Early hours of Friday morning I woke up feeling rather unwell. One a.m., and a stomach so upset I almost cried myself. The toilet seemed the right place to be, until I began sweating so much I passed out.
Coming to on the floor after I don’t know how many minutes, my chest was feeling fit to burst. I’d cracked it on the side of the bath as I passed out. I slowly made my way back to bed, still not feeling 100%.
I felt sick; and cold.
Back to the bathroom, and began vomiting. I didn’t know what the hell was happening to me. I felt so scared I even contemplated phoning our night shift at work, to ask if someone would come and hold my hand.
Yes, I was that scared.
Instead I waited till the local Health Centre opened at 8 a.m. The receptionist listened as I explained the evening’s events.
‘I’ll get the doctor to call you back’, she said.
A moment later, she rang back herself, saying an ambulance was on its way, and you might be kept in overnight.
A million things rushed through my head. The most important one for me was trying to get someone to look after the cat and dog if I wasn’t going to be here.
The Paramedic arrived pretty quickly, and started the process of questions and hooking me up to a blood pressure reading machine. I don’t think I was making much sense to the poor man; and even less when the ambulance arrived, and more wires attached to a heart monitor.
A hastily scribbled note, with a key attached, was finally pushed through next-door, and then the journey began in the back of the ambulance to the John Radcliffe Hospital, Oxford.
Four days and three nights; three stents in three arteries to unblock them, loads of pills, numerous tests and I don’t mind admitting a few tears from myself while I was there.
A big heart attack.
Back home this evening, my chest still hurts where I fell, Jim is happy to see me, and I’ve a brand new life style to try and get my head round. It’s not going to be easy.
For the first week of recovery I can’t walk more than 5 minutes a day at a leisurely pace.
I can’t drive for four weeks.
I can’t eat most of the things I enjoy.
And I’ve given up smoking.
Well, four days so far; but the surgeon was pretty sure if I carried on smoking, the next time I wouldn’t make it to the hospital.
I don’t want to go back there.
The Paramedic, Ambulance crew, surgeons doctors and nurses of the hospital all played a part in giving me back my life.
I’m not about to stub it out in an ashtray.
I may be a while getting round to everyones blogs, and catching up, but I’ll get there; eventually.