It all happened very quickly. I was feeling tired and weary, but initially put it down to having a new child. In May 1996 it was clear something was seriously wrong. By a process of elimination the doctors ruled out a hereditary heart condition or an infection that had damaged the heart muscle and blamed my condition on a virus. It could have been flu that anyone can get. In a small number of cases it attacks the heart muscle and damages the heart, which then deteriorates over a few months.

I went into hospital and after a series of tests I was put on the transplant waiting list. I wasn't given a timescale on how long I could survive without a new heart but it was weeks rather than months.

Death was looming large at that point and it was clear that I might not survive. I think I went through a grieving stage then for everything I would lose. I was also very angry that despite having led a healthy life my body had let me down.

I'd never smoked and only drank socially. At school I'd been captain of practically every sports team. At university I'd been captain of the football team and president of the athletics club. And yet there was nothing I could do. I was just waiting in that hospital bed, waiting for somebody to give me good news, bad news, whatever. I was helpless.

I ended up waiting 10 days for a new heart. Some people can wait for months or even years, but I was lucky: I was well enough to have the operation but ill enough to go straight to the top of the waiting list.

Initially when I came round after the operation I was just grateful that I'd made it, that I'd survived. I was in intensive care for 12 hours and was home after two weeks, just in time for my daughter's first birthday. That was a great feeling. I didn't really think about where my new heart had come from - the shock of coming out of the operation and recovering was enough. A few months later, at home, I did start thinking about it though. I've not got particularly strong religious or spiritual feelings so I saw the heart as a mechanical device, a pump for getting the blood around your body.

I'm still amazed that they can do the operation. They can take out your heart and replace it with one from somebody else's body and make it work efficiently. That's amazing. Coming to terms with having somebody else's heart inside me wasn't really a problem for me.

All I know about my heart is that it came from a young man from the North-East who was involved in a road traffic accident. He had a girlfriend but wasn't married and didn't have any children.

I certainly do feel a great responsibility. I got this organ from him and I have to take the best care of it I can. It was a great gift that I could have this operation. I know there are thousands of people on the waiting list and I got this heart and the chance to survive. I'm also aware that another family has gone through a tragedy for me to be able to survive, and that's something I'm very conscious of.

I could have written to his family, or they could have written to me, through the transplant co-ordinator, but it's not something I've done. I just didn't know what to say. It was an impossible situation really. I couldn't just say thank you, and words really couldn't cover how I felt. As time has gone on I've wondered whether I should contact them to let them know that I've got on with my life and things are going well. Or would that be difficult for them and bring back the grief and loss that they must have felt at the time? I did promise myself, though, that if the family ever wrote to me I would get in touch in return.

My outlook on life has changed a little since the transplant, but I think people assume that I wake up every morning, draw the curtains and say 'Ah, what a beautiful morning'. I don't. I'm still a normal person and I still have the normal frustrations of everyday life. A classic quote was that someone asked whether I'd have to move to a bungalow after the transplant and whether I'd be able to climb stairs. There are a few limitations to do with medication, but I'm not an invalid. I go to the gym three times a week, can go for a couple of miles run and a 30-minute swim without any problem.

The biggest change was that I had to give up my job as a dentist because the medication I'm on causes small hand tremors. I had to retrain as a physiotherapist. I qualified in June and started work again for the first time in seven years in September.

I don't feel disfigured by the scar. When I go on holiday I won't hide it. I'll wear a pair of shorts and lie on the beach. I don't have any issues about my body and the way I look.

· Robert Hodgkiss, 37, lives in Bolton