Stroke and mirrors

Off shooting from my low (link pls) post about not being able to put the boots on that I like and ones that make me feel like me.

It got me thinking about all the little individual things I’ve lost and that then made me think it’s a bit like identity theft.

Let me elaborate, or try to

What makes a person individual? Let’s say you were describing your best friend to a stranger; I’ll do this as I go through describing my best friend Sam.

He’s pretty short, about 5’5 (he says 5’6. But I have doubts) I always said I was 5’8/5’9 but the day before the surgery and associated stroke I was weighed and measured and they said 5’10. My medical notes say that now so I’ll stick with it. The stroke hasn’t changed my height but I’ll keep the extra height I gained the day before.

He’s skinny, it’s funny how much emphasis we put on describing people’s builds and how sensitive it can be for some people. Pre stroke I think would have been described as muscular; I’d worked hard for years to ditch the skinny label; many, many hours in the gym and inhaling a high protein diet I’ve lost all that and can’t gain it back

I’d then tell you he’s got brown hair that’s thinning, short and messy.

My hair is usually very tidy in a skin fade with a textured short bit of length on top. Pre stroke I was quite particular my hair looked good but it’s impossible to get it how I want with one hand.

I’d tell you he’s always wears a check shirt and jeans and brown boots.

Pre stroke I was known for dressing incredibly well. Normally in a brand called Blakely. Their clothes are designed to be pretty tight and show off chest and arms. It’s futile wearing them now as I’m no where near the shape I was. Jeans that showed off my legs are also a no go; to get them on is a battle that would need a helper so I’ve lost more independence there.

Shoes, I miss wearing whatever shoes I like. I own so many pairs of boots, many timberlands, they are difficult to get on and impossible to tie.

Jackets and coats: it’s been a running joke for years about how many jackets I own, but I’m stuck without the ability to put one on easily.

My favourite outfit is a late summer / early autumn throwing a hoodie and shorts on. But long sleeve tops are an absolute nightmare and take two people. It then becomes a whole multi person time consuming saga and defeats the point of a quick layer.

Aside from his appearance I’ll tell you Sam’s hobbies:

Theme parks and travel, it’s one of the reasons we became friends.

Beer, he loves a drink, another reason we became friends.

Christmas, Sam’s job revolves around Christmas and he loves it

My old hobbies were the gym and gymnastics but again it’s something I can’t do anymore,

So without my hair, clothing, shoes or hobbies I feel like I’ve lost the unique things that made me, well, me.

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Apologies to Sam for this entire post and the less then stellar description I’ve used, I love you bro x

I’ve had a few days of feeling so low; I’ll detail each part of the day that frustrated me.

Waking up: I want to lean on my elbows, stupid arm doesn’t do anything.

Showering. I want to use both ask and hands, I miss a real shower, I’ve forgotten what running my hands through my hair feels like but I know I used to like it,

Putting toothpaste on my toothbrush, a really minor one but you try balancing a cylindrical toothbrush to get toothpaste on it twice a day when it should be a simple 2 second job

Dressing: permanently at the top spot of frustration list, I really, really hate not being able to quickly put on my clothes and needing help. (see also not being able to look through my wardrobe.

Running down the stairs. Yes I can do stairs and it took a while to learn but it’s slow and I miss being able to fly down.

Breakfast: I’ve never been a breakfast fan but I’d pull out someone’s eye with my teeth to stand with a bowl of cereal in my hand. I can’t even open the cereal never mind hold the bowl. Or I’d like to take a protein porridge to work like I used to and eat that. I can’t hold the pot up to the hot water boiler to do it nor hold the pot to eat it.

Shoes; I’m permanently restricted to those ugly slip on shoes; I have 3 pairs now so I can change it up a little but I also own so many pairs of formal shoes, timberland boots and more that will eventually just get thrown away. What a waste and like clothes it’s just more of my identity that’s been removed. Me and Timbos have gone hand in hand, or foot in boot, for years.

Driving, I appreciate I can drive but I miss the feel of 2 hands on the wheel, waving (or giving other gestures) to people, getting in and out quickly, fastening a seatbelt, pressing buttons, not worrying where my arm is sat, pressing the screen, not fighting for disabled spaces.

This specific day I managed to get a rare disabled parking space near work but then realised I’d left my badge in a different car I’d been in the day before so had to go to an expensive public car park further away, already cross at myself.

Work remains a constant disappointment; I miss the clinical activity so much, I can see a huge gap in skills that was my role pre stroke I’ll offer to help and hear “well Ben can’t do x,y,z” it’s a huge frustration.

I left feeling pretty flat and decided after dinner I’d take myself to the gym; I’ve recently joined a proper gym after having it recommended multiple times.

Gym essentials for me: water bottle, headphones, phone and car keys. I’m currently trying a grip claw style device, it gives my hand a resting point as fake grip so I can at least perform some movements without trying to grip at the same time . Trying to even get these items in the car with one pocket and one usable hand is a pain and I needed Rich to get my stuff ready.

Come the other end I’ve got to carry all my bits up 2 sets of stairs and into the gym. It ends up becoming a relay to get my stuff up to the gym so I’m fed up before I even start.

I’m conflicted on being in a proper gym again after a lengthy hiatus and using either the disability friendly gym or the tiny hotel gym we used for a while. I feel like I’m in my proper habitat; I like a gym environment. I can do so much leg strength work and this gym has new, to me, some really good pieces of kit for my leg strength.

Even using the grip claw I’m still finding it impossible to do the upper work I want, sometimes I just can’t get my arm into the right position at all others it’s just not a fit. Which is incredibly frustrating.

I spend half of my time watching other gym goers working out completely fine slowly seething with jealousy, then look at the boys with nice arms, chests and in fitted clothes and remember I used to look like that and don’t (and can’t) any longer. Dejected and walking out like buckaroo with all my gym bits attached to me I left.

I wanted a pick me up so drove to our local shop, to get some sweets but then remember I can’t carry more than one item or a basket, so leave with just one thing, annoyed again.

I’m almost 18 months post stroke. Upper limb has zero progression, I’m at a place where I’m questioning “what’s the point?” And do I just accept this is life and save my time and effort? The darker thoughts follow of if this is it do I want this life?

Everything’s backwards and I’m hanging on
No matter how hard I try I always come undone
Backed in a corner, uncomfortably numb
Watching myself become a shadow of someone

• 🎶Bad life – Bring me the horizon and Sigrid 2022

I’ve tried to write this post multiple times. As someone who struggles with abstract concepts and craves set facts, structure and evidence it’s proved near on impossible for me to write, you’ll see why.

By the time I hit hospital 3, the longer term inpatient rehab unit, I’d started to come to terms with what had happened. Everyone said I had potential, I was young, mostly cognitively not harmed and had enough prior fitness to hopefully make a decent recovery. I’m sure I’ve raved before about the ward and rehab team and how good they were. I, briefly, had access to a psychologist, a lovely woman who took time to explain this was going to be a life long thing and I’d grieve for my old life over a long time, but that was fine.

I remember her giving excellent analogies like when I said I was frustrated I couldn’t recall some early events despite usually having a great memory she told me “your brain records things like on a video tape, sometimes if things get too horrible it will just stop recording to not deal with it” it made perfect sense.

I told her my story about aliens, which was put down to my brain being in shock at the physical assault it had endured and the consciousness of understanding that, combined with lingering anaesthetic drugs and a penchant for watching sci fi and horror in bed. I was convinced from a very lucid dream that I had been abducted by aliens who removed my ‘being’ from my body to experiment on the body.

When returned they had damaged my body or I was in the wrong one and this was why I couldn’t move my left side.

I’m sure my subconscious was just dealing with the fall out as best as it could.

I wait some 16 months down the line for the aliens to return and sort out their errors.👽🛸🧠🤣😱

It started with a low light
Next thing I knew they ripped me from my bed
And then they took my blood type
It left a strange impression in my head -🎵Spaceman, The Killers 2008

I was asked to contribute to Tara’s Life gives you lemons Life gives you lemons blog unsure how to contribute I write a not-at-all-condensed history.

But as ever I looked for my usage so here’s a cross post 😇

Summer 2019 – I woke up one summer night gasping for breath and feeling tight-chested; I assumed it was hay fever and managed to go back to sleep, but I was scared enough to book an urgent GP appointment the following morning. On arrival, the nurse I saw first did some routine observations; she left to get a GP and returned asking questions if I was a long-distance runner or super fit because my heart rate was incredibly slow; I was neither. After declining to go to A&E because I felt ok, I was referred to a cardiology clinic. Cardiac clinic came through fairly quickly and after an ecg and echo I was told my heart was running dangerously low and would need a pacemaker, again I’d insisted I felt fire, I was regularly in the gym up to 7/8 hours a week. Begrudgingly, I was allowed to leave on a promise of going to A&E immediately if I had any cardiac symptoms. Come December, I was on the tram home, my chest felt tight, and I was gasping for breath. After dinner at home, I took myself to A&E, where my heart rate was very low again. I spent my night in resus with the defib parked next to me I was allowed home but told the pacemaker needed to be done urgently and soon brought back for a few days on coronary care until it could go in. 

I then went back to a pretty uneventful existence for several years. I worked as part of the senior management team of an operating theatre department, did home things with my husband and children, and even picked up a new hobby of gymnastics.

My cardiologist was happy that the pacemaker made me safe but curious why I’d developed the slow rate and occasional unusual rhythm. I was referred to a specialist regional cardiac centre. It was diagnosed I had a very rare inherited cardiac genetic disease that was affecting the conduction of my heart and would get worse over time. 

I kept seeing the consultants at the specialist centre as my pacemaker was doing nothing, and irregular rhythms were becoming more frequent and severe. In early 2022 we agreed an operation to burn new electrical pathways in the wall of my heart was my safest option, it would be done through keyhole surgery. I spent all of 2022 awaiting a call for the surgery, continually on edge. 

After another consultant visit in December 2022, the urgency increased, and it would definitely happen in early 2023. In May 2023 finally a date was booked. After a couple of stressful days of it being cancelled then booked again I finally went to the hospital on a Thursday ready for surgery Friday morning. Thursday night I remember signing the consent with a surgical registrar, under complications he wrote: conversion to open, stroke and death but listed them all as <1% chance. I’d previously spoken with the consultant about conversion to open, but stroke and death had never come up over the long 18 months of regular appointments, which felt weird. 

After a sleepless night and a stress poo come Friday morning, I walked myself to the theatre, unaware of the significance of that walk. Hours later apparently on intensive care I was starting to come round more, I remember finding it hard to catch my breath then spotted a tube poking from my left chest which I recognised as a chest drain and quickly worked out that there was a hole in my lung. I tried to adjust my position to sit up and despite trying with my arms to push upwards went nowhere I then tried with my legs and found the same result. Not long afterwards my husband had arrived and was sat with me I was trying to talk to him but no words were coming out. Getting frustrated, I started thrashing about a bit in the bed, which was assumed to be me in pain, and I was pumped full of opiates. This continued for a few hours until there was a conversation about a facial droop I could hear. I pieced it together myself: I can’t talk, my left arm and leg aren’t responding, I’ve got a facial droop, and this is a textbook neurological injury. “Why won’t someone do something?” I wanted to scream but couldn’t. One of the cardiology team eventually came to do a review and pieced together the same I did and called the city neurology service. I then had a CT scan reviewed by neurology, but it was deemed to be too late at this point to try and do anything surgically with the expectation the blood clot sat on my brain had been there for a very long time.

I went back to ITU and spent a couple of days there followed by an acute stroke unit, I could almost see my work office from the bed. After a few days of my husband and parents constantly travelling and being exhausted, it was agreed to transfer me to my local hospital for rehabilitation there. I was transferred early one Saturday evening with a team more interested in their evening plans. I was met at the local hospital by a lovely team interested in getting to know me, putting me in a private room because I was a young man. 

Rehab started Sunday morning. Sitting on the edge of my bed to assess my core strength, I felt drunk and like the room was spinning, unable to hold myself steady I toppled on a physio. I remained there for almost nine weeks with a continuous line of visitors (family, friends, workmates, gym friends) all keen to see me and entertain me. The physio and OT teams would spend hours a day working with me, my speech had returned, not powerful or with tone but I was talking, movement was hard, there was no activity at all on my left side. The team worked me hard and I was permanently exhausted even nodding off during a physio session, standing up became a big goal for everyone and I did it for the first time in the physio room with my parents there observing as they regularly did, we all had a little cry. Once I’d got the standing done we moved onto walking, to start with the physios were dragging me around or moving my left leg for me. After a few good days of progress one Saturday afternoon a lovely physio came in on her day off to do some more work with me, I’d been sat outside the ward in the sun with my family in a wheelchair when she arrived. We went into the physio room, and she asked if one of my family could help as she needed two people. My mum agreed. About half an hour later, with lots of assistance, I took my first wobbly steps and once again cried, as did my mum and eventually the physio. I’d given up thinking I’d ever walk again.

When I finally got home, I needed a wheelchair, a turning device and a shower chair to get me home safely, but it required a huge effort from my husband. 

With my physio and OT team following me home, we continued rehab for many months. After a few weeks at home, I mastered the stairs and went back to my bedroom and bed, which felt like a huge step. Then, I graduated to standing showers, with our en-suite being easier. In early 2024, I completed a driving assessment and, with guidance and practice, ordered an adapted car. In spring, I returned to work. I can no longer scrub in surgical cases, but I’ve found ways to provide other input and be useful.

It’s a long old slog this stroke business; it’s not fun, and daily, I still get frustrated and wish it hadn’t happened. 

Many of the things I’ve mentioned here for Life Gives You Lemons can be found more in-depth on my

One aspect of rehab / recovery I tend to be a little quieter on is the psychological impact, but it’s recently been on my mind a bit after I’ve asked for some clinical psychology input but it’s not been actioned as yet (hooray once again for poorly funded and run community services).

Anger – my fuse is shorter and I acknowledge that I bite or snap somewhat regularly where as pre stroke I was so far removed from any hint of a temper I was metaphorically horizontal, I suspect the permanent frustrations of life just sit in my head waiting for the crack in the dam.

I’m not saying I’ve always been a saint but pre stroke if I’d had a frustrating day I’d take myself to the gym and throw some weights around for an hour or two or throw myself round the gymnastic gym but I’ve lost those outlet options; similarly I might have played video games but it’s a 2 handed thing. So I’m left no real outlets to work out my frustrations or channel my energies when im struggling.

Guilt – I see the impact my situation has had on my family; e.g my husband hates shopping and cooking yet now has to do all these things and is permanently frustrated by them. I want to do these and help to support my family but simply can’t. I was always the planner and organiser of our house but I’ve had to let that fall to Rich.

Our holidays, breaks, weekends and general down time has had to change to accommodate my needs, we’ve not flown to see Richard’s mum for 2 years now, it feels selfish and I feel terrible about it.

I watch my parents, in their 60s running around after me, decorating, doing heavy lifting and manual work , I should be doing this for them it feels shameful I have to sit and just watch.

Confidence, I don’t look how I want to look with no control over making that any better , I can’t always dress how I want to without help, getting around, even just walking, takes so much thought and effort it’s a binding constant , I’m aware people watch my poor walk too which makes me self conscious so I don’t walk into or around places feeling confident.

Fun, prior to the stroke I was always a bit silly. I’d run around, I’d dance, as a tactile person I’d regularly drape myself over people, hugs weren’t optional. I’d pick my tiny mother up, especially if I’d had a drink, I’d play fight with my best friends, I would regularly tickle and torment my niece and nephew while playing with them then end with big hugs

Without the physical ability to do most of these things Ifeel that I’ve lost the whimsy, humour and softer edge that I previously had.

Kindness– I think, I hope, I am still a kind person, I genuinely care about people, I will still go out of my way to do nice things but the more spontaneous and caring things are restricted by my mobility, or lack of; I can’t, for example, note Rich saying he’s tired while I’m at work and then go and grab him a coffee from the drive through as a treat. I can’t go to visit my mum and grab a bunch of flowers on the way. At work I get frustrated that my colleagues have to make me hot drinks and while they regularly do I’d like to be able to take my turn and return the favour. I worry the perception is I don’t want to play my part of the team and return niceties.

Just shine a light on me, shine a light
I’ll shine a light on you, shine a light
And you will see my shadow on every wall
And you will see my footprint on every floor~my Shadow, Keane 2008

I had a hypothetical conversation with my husband over the weekend where we talked about what we would do if we received a significant amount of money, say a lottery win (we’re really overdue some good luck) beyond the basics of paying mortgages and debts off and nice holidays, Caribbean fly cruise if you’re interested, the usual stuff; we talked about health things I’d try if we could.

I have seen, multiple times, a device called a myopro robotic arm orthotic. Essentially an exoskeleton brace that uses nerve signals then provides the movement to match, it would provide a significant upturn in quality of life by allowing me to do more functional tasks like cooking, shopping, which then eventually lead to neuroplasticity. Short term quality of life increase with potential long term benefit; I’m on board

It doesn’t use implanted sensors or electrical stimulation so is one of the very few advanced rehab devices I can use safely.

The price is circa £40,000 plus it needs specialist physiotherapy intervention to train with it. Roughly another £6,000.

Beyond that I have, for a long time, read about the healing properties of stem cell treatments, I have pretty heavily researched it and would like to try a company named bioexcellerator based in Columbia. They combine stem cell therapy with other treatments all based in one centre with a hotel and appear to have a great track record. I’ve never gone as far as looking at pricing but would expect it around £30,000 too. Plus some significant travel costs to get to Colombia.

I’d love to get regular physio led by a physiotherapist not myself; I can and do pick up a lot from the physios and try to build things into my routine but high quality 1:1 physio is something significantly lacking. I do have an nhs community based physio but I’m only allowed one hour per month. My favourite physio I ever encountered was a private one just over 20 miles away, I’d love to be able to get weekly sessions with them. It’s circa £200 a session though so I can’t currently spend that much of our money every month.

Hi, just stopping by because it’s been a hot minute since I Did an update, ok it’s barely 2 weeks but I’ve had messages asking if I’m ok which is sweet, thanks.

Don’t panic, the recent surgery / defib implant went super well and I’m recovering very well but I really tried giving myself some good recovery time, rehab work has had to paule for a few weeks so I’ve not had much to update.

But I’m definitely still 100% here. Feeling very, very good in myself; surgical sites looking pretty bloody cool, it’s small and tidy , we’ve been doing lots of regular things like eating out, shopping, drinking and working (not all together, mind).

I think the upswing in my mood knowing surgery is done and went well is huge, I’m very happy . I’m even plowing through some of my drafts and part finished posts, there might be a flurry of activity on here soon. Please don’t forget if I’m not on the blog regular I’m on My instagram and threads I’m even good with responding to messages on those too.

Hoping my readers, friends etc are all happy and healthy too

B x

Not sponsored or endorsed, but if alpaka see this please feel free to reach out via the contact me page.

When in early 2024 just under a year since my stroke I /we were giving serious thought to returning to work in some capacity. I was driving and had my adapted car so that was one issue covered. While I knew I couldn’t do clinical work anymore there was a big chunk of my role that was management based and I could do that both on and off site to start, we even built me a little home office space which I took great joy in filling with trinkets. I’d covered getting into work. Clothing wasn’t an issue for now, I could wear my own clothes to start with and order some scrubs with elastic waist not a tie string, tops would be fine. Keeping on track with essentials: food. Pre stroke I would walk to the canteen, grab something or if I had time run down to a local shop or sandwich place. These options were now gone: speed of moving and carrying both not fitting.

So I would take lunch with me, if Rich made me a sandwich. A few months prior to my return when speaking with an Occupational Therapist about the return they recommended a cross body bag to carry things. I set a challenge to my family, find me a cross body bag, easy to open with one arm . Claire came through at Christmas with a great bag, fitting the brief perfectly.

It wasn’t until a couple of weeks of use that I noticed it was on the small side. If I had lunch I couldn’t carry things like my work iPad or a notebook. So I set about looking for something a bit bigger. After chatting with my team someone suggested a tote style bag: large, goes over one arm/ shoulder, wide opening.

However they are traditionally made tfor women. So I set about looking for a masculine version.

I somehow fell across a brand called Alpaka who make a series of different bags and accessories, masculine and pretty cool too.

I ordered their tote. When it came I was thrilled. It’s big, big enough to even fit my MacBook if I wanted, plenty of pockets on both the inside and out none of which are stitched, zipped etc so super easy to get in with one hand. The main compartment does close with a magnet which is fine. It’s a really thick high quality water resistant material and the dark blue looks masculine and classy.

I was so thrilled with it that I spent time looking for other products they sold. Doing a large amount of self guided physio in gyms has lead to a lot of headphone wearing. I would always put them around my neck as I was leaving the house but aware they were loose and expensive.

Alpaka do make a tech bag primarily for headphones, I ordered one in a nice deep green; it has a strap or a carry handle so I can always carry it somehow. Inside there’s a deep pocket perfect for my headphones (I wear Beats Pro for size reference) it’s got a couple of small pouches in the front and back one I keep a charging cable in, just in case, again accessible with one arm.

Appalka certainly didn’t design these products for people with limb issues but it’s a great by product for them and one I’m very happy to recommend.

Alpaka website

My tote bag

Headphone case

Note: this is the first true ‘live’ blog I’ve ever written as in: no reviews, no proofreads, no edits before publishing.

I’ve put in previous posts (linkage please) how we knew more surgery was coming in summer 24 and it would be a ooner rather than later.

I got the call during work (did I post this? If so link please)

I planned my week knowing surgery was a Friday morning with a pre night stay and 5pm admission on the Thursday.

I worked Monday. In the evening me and Rich went out for a fat carvery, because everyone needs carbs in times like this.

Tuesday I worked then had dinner at home with the family, I quite fancied a night moping and drinking beer but I didn’t have much beer in ( silly man) and still can’t get into a shop alone and get out. But I did have a quiet evening mostly alone with my headphones on and the dog watching over me.

Wednesday was my day off. I was glad I didn’t drink much more because I had a gym session and still needed to get up. I went and found the gym I used with the disabled group had finished a refurb and was a lovely space now with all new kit, frustratingly most beyond my use though. I did get a great leg work out in and a little bit of upper physio based movement.

Afterwards I had lunch with both of my parents, later me and mum nipped to the shop so I could grab dinner and some last minute hospital things (sweets).

Later on I had a full physio session where my new physio really challenged me on things like balance and stairs of different heights. Probably not ideal after a gym session in the morning.

I “packed” my hospital bag by which I mean I put stuff on the bed next to my empty bag for Rich to sort. Come the evening I had a nice dinner with lots of carbs, I fancied getting a bottle of wine in me but thought better of it.

I went to bed expecting to be asleep in seconds, sadly not, when Richard’s alarm went off at 5 I was already awake and googling the million things in my brain. I got up just before my 6:30 alarm for the first time in my life.

I went into work, spent the morning with my team, drinking tea, eating ice creams and actually having an enjoyable time despite the chaos in my head and tiredness.

All my team were very gentle with me and aware I was worried. I finished at lunch time with lots of hugs and left for home planning: lunch, a nap, pack my last bits then leave about 2:30 when Rich was free from work to drive.

I got home and did eat and pack, had a bit of a panic poo, no nap but Rich was free a tad earlier so we set off. The drive pretty uneventful but I did note the odd stray tear escaping down my face; essentially pure fear.

We arrived 2 hours before the admission time, waiting for admission and a bed. Bits happened but slowly and sparodically, around 5pm I was offered a meal on the ward but me and Rich decided to head to the coffee shop and have a last dinner together. Nothing exciting. But it was distracting if nothing else.

On return I got a bed. Unpacked my bag and settled in. My cardiac surgeon who I’ve met multiple times before came for a chat, noted my apparent facial concerns but we talked through the procedure again, wrote a consent form and planned the morning. he’d promised all along I would be able to speak to the anaesthetist and good to his word one appeared; I talked through my previous surgical experience and that in my opinion if neurological observations had been done early on in my recovery the stroke could have been treated. He understood my concerns and quickly thought of a care plan for me while I was his patient; it offered me great reassurance.

Rich left about 7, I didn’t want him to leave, it all felt like the nights apart we had last year, I watched his iPhone tracking marker get further and further away until I could see him home. I eventually tried to lay down and sleep but it evaded me once again.

Around 5am I decided to start getting ready for surgery, I acquired a hospital gown and mostly changed my clothing, packed my stuff away and then sat and watched the sun rise.

I went to theatre just before 9, insisting on walking myself, I chatted with the team while having monitoring fitted. The anaesthetic started and my next memory is the recovery area. 2 nice practitioners talking to me, I was desperately trying to ask if the surgery had gone well and if my chest had been opened. Yes and no I was assured. My throat was sore and I was dry, I tried to sit up but was promptly told to lay back down, my blood pressure was low. I looked at the monitor just in my eyeline and could see the monitor and Indeed my BP was low, I could see the team preparing fluid to help increase it. What was nice was being awake enough to note the rough time. Be aware some neurological observations were being done and do my own little bits like moving my affected side to check I could still do that. I saw the time on the monitor as 12:30 and asked if Rich could be phoned. One of The nice practitioners phoned him while stood beside me relayed a said he was out walking the dog and would come up once back home.

I was brightly awake pretty fast, mainly because I was desperate for a wee after being pumped full of fluid, trying to wee in a a urine bottle (yuck, yes them again) without sitting up and being at a weird angle is very difficult. I was also hungry, a nice nurse made me some toast and tea, she sat with me and ate some toast too. around this time my cardiac consultant came through, told me it had all gone as planned and he was pleased, he gave me a shoulder squeeze and I turned into a puddle at the kindness.

I was listening to the room , because there was nothing else to listen to, to their coordinator accepting some out of hospital cardiac patients, 2 from similarly named places and listening to the plans of which theatre / lab each would go to and why, which fits well with a job I’ve done for over five years, my awareness turned out to be of benefit as the expected first patient was delayed so the second arrived and there was confusion where they were going I leaned myself over the bed rail “actually he’s going to lab X if he’s the patient from Y because the other team have all gone for lunch” the coordinator laughed and was thrilled I’d pointed out the mistake that almost happened. It was agreed in my very awake state I could return to my ward bed space and see Rich, I was wheeled there on the bed and could see Rich sat waiting for me. It had only been about 18 hours since I’d seen him but it felt a lifetime, I could have cried just seeing a fleeting glimpse of his face.

The afternoon plodded on bookended by: naps,Wound checks, monitoring and some very invested cardiac physiologists. I asked when I could go and it was a mixed bag: I’d eaten✅drunk✅ had a wee✅ just a little walk and chest Xray before a rough 6pm discharge. At 4:45 I walked myself down the ward, slightly wobblier than usual, to the toilet, had a wee and walked back at which point I was taken for my Xray. By the time I returned it had been reviewed and with a bundle of paperwork instructions and records i was safe to leave at bang on 6. We were home just before 7. By 9 I had a beer, on the sofa, dog laid near us, chatting away like a usual Friday. Zero pain or issue.

Come Saturday, I’d woken once in the night when my affected arm rolled off the bed instantly pulling on the new surgical site but settled shortly afterwards. I snoozed the morning away. We should have spent the weekend at my longest ( by which I mean longest known) friend’s house with his lovely wife and children, but this had been aborted the previous week. Instead they would spend the weekend with his parents in the same village as us, we’d catch up at our house or in a pub depending on my needs. Around 11:30 I got up, Rich helping me delicately clean and dress, we agreed to meet in the pub at 2. Feeling spirited I offered to walk but Rich wanted to drive (likely wise) we had 2 hours of catching up, hugs, food and even beer, I felt great, after the pub we had a quick supermarket trip then home. A relaxed night on the sofa followed.

Sunday was another slow morning but this time with a bit more pain, Rich helped me wash and dress again. The bruising on my chest starting to come up and look pretty vicious. I had woken up still with a sore throat now joined by a very runny nose and sneezes.

After lunch me and Rich went for a walk to the big garden centre to buy a couple of replacement plants for our patio and had tea and cake while there. my cold like symptoms continued through the day and getting worse come evening. I suspect after a stressful few weeks and all on assault my body has done a great big sigh of relief and some bacteria has gone wild in celebration.

(I wanted a wittier RuPaul title but here we are).

I’ve posted before that I’m waiting for more cardiac surgery and how in the end despite my protests I’d been forced into it, I’m not safe without it. I haven’t got a choice of just ignoring it, like so many things in my life I’ve got to just deal with it.

We’ve been waiting a while for confirmation of when it was going to happen , it was always a mid scale timing (weeks not months) today the call came; I was in work, and it’s booked in for a weeks time. I can’t tell some poor admin person I need to pause the call to vomit with nerves. So I listened to the instructions and pretended to be grateful they phoned.

I quickly (well, as fast as I can) left my office and sat outside in the sun, phoned Rich with an update then text my family.

I phoned my boss too who came for a chat with me; the first person to ask if I was ok. Forever the brave face I said yes I was just having a minute to process and speak with my family which he respected and left me alone which I really appreciated.

If im honest i am absolutely scared to death about this; im not happy about handing my already damaged carcass over to possibly risk a slightly better outcome. I’ve played this game before and it didn’t end well.

I’m tired of constant stress and worry and seeing my loved ones deal with the same; permanently feeling like I’m the cause of their worry just adds to mine.

Someone joked I’ll bail on the day of surgery and it’s planted a seeed; I’m mentally preparing an escape route if I need.

I’ve done my best defending But the punches are starting to land
I’m sliding into something
You won’t understand – 🎶rut, the killers