For those of a nervous disposition (snowflakes), turn away now…
First of all, I have to say to sorry to myself for not keeping my blogs up to date. It was something I promised myself right at the beginning. At least one post a week. Unfortunately due to circumstances beyond my control (or were they?) that particular target has not been possible. Due to recent developments in the heart department, I have had to take a break.
As my follower will know a few weeks ago I had an angiogram to discover the cause of my breathlessness, my angina (in this case painless, yet uncomfortable). It was discovered I had a mildly furred-up artery and therefore needed an invasive procedure, in this case a stent.
Coventry Hospital here I come.
I ought say at this point that although initially nervous I wasn’t too worried. I knew that the procedure was the same as the angiogram. An insertion of a ‘wire’ into the artery at my wrist, then up the arm turn right at the shoulder and onward into the heart. Easy.
As it was the angiogram was simple and better still, even without something to send me to a better place, I never felt a thing. OK so the new procedure was different insomuch it would be carrying a payload ( *a stent) but so what? There can’t be that much different.
How wrong I was.
Apart from the fact that it took probably three times as long it was the most uncomfortable and invasive piece of ‘fiddling about’ I have ever experienced, I did not like it one bit.
OK, so it wasn’t painful as such but imagine having someone pushing about in your interior and you feeling their every move. Worse than that, being asked to take huge breaths so the manipulator can manoeuvre his way through the many twist and turns of your blood vessels so he can find the main route to your ticker…’right so go down here, turn left at the junction and straight across…when you get to the McDonald’s pull a sharp right over the level crossing…’ That’s what it was like and it seemed to go on for ever. Add to this the surgeon’s cries of…’pressure on…14….20’ and that was my day. Horrible. I felt like an on-line game. Exhausting and a little scary.
Any road up, **three (3) stents later (all varying sizes)
I was done and returned, clad in my rather fetching paper suit to Rosie who was napping in my bed space (except you don’t get a bed now, you get a rather snazzy ‘easy boy’ chair like Frazier’s Dad has in er…’Frazier’.) Then follows a three/four hour wait to check that you don’t bleed out or explode. You are wearing a pressure bandage over the entry wound in your arm artery that allows you hand to match the colour of the paper scrubs you are wearing and you are freezing cold. Tea, biscuits and sandwiches do not help. You just want to go home and die.
Battered and bruised (internally) and feeling sorry for myself I am at home and sleeping well away from the house hub-bub in my converted garage. I have to take a week off (from what I’m still trying to figure out) without any exertion. I’m still a little uncomfortable after 4 days but notice improvement every day. There’s no sign of ‘the new man’ everyone says I will discover but I’m hopeful.
There are two things that I will always remember about this experience and both are really nothing to do with the op.
The fantastic care I received from the Staff. The doctors, the nurses, the porters, everyone. There’s something magical about human beings in Caring Situations. The sheer humanness of the people involved. Beyond words.
The diversity of the people involved. God knows how many different races and religions looked after me. There was laughter, kindness, humility. The whole world was there and for one or two moments I will always treasure they were just there for little old me.
You know what? I feel sorry for the racists and the haters who judge their fellow men and women by the colour of their skin or their faith.
There is something wrong with the haters biological/psychological makeup. They are lacking something. It’s almost as though they missed out on a vital component as we progressed from ape to man. And the sad thing is…THEY REALLY DO NOT KNOW WHAT THEY ARE MISSING.
- A small Russian motorbike.
- **three (3) stents. The surgeons assures me the number of stents used is nothing to do with the progress of ‘the disease’ but more to do with the artery itself.