9 months post stroke (you know that “accidental cerebral incident” that happened during surgery where it was <1% possibility of going wrong.

I type this after shuffling round our local pub for the night aware every step is an effort and how poor my walking looks despite my best efforts.

My arm is currently sat across my lap as I’ve got such little arm strength I can’t even hold it up to let it sit on the arm of the sofa, it flops around like a dead fish but heavy and stuck to me. Yes there’s the odd bit of strength there under some precise conditions but it’s not natural, the arm just exists hanging from me.

Did the surgery that left me disabled work? No

Do I have much faith in cardiac surgeons now?

No.

Yesterday I had my due catch up with my lovely local cardiologist. The man who initially put my pacemaker in and held my hand during that as I refused GA and let him poke my heart under local anaesthetic, I have incredible respect for him and I think he genuinely likes me, we’ve got a very good relationship

So after being summoned for a visit I can’t say I was thrilled to find out what was on my heart horizon.

We set off well when after being called he was thrilled to see me walking independently, relatively at speed and the difference from when I’d last turned up with an FES Device strapped to my leg and a walking pole.

So into the appointment where we discussed lots of things but primarily the biggest issue currently is my pacemaker not managing my heart well enough and my heart not being strong enough to pump as he would like.

“Ben we need to take out the pacemaker, wires and replace it all with an internal defibrillator” my poorly working heart fell out my bum and down two floors of the hospital, some pushing questions confirmed my worst thoughts. He can’t do it, it’s surgically too complex and big for a smaller hospital, back to the big cardiac centre and general anaesthetic where I had the stroke. I could have vomited on his shoes. I’ve spent 9 months working my arse off from a surgical accident to re build some of my life and to then be asked to put myself back on the front line again feels intrinsically cruel and just a massive kick to the tits.

I am heartbroken (physically and emotionally). Torn between going for it and going for a long nap on a train line ; I’m not going to do that, don’t panic.

I’m on the cusp of driving and working again, then this shit hides round the corner.