Cardiac Arrest Meet-ups: Stories of Strength and Survival

Here’s something that might surprise you: the most powerful realisation from last week’s meetups wasn’t something I witnessed firsthand.

It was what happened without me there at all.

Last week, whilst I was unable to attend, 14 meetup locations opened their doors across the country. One hundred and twelve people affected by sudden cardiac arrest—66 survivors and 46 co-survivors—turned up. Because you lot made it happen.

And as Stuart Menzies, our region’s organiser, who’s been driving this entire initiative, wrote in his summary to the region organisers, that’s bloody incredible.

The lottery of lightning strikes

We’re part of what one attendee called

“a rare and exclusive group.”

Except nobody wants membership in this particular club.

The demographics are brutal, as Stuart pointed out. Some areas have dense populations, higher incident rates, and packed meetups. Others? Quieter. Sometimes, a single attendee. Sometimes none.

That can be disappointing, even stinging.

But here’s what I’ve learned after 10 years with SCA UK: impact isn’t measured purely in headcount. It’s measured in moments—in the survivor at one meetup who’d never met another person who’d had a cardiac arrest. One of you said it best: that first encounter made everything worthwhile.

Another organiser captured something crucial: “Often it’s not necessary to speak with a professional or expert. The benefit has been knowing that ‘they’ are available and can be reached. The reassurance that help is at hand has been enough to allay fear and clear the worried mind.”

It’s like having a fire extinguisher. You pray you’ll never need it, but knowing it’s mounted on the wall changes everything.

When life gets in the way

Look, was I disappointed not to be there? Of course. But life gets in the way sometimes. That’s normal.

What’s extraordinary is what happened anyway.

Stuart’s own meetup in Scotland got cancelled due to Storm Amy’s bad weather. Did he give up? No. They adapted and went online instead.

That flexibility—that determination—is what makes this work.

We did a lot of virtual meetups during our early years and throughout the pandemic. It’s something we should perhaps do more of. Because sometimes the weather’s terrible. Sometimes you can’t travel. Sometimes life throws curveballs. But the support can still be there.

What Stuart and the organisers have built

Let me be clear about something: Stuart’s been the driving force behind coordinating these meetups across the country. Last week, whilst managing his own cancelled event and pivoting online, he still found time to compile and analyse the statistics, reach out to organisers, and write that brilliant summary for everyone.

That’s leadership. That’s commitment. And that’s exactly what this community needs.

To the 14 organisers who made these meetups happen—mostly in pubs across the country—thank you. You booked the tables, sent the reminders, showed up, and created space for genuine connection.

And Jeremy—thank you, top job. You organised last week’s meetup at The Mulberry Bush, the spiritual home of SCA UK, where we first met 10 years ago. This was only your second time organising an SCA UK meet-up, just months after your first. And you’re barely past your first SCA anniversary yourself.

That takes courage. That takes heart. That’s what peer support really looks like.

The ups and downs

Stuart’s message about low attendance really matters: “Please don’t be despondent if numbers were low or zero at your meet up.”

He’s right. It really is a lottery. Population density, timing, weather—so many factors affect attendance.

But here’s what I’ve learned: peer support operates on a longer timeline than we’d like. The survivor who doesn’t attend the first three meetups but shows up to the fourth? That’s the compound effect working. Small, consistent deposits—even when returns look modest—build something substantial over time.

Yes, there are ups and downs. The emotional labour of holding space for traumatised people isn’t easy. Low turnout can feel deflating. But the rewards? They can genuinely help in your recovery.

One of you wrote: “Meeting survivors and co-survivors is cathartic. It’s the best sort of therapy you can have.”

That’s not hyperbole. That’s lived experience.

When it works, it really works

Think about what happened at The Mulberry Bush. That’s where this all started 10 years ago—a few survivors meeting in a pub, realising they weren’t alone. Last week, Jeremy brought that same possibility to a new group of people.

Some meetups had 15 attendees. Others had two. One had none. But each location represented the possibility of connection. Each grouping became a space where someone could say, “This happened to me too.”

That’s powerful stuff. Especially when you consider that, as one organiser noted, one of their survivors had never met anyone else who’d had a cardiac arrest. After years of recovery, this was their first encounter with someone who understood.

Meeting in pubs, cafes and the like keeps it casual, accessible, and regular. No clinical settings, no formal structures. Just people having a drink and a chat about something that fundamentally changed their lives.

A community effort

When we started SCA UK back in 2015, the vision was always peer to peer, community to community, survivor to survivor—last week proved that this is precisely what’s happening.

This isn’t about any one person anymore. It’s about Stuart coordinating regions. It’s about 14 organisers stepping up. It’s about 112 people attending. It’s about adapting when storms hit and going virtual instead.

That’s a community building something together.

As Stuart said in his summary: “With your support and expertise, we can achieve this.”

He’s absolutely right. And we’re already seeing it happen.

What happens next

Stuart mentioned working together to resolve attendance challenges—reducing area sizes, offering incentives, and recognising that some areas simply have fewer survivors. Smart thinking.

But let me add this: maybe success isn’t perfect attendance everywhere. Maybe it’s accessibility—knowing that wherever you are in the country, there’s probably a meetup within a reasonable distance, even if it’s small, and sometimes even virtual when the weather hits.

Consider the following steps:

1. Connect with neighbouring organisers. Could you merge areas temporarily? Test joint meetups?
2. Embrace virtual options. If in-person doesn’t work, go online. We’ve proved it works.
3. Partner with local cardiac rehab programmes. They’re often looking for peer support options.
4. Celebrate the wins you do have. A single meaningful conversation outweighs ten superficial ones.

The survivor who’s never met another person with their experience needs the quiet meetup as much as the co-survivor navigating fresh trauma needs the larger group’s energy.

The real achievement

One of you asked whether we’d announce these results in the main groups: “This is really something to be proud of and let our community know about.”

Damn right it is.

Because here’s what we’re really celebrating: a national network of peer support that’s growing and adapting through collective effort. Stuart coordinating. Willing organisers stepping up. People showing up for each other in venues across the country. Adaptation when challenges arise.

That’s what a decade of community building looks like. Not perfection, but progress. Not one approach, but many. Not dependency, but genuine peer support.

To Stuart: thank you for driving this, coordinating, pivoting when Storm Amy hit, and taking the time to compile those statistics so we could all see what we’d achieved together.

To Jeremy and every organiser: thank you for your time, effort, and commitment. You’re building something that genuinely helps people recover.

To everyone who attended: you’re not alone. You never were.

Keep showing up. The rest will follow.