families and networks of friends.

The BHF is not asking for massive donations, and neither am I. This isn't a typical sponsorship page – at the moment, I am simply not well enough to take on a challenge that I would ask you to sponsor me for, although if you like the idea of me going through pain to raise money then please feel free to sponsor my attempt to learn wheelchair racing. I'm only asking for small donations (although please feel free to give more!). A pound or two from a fraction of the people I hope to reach with this page will make all the difference. Every bit of money raised will help the BHF to fund more research into heart disease, and to provide resources to people living with heart conditions.

 So, here are three reasons to give to the BHF:

1)      Giving to the BHF will help to prevent experiences like mine and my family's with my dad.

2)      Giving to the BHF will help to keep people with long-term heart and circulatory conditions safe.

3)      Giving to the BHF may just save your own life or the life of someone you love in the future.

 

Thank you.