Hard2Kill – Heart Attack

https://anchor.fm/mrknitter/embed/episodes/Hard2Kill–Heart-Attack-e197vli

Last week (13th) I was about to leave work and go home for the day but started to feel unwell. I got into the car but did not start the engine, after a minute I decided to go back to the office as my friend and employer just happened to still be there. After a few minutes of telling her how I felt and thinking I had pulled something things started to get worse, so the decision was to take me to the hospital. I called M to tell him I was not feeling well and that I was going to the hospital. Luckily enough A&E/ER was only 1.6 miles away and I was there in no time.

The receptionist was rude and dismissive and was not interested really in my plight, shouting at me to put a mask on. At this point, I was struggling to breathe and was in mass amounts of pain and felt ready to collapse. Both my friend and I told her I needed help and both times all she was interested in was telling us that my friend could not wait with me and had to go. Luckily my friend takes no prisoners and said to me that they will have to bring security and drag her out before she will willingly leave. Within 20 minutes of being there and begging to be seen, I was taken through to triage and had my first cardiac arrest. I had a total of 4 cardiac arrests, suffered three fractured ribs from CPR, and 7 very large defibrillator shocks in order to bring me back to life. The doctor who did all that said it was a struggle to keep me alive and that I was very lucky to have been at the hospital when that happened as the timing was critical. If I had gone home I would have died on my driveway.

Once I was stable, I was taken to Liverpool Heart & Chest Hospital, which is the leading heart hospital in the UK, and again I was lucky enough to be close to it. As it was dark I was taken via ambulance at high speed to the hospital, if it was daylight I would have been transported via the helicopter. Sirens and blue lights all the way once I was there I was rushed into theatre to have an angiogram, that is a stent fitted all whilst awake. Whilst I was in Southport hospital I kept vomiting every time I was moved, which was not nice for the staff there as it was very unexpected and dare I say exorcist style. I did the same in theatre, however, the staff I managed to take out said it was not a problem as they deal with that all the time and not to stop myself as it is better out than in.

After a few minutes after me claiming down the operation began through my wrist (details below). 20 minutes later a blockage was removed and a stent fitted and I started to feel a little bit better but was still in pain with the fractured ribs. Now I was starting to stabilise I was taken to the critical care unit for my recovery. I have to admit, life in Critical Care was amazing, one on one nursing, doctors in and out many times day and night, wired up to every machine possible monitoring everything from oxygen levels, heart, pulse, blood pressure, several drips and transfusion machines and of course I was also on oxygen as my lungs were filling with fluid because my heart was not working properly.

My angiogram was through the wrist

Whilst in hospital I had many x-rays, 4 transfusions, blood was taken every day, injections into my tummy daily, and lots and lots of medication both IV and orally. I had many heart scans to determine the extent of damage my heart had sustained, unfortunately, the news was not good. I have severe damage to the left side, muscles are no longer working there, however, the other muscles are overcompensating for the damage. The doctor did show me it after the scan which was amazing to see, but worrying as I could see when he pointed out the lack of movement in the damaged part. I still have another blockage, but they said medication will get rid of that and they are not concerned at this stage. Unfortunately, it looks like the heart attack was caused through DNA as heart problems are on my maternal Welsh side, with my uncle dying of a heart attack at 31, my grandmother also at a much later age, and others. The doctor said he thinks I have a good lifestyle and this change to my life will only make things better.

I am now home after my 8 days in critical care and being honest feel quite well considering. I have been for a couple of little walks in the village and this morning we took the dogs for a little walk too. I have been signed off work for 4 weeks and not allowed to drive until 17th November, but that will be here in no time.

Next is recuperation and rehabilitation starting next week (I hope) and building my strength, counselling and more.

I am lucky to be alive and owe my life to my friend for getting me to the hospital. She has been a real champ during this as she has checked on M every day, both through visiting, calling and messaging. She took him to hers for Sunday lunch last Sunday along with the dogs to get them all out of the house. M enjoyed it a lot, and needless to say, the dogs enjoyed running about her garden.

So, onwards and upwards, here is to a fixed heart and better times to come. Pics below with captions to see changes.

Me, 1 hour 20 minutes before my heart attack.

Me 24 hours after my heart attack in Critical Care

Right arm

Left Arm

Me finally at home with M 10 days after my heart attack

Being open and honest in dark times…

I wrote a few weeks ago about being very very down and living through very dark moments. Although at the time of writing that post I didn’t express how truly dark those days were, but at the time I was considering ending it. Now, before I continue, I have NO point of life I can place this on, and really there is no rhyme or reason for my “black” thoughts, but all the same, they existed, they were real and nothing at that point moved me from this runaway train of thought.

Over the years so many rock icons had taken their lives by hanging, and I thought this to be a horrific, almost barbaric death. Then, this year our dear nephew hanged himself with his “best friend” dog by his side. He was at a point that this course of action seemed logical and to him his only friend was his dog, but even his dog could not chase the demons away. At the time of his death, I thought to myself how could he go through with it? What a terrible way to go. But, yes, there is always a but, in my head during those three or four weeks my thoughts changed and blocked the “how” question to something that now made sense to me. I even thought of exhaust fumes into the car, but my mind kept turning to the thing I thought barbaric and horrific, which at the time made sense.

These thoughts plagued me 24/7. In my dreams and my waking hours. It was monotonous and wore away at me. To me it was like something was daring, tempting, wishing me to follow that rabbit down the hole. Every song I listened to pulled me in the wrong direction and my head followed the trail of breadcrumbs to darker and darker places, like unseen hands relentlessly tugging at me, almost taunting me to the final act.

I can’t say what changed, what brought me back to a “sensible” train of thought, although still my head “goes west” but so far without the need for finality, however, it is still dark.

A week or so after writing that post I was wondering about the house and garden aimlessly and Mazikeen came to me wanting to play. Of course, I played with her and her ball and eventually, I sat in the arbour and she sat with me. She was leaning on me just staring at me with nothing but love in her eyes, and maybe the thought of a biscuit. I sat looking at her, holding her and asked knowing I was never going to get a spoken answer “will you miss me if I go? I need you to look after your dad for me!” She is a dog, indeed a very intelligent dog, but all the same, a dog, and I never expected an answer. She looked at me in the eyes, maybe sensing my turmoil, without breaking eye contact moved over to my knee and literally hugged me and gently licked me like she was giving me kisses of support, and maybe even telling me she would miss me. I have no idea what she was thinking but it was a gesture that unknown to me at the time made a big difference. Later that evening Harper did the same. Harper is a hugger, but again this probably made a difference.

Maybe that was what I needed. Maybe my girls really knew where my head was and formed a plan between themselves to help, or maybe they were being themselves and that was my point of return, a push in the right direction. Do not get me wrong, M knew I was in a dark place, but, I did what I always do, and pushed him back, told him to “leave it”, “don’t push it” and I am sure many other damning comments. Not that I wanted to hurt M, but I am someone that needs to deal with things on my own, and anyone trying to help gets pushed away. Not ideal, but I do not know any other way. I grew up with a hateful father who thought with his fists and “boys DO NOT cry” and the notion that emotions are weak. This is something I cannot change in myself even though I know it is self-destructive. I am over half a century old and old dogs don’t learn new tricks no matter what people believe.

Whilst in that frame of mind, the so-called sense is buried out of reach and dark thoughts emerge as sensible courses of action. Maybe my girls understood and their actions were just enough to pull me through, or maybe my head sorted itself out? I don’t know, and honestly, I’ll never know. I am still not right, but the edge of the precipice seems a little further away today.

One of the many songs I turn to when I’m down is “Hope there’s someone” by Antony and the Johnson’s. It is a beautiful song by a beautiful person.

A Little Bit Off…

Forgive me, this post may wander/ramble or be a bit all over the place.

For the last couple of weeks, I have been “a little bit off”, I don’t know why, and as the song says “I cannot put my finger on it”. One day I was my happy and carefree self, then the clouds came over and my mood went south and kept on in that direction for the duration. Many dark thoughts went through my head, dark thoughts that seemed rational at the time, but I could not talk about them. Talking is not something I do, never have, and I doubt I ever will. This I blame my father for as it was beaten into me that boys don’t cry, boys don’t express feeling, boys should go about fighting and beating up the gays. (The Irony of being a gay 51-year-old man whose father does not know he is gay as I have not seen him since I was a teen, also he lives somewhere in Europe.)

M has tried to get me to talk, but he knows not to push me as that has the complete opposite effect and being honest I tend to clam up anyway, so when asked if I am okay I just nod and stay quiet. I cannot explain why I clam up and find it so hard to talk and express myself. The whole thing is very uncomfortable and rather than go through the motions I would rather just close down, shut out the world and live in my own head. Even writing this is tough, not in an emotional way, but hard to put words on the screen. I have meant to write something over the past week or so in the hope that it starts to pull me back out of my slump, but, the voice in my head spouted negativity and piles on more dark thoughts and I finally decided the voice was right and agreed with it’s “who really wants to read this crap, no one cares”. Now, I am not looking for anyone to say anything, either way, I just decided it was time to let my fingers do the talking as it were.

Churchill famously called his depression his “Black Dog” and I understand why because it feels like it’s a physical thing. I have no name or point of reference for my “low mood” but it does feel like a dark oppressive cloud over me. M also refers to his clinical depression as his black dog from time to time. M has been diagnosed with depression, however, back in 2013 my GP gave me some antidepressants for a month as I was having a bad time at work and she labelled mine as “low mood”. I didn’t take the tablets as I am not a tablet taking person, even when I was given meds for my heart, foolish maybe, but that was my decision.

We all experience down days, and it usually is just that, a down day. This time felt different, but I cannot put into words why it was different. Even the dogs got to me, Maz jumping up at me and Harper not listening kept sending me over the edge and I had to sit in the garden on my own to try and sort myself out. Not that it worked all that well, but it did take an edge off my frustration and calmed me slightly. Again, as to why this was bothering me I will never know. Maz has always jumped up at me and Harper never listens, but that day I could feel myself falling over the edge of a precipice.

I have just read over the post so far, and I can see I am not really talking about things properly, just skirting about things, and I cannot go any further, it seems my head will not let me, and this is the same when talking, however, talking comes with a mental and dare I say it a physical muteness.

One thing that has come out of this dark patch is that I admitted to M that all the scars on my arms were self-inflicted from when I was a young teen, he knew deep down, but I had never mentioned them, and now the sun is out they are showing quite a bit, usually, I tend to burn and that hides them. I guess this is positive, even though my ramblings here have not exactly been groundbreaking, but it is a start. I don’t know where my head will end up or even if my current mood will change, but today I feel a little bit happier, fingers crossed I am on the up.

“A Little Bit Off” by Five Finger Death Punch resonated with me and I have therefore shared both the video and the lyrics.

I’m a little bit off today, something down inside me’s different
Woke up a little off today, I can tell that something’s wrong
I’m a little thrown off today, there’s something going on inside me
I’m a little bit off today, a little bit off today
(I’m a little bit off today, a little bit off)
See, I’m a little bit off today, I cannot put my finger on it
Got up a little off today, just to play that same old song
I don’t really wanna try today, I see nothing in my reflection
I’m a little bit dry today, feel like I could die today

Feel like I could die today

Hey yeah, hey yeah
Hey yeah, don’t ya know? (I’m a little bit off)
Hey yeah, hey yeah
Hey, you gotta let it go (I’m a little, just a little bit off)

I’m a little pissed off today and there ain’t nothing you can do about it
I’m a little put-off today and I could not tell you why
Got a really short fuse today, everyone around me’s fucking crazy
I’m a little ticked off today, a little pissed off today
(I’m a little bit off today)
I told a little white lie today, I smiled and told someone I loved them
I had to say goodbye today to someone that I love
I couldn’t even cry today, I think my heart is finally broken
Didn’t need a reason why today, I don’t need a reason why today

Hey yeah, hey yeah
Hey yeah, don’t ya know? (I’m a little bit off)
Hey yeah, hey yeah
Hey, you gotta let it go (I’m a little, just a little bit off)

I got a little too high today, got lost inside a sea of madness
Crashed a little bit hard today, crashed a little too hard today
Everybody sing

Hey yeah, hey yeah
Hey yeah, don’t ya know? (I’m a little bit off)
Hey yeah, hey yeah
Hey, you gotta let it go (I’m a little, just a little bit off)
Hey, you gotta let it go (I’m a little, just a little bit off)

I’m a little bit off today
Something down inside me feels so different
Just a little bit off today
You can all fuck off today

Five Finger Death Punch – A Little Bit Off

I’m Still Here…

Not that you would know half the time. I keep meaning to post but never seem to do it. Apathy applies? Oh most definitely. I have things to say, but sometimes I am just not in the mood to put fingers to keys, and after a long week working, then I just cannot be arsed with anything. I know, how rude? I know people read my posts, so I know I have an audience, but I seem to be losing my “voice”. Now, I know that I could post all the time as there is always something going on or a project on my needles, and years ago I used to blog/post many times a day, but these days I think I am in old age mode and happy to sit in front of the telebox and vegetate after work.

The long winter is a bind that has not given me any inspiration to do anything, not that I have been lazy. I have replaced the floors in both bedrooms on the top floor. We have three bedrooms, one on the main floor and two upstairs in the attic. Now, the floors had not been touched since 1973 according to a newspaper I found under the boards in the main room, and 1980 for the smaller room. My home was built in the 1800s and some things have not been touched or replaced from this era. Whilst walking about it sounds like an old ship with all the creaking. In the main room, the floor had failed due to the window in the roof leaking for some time, this was leaking long before we moved in. We discovered the leak one night in bed during a rainstorm, when we were wakened to dripping on the bed, needless to say, I had to do something about it, but unknown to be at that point it had caused the floor to slowly rot. Due to M’s disability, we moved to the downstairs bedroom, so over the years the floor had slowly failed, and one day, M was upstairs and called me to say that the floor seemed spongy, I thought nothing too much about it, and years later it finally started giving away, so I had to fix it. This was one of the major hobs that I had to do this year. I am not a carpenter by any means, but I did manage to do a good job of it. well, I thought so, and M approved, so that was all I needed to know. Once the main room was done, I had the job of doing the second room, although we have no idea why that floor was failing at the time. I lifted up the carpet which I have never replaced as I treat this room as a junk room. I discovered that it had failed due to a previous owner of many years back installing a small hatch that I can only think of was for inspecting electrics that are now redundant. The opening was so shoddily done that it had fallen through, thus causing the rest of the floor to break. It was like biscuits so needed doing. However, once I had lifted the carpet up I did not feel like doing it, so left it for over a week, then one day felt I had the gumption to do the job, and within 3 hours it was complete. The only problem with the second floor was that think I managed to knock my pliers into the void and not noticed and had screwed the two 1m x 2m sheets of interlocking wood down in many places. I have had them for over 20 years, so maybe time for a new pair.

Main Room, 64 square feet of flooring replaced in the end.

Room 2 after lifting the floor. The sad blue carpet you see is part of the floor that lifts up which is a “dead man’s drop” that is used to lower coffins down the main floor (as you cannot get them down the spiral staircase). This is also used to take furniture upstairs too.

• 

  What is this connected to?

• 

  Old wiring? I hope so!

• 

  Not live, thankfully.

I have also been doing the kitchen up. The kitchen I think was modelled on that featured in Noah’s Ark. We have many cupboards which were brown wood originally and not great looking. I had painted them in the past a few times but never been happy with the end result. However, this time I am happy with it all as I also changed the tiles and the worktops. We had a new boiler fitted as ours was over 30 years old and although it worked, it was not economical, and we have only had a tepid home for many years rather than a warm home, needless to say, it can be like a hothouse in a very short time which is rather nice. One part of the kitchen is a small alcove where a fireplace used to be and where we had a small drinks fridge, however, I decided that the fridge needed to go and I got an imitation log burner (electric) fire, built a platform for it, and added an unfinished sleeper (only carved flat two sides) as the front edge to the fireplace. I still have bits to finished off as well as do the tiling there, but all in all, I am happy with the look. I am sure you will agree that the before and after are quite different, although the before is when we first moved in back in 2003 and had not even taken a breath, never mind thought about decoration/renovation.

• 

  2003

• 

  2021

So, forgive my absence as I have been working hard.

Covid Vaccination

Three weeks ago I received my first vaccination for COVID-19 after receiving a text from my GP. A week later I received a letter from NHS England asking me to book my vaccination as I am a registered carer for someone vulnerable to Covid. Today I received a letter of the same ilk from the council’s carers department. Both letters mentioned that the person I care for (my husband) is vulnerable to Covid, however, M has not had his vaccination, and further to it all I have asthma which I have had from birth, and I also have a heart problem. Yes, I have had my vaccination, but only because I am a carer, and not because of my own health problems which happen to fit within the remit of the vaccination rollout.

When I went for my vaccination, one of the nurses who knows both M and me very well asked how M got on after his injection. I had to tell her that he had not had it, nor an invite. Needless to say, she was quite surprised but admitted that people were not getting invites when they should have had one. She assured me that she would speak to the surgery and get it sorted. A few days later she called and said she was having to fight with management over M and others that were missed off, but told me he was now on the list for the next set. The invite never arrived, and after getting my letter from the council I decided enough was enough.

As with anything official involving bureaucrats I knew it was going to be something that I had to fight for and was well aware that I would be sent on a wild goose chase. I called the GP surgery and after being in a queue that said I was number one, waited for 12 minutes to actually speak to someone. However, she was one of the surgeries “gatekeepers”. Unfortunately, most doctors offices in the UK have these gatekeepers who take it upon themselves to fob everyone off. I have had many arguments with these women who demand to know all the details of ailments as though they are the doctors, rather than booking the appointments as per their job description. (Before anyone decides to comment that I am wrong and they are doing their job, I have to stop you there as our surgery confirmed and published that the receptionists are not medically trained and when booking appointments you do not need to tell them about why you are booking it.). Anyway, I told the receptionist the reason for my call, she took M’s details and told me that he was not on any list and therefore would need to wait until they do 45 to 50-year-olds which will be some time. I questioned as to why there are no details on the system, and she informed me that I would need to get letters from the hospital for any appointments attended last year and send them into the surgery for them to look into it. I informed her that he had not attended the hospital last year as all appointments were cancelled due to the pandemic. she told me that if I could not do that I should call the NHS line and speak to them as it is them who decide who has their vaccination and when, but she had no records of underlying health problems. WTF!

Next stop NHS Direct. After going through 8 options I finally spoke to a lady who listened to me and tried to book the appointment. She told me that she could not as the system would not let her and that our GP surgery needs to correct their system to enable her to book it. I told her that the surgery had blamed NHS Direct’s side and said it was their records that were to blame. She assured me that their records are lead by the surgery and that they have “markers” that when the routines are run selects the people in those categories and invites them to have their jab. Feeling that I was getting another run-around I called the council’s carers line for advice. The lady was very sympathetic and told me in no certain words that M should have had his injection and that it is indeed the surgery who are to blame and that they had not coded M’s records properly, and I should call the surgery again and speak to the practice manager and refuse to give details to the receptionist as I would not get to the route of the problem.

Another call to the surgery to be told that the practice manager was in a meeting and she (a different gatekeeper this time) would try to get him to call me back. When I put the phone down I thought that I would not get a call and my request would be binned. However, I was duly surprised to get a call from the practice manager just 20 minutes later. So, on with my explanation to him, repeating everything I had said to all the others and telling of what I had been told by his reception to do, what NHS Direct said and finally what the council carers department told me. He looked into M’s records whilst I was on the phone and could see that something was wrong and he would speak to our new GP and get it all corrected. I told him what the nurse had told me and he said that she was one of the best members of staff and that she knew the patients very well and if she thought M should have been seen, then he needed to act on that too. I mentioned to him that our old GP who left the surgery was very rude about M getting a flu jab stating that those were only for people with cancer. When she said this to M I quickly corrected her and she finally backed down, however, M still had never received an invite for that either. He apologised that this too was missed off and admitted that M should also have been given the flu jab too each year especially in light of him being hospitalised with pneumonia, again, not recorded by the GP in question. I told him that the pharmacist next to the surgery had given M his jab each year and said that M was in the vulnerable group and that the surgery should have sorted this out. Again he apologised for all the mistakes and lack of professional conduct from our previous GP (who left in mysterious circumstances to a new life in Scotland) and promised to get everything corrected and went ahead with booking M in for his Covid vaccination.

Success!

Although I have condensed everything, the calls to all involved took me over an hour and a half. It is a sad state of affairs that we have had to fight for everything just because people cannot or do not do their jobs correctly.