An interesting week.
The last time I had a heart attack, I dealt with it as any thirty-year old would. I took an antacid tablet, went to bed and took the next day off work. Seemed to do the job. This time, however, I took it a little more seriously. From the second I'd called NHS direct, things were taken somewhat out of my hands. Complaining of chest pains, it was immediately suggested that an ambulance be called. As I'm one of those 'don't like to cause trouble' types, having someone else call the ambulance for me suited me just fine -- I mean, if it was a false alarm, I never made the call.
Sending two ambulances for me, I felt, was a bit of overkill. Serves me right for living on the London/Surrey boundary, I suppose. As I walked up to the first ambulance, I got the feeling that they weren't used to patients walking into ambulances. A couple of ECGs later, which both seemed fine, and I was taken to hospital 'just to be sure'. The pain was getting steadily worse as we approached the hospital, and I was given a gas/air mix. I think its job is to amuse the patient, as the entire world slowed down.
I was wheeled out of the ambulance, through the nurses' communal smoking area, into A+E, and joined a queue. More tests were done, morphine was administered, as well as a drug intended to help remove any clots from inside my arteries. I was put on a heparin drip (to thin the blood), and dumped in Coronary Care Unit. It should be pointed out that at this point, I was still convinced I was suffering from something like a stomach ulcer, and that the hospital had got things very very wrong. They were evidently convinced enough (a blood test found enzymes in my system that only occur with heart problems), and decided to let my wife know, as she arrived about 11pm. Scary. I noticed that the Heparin was being injected at a rate of 2ml/hr, and it was a 50ml syringe, meaning there was 25 hours of this for me. Not good - I was hoping to get home that day. About 1:30am, Shona went home with instructions to call my work and let them know I'll be busy for a few days. If only...
The heparin syringe completed late Friday night, and, frustratingly, was replaced with another. So that's another day at least.
Finally, I got to speak to a cardiologist, who said that she was convinced I'd had a heart attack (yeah, like she'd know!), and I needed an angiogram - these were done Tuesdays/Thursdays at this hospital. There was a small chance, given my age, that I'd be transferred to another hospital, getting it done on the Monday, but it was unlikely.
Those few 'limbo days' saw me retreating into myself. Everyone around me was at least twice my age, and something I didn't need right now was to be made aware of my mortality. Ironically, mortality became my unwitting ally over the days as I became more and more determined to kill the guy in the bed next to me who brayed like a donkey EVERY 15 MINUTES, NIGHT AND DAY. That said, I'm sure my night-time vocal preclusions weren't appreciated by the rest of the ward, either.
I was moved to the Cardiopulmonary unit after a couple of days, removed from 24/7 monitoring, and eventually it was determined I'd be the first to go to theatre Tuesday morning. I'd decided that if it could be shown via angiogram that I had suffered a heart attack. My resolve evidently waned, as I struggled to get any sleep on the Monday Night. I was awoken at 4:30 to have some breakfast -- toast (breakfast of kings!). I was taken to theatre about 8:30, had one half of my privates shaved, and a catheter inserted into the artery in my leg. Ow. I could just see the screens which showed what the surgeon could see, and, I was sure, would show me that I was fine.
This is what it showed.
The main artery shown there should be the same thickness throughout. That said, a 50% narrowing isn't usually that much of a cause for concern. Regardless of this, they decided to go ahead with an angipolasty, whereby a metal mesh cylinder ("stent") is inflated in-place via a balloon on the end of a wire. Seemed to do the job.
Angioplasty can be an out-patient job, but as something had conspired to give me a cold, my temperature was high, and they decided to keep me in another day.
Wednesday morning couldn't come soon enough. I got next to no sleep again Tuesday night, as apparently you can't just hold a dressing over a major arterial puncture, and I was the proud owner of a collagen plug and anchor stopping me bleeding out. Whatever it was, it bloody hurt, and still does. Hospital beds are the least comfortable beds, too. I slept for HOURS when I got home.
Overall, I'm not sure it's really sunk in yet. I am feeling a bit emotional, and am a bit frustrated that I can't go back to work for 4 weeks. I'm also unsure what sort of an effect this should have on my lifestyle - it was moderately healthy, and just missing some exercise. Maybe those couple of months when I endured a scotch egg addiction had more impact than I thought!
Anyway, I got loads of support - thanks for the messages/cards/phone calls. Just thought I'd write this all down to save me repeating it to everyone I know!
Current Mood: 
sick (apparently)