This is the third time death and I have waltzed across the floor together. Hand in hand, we have tussled to the rhythm of my heart. Him pulling me closer, me trying to maintain my own dance space, dirty dancing style. Eventually I break away and skip into the distance, glancing over my shoulder to make sure that I haven’t been followed. Pushing the doors open I fill my lungs with the outside air, gasping for reassurance that I’m still here... that I can feel something, that this isn’t a trick of my subconscious and that my final dance partner has in fact escorted me from the floor and taken me home with him.
His timing was particularly cruel
this time, having just danced with my mum the week before. Sadly, she fell for
his charms and left with him, and it was during grieving the loss of her that
we met again.
I’d been having investigations under a cardiologist over the past year as I had been suffering from palpitations and episodes of blacking out. Due to the family history of cardiovascular disease my consultant, although not overly concerned, had decided to fit me with an ILR which in essence is a recorder fitted into your chest to record any unusual arrhythmia and remotely downloads to the hospital every evening. They equip you with a little scanner so that you can record if you experience symptoms at the same time. I’d done this on several occasions and had had a phone call the next day reassuring me that these palpations were nothing to worry about. All in all, a fabulous system.
Complacency on my part occurred the week following my
mother’s passing. I had recently dusted off my trainers and taken up running again. Running from my problems, my grief, my pain and running just so that I did not have to think. I was out with the village running group one Thursday evening and I was finding
it particularly difficult during the 5k loop to get into any kind of rhythm, or to regulate my
breathing. I undid my jacket, I took longer walk breaks, but I just wasn’t
feeling it at all. I decided to cut the final loop of the run off and
rendezvous with the rest of the group at our end meeting point. On the
final approach to the others I started to have palpitations unlike I'd experienced before and akin to having a racehorse
galloping in my chest, or being a stand in for Jason Statham in that film 'Crank'. I also started to feel unwell but I wasn’t particularly
worried, so I nonchalantly stuck my head between my knees and caught my breath and waited for it
to pass. Then I ran home. Yes you read that correctly, I ran a part of the way
home. I didn’t have my scanner on me and therefore didn’t record it. I simply had a
shower, watched Luther and went to bed.
The next day I went about my usual routine. Coffee, shower, kids and off to work. I felt in a reasonably good mood all things considered and I was busy catching up with some work that had accumulated following my compassionate leave. I was not particularly concerned when the technician from Papworth rang me to have a quick chat to confirm they'd noted last night's episode and asked me if I was symptomatic.. I didn't worry when he said he would show a cardiologist my readings and that I would probably get a call later in the day. I carried on being my charming self with my work friends, and I was looking forward to a Friday night with my feet up and a glass of something medicinal. So when I received a call approximately 45 minutes later saying I had to go to accident and emergency immediately - to then be admitted to Papworth, to say I was shocked was an understatement. Turns out my heart went into a dangerous ventricular fibrillation for well over a minute... which is one of the main causes of cardiac arrest, and to be blunt I was incredibly lucky to still be upright. Although I didn't know that yet.
Again, dimwit here drove herself to A&E fully expecting to be home by Monday at the latest. After all my mum's funeral was on Wednesday, I had to see the priest and sort sandwiches...
Upon entering the emergency room I explained the phone call I had received to the nice lady behind the glass and before I was even triaged I had an admission band circling my wrist and was taken straight into majors. I had worked in the NHS long enough to twig this was not a good sign, yet still my pea brain is thinking wow this is a lot of fuss for a benign arrhythmia (I know, denial is not just a river in Egypt). The upshot of my Friday night turned out to be a short weekend retreat on the coronary care ward, where a very dashing young doctor informed me of the full extent of my heart's overdramatic tendencies and they were liaising with Papworth until I could be transferred.
Side note here, I am not entirely sure that having handsome doctors is a good thing on a cardiac ward... just saying...
AGAIN, brains here still thought it was all frightfully over dramatic and that I was unnecessarily taking up a bed, but I accepted my health care professionals opinion and awaited further instructions...
part 2 to follow :)
