I hurt. My ribs hurt, my neck hurts, my throat hurts, my arms hurt. I hurt. It feels like I've been hit by a train, and not one of those little single carriage Great Western ones either, no. I'm talking about the massive American style juggernauts... Choo Choo! WHAM!... 'Medic!'
But I suppose that's the after effects of being zapped with however many jolts to get your heart back into rhythm. My fault, my bad.
It wasn't in Carmarthen this time or the BRI, no it was in Prince Philip Hospital. Lovely place I have to say, I'd certainly recommend it to a friend, 7 and a 1/2 syringes on the surgical recommend-o-meter for sure. The place was clean and tidy, the staff were extremely friendly, kind, helpful and reassuring. Hey, and they didn't have to be, they were well within their right to slap me onto the table, give my heart the shock it needed and send me on my way.. 'Bye Mr Smith, hope to not see you again'. It's not their job to ensure I have enough pillows, or that my coffee cup is topped up... It's unlikely they spent hours writing a paper on the standard etiquette's of pillow plumping back in their university days. No, I'm pretty sure it consisted of far more important subjects as 'What to do if a patient starts dying on you from lack of oxygen due a to collapsed lung'.
Maybe they're scared of being sued, or at least having a complaint written in against them, because what's saving someone's life if the TV isn't at an acceptable angle and the reminder hasn't been set for Jeremy Kyle?
There was one time I was due to leave the BRI, I'd been there a good few days having had surgery and I couldn't wait to go home. I was literally putting on my shoes ready to depart when a nurse came running in all flustered. Something was wrong. She revealed that she had accidentally mis-dosed me that morning and I had taken double of my beta blockers. It wasn't life threatening or the end of the world, but she said due to the mistake I would have to stay in for another 6 hours to ensure there were no ill effects or that I didnt die. I was mad. It was a two hour drive back and I just wanted to get home. I got a little short with her and she apologised and apologised and apologised some more. The BRI is a training hospital and this nurse had probably only just started her career. In reality I couldn't possibly fathom the weight of responsibility that was on her shoulders.
When I returned home I was so angry with myself for being a bit of a prick to this young nurse who was trying to do nothing but her job I wrote a letter to the ward, thanking them for taking care of me and apologising to the nurse for my bluntness.
Unfortunately we now seem to live in a society who look first to blame rather than to thank. It's all a bit sad when we think about it.
But back to my current predicament...
It felt less of an emergency hospital visit and more of a hotel stay. I half expected Lenny Henry to pop his head round the door and remind me the only thing that wasn't premiere was the price. No, Lenny wasn't there, but that's understandable, he's a busy man.
So aside from the loveliness of the place, it all went rather smoothly. I arrived with a fixed heart rate of around 180 bpm, I reiterate to multiple nurses and doctors that I'm 'Dextrocarida' which in some instances was met with the kind of face you make when trying decipher the meaning of life or work out how to use your new TV, to these I explain that my heart is on the other side, so please don't go sticking your stethoscope on my chest announcing...
'Hang on, this guy doesn't have palpations, he's lying!'
'What's that doctor?' a nurse would swoon.
'This man, he has no heart rate... this man is dead! Mortician!'
The radiographer strolls in with her big X-ray machine... nobody tells her the big secret... She slides the cold hard slab behind my back, I feel it's coldness, its hardness, it's slabiness. I pose momentarily, smile for no reason at all and, Click.
She smiles back and strolls out the door, tapping away at her machine for the print out. 30 seconds later she's back.
'Erm, this may be a silly question, but, erm, his heart isn't...'
'Yes' we all reply in choir'd unison.
I feel that sometimes maybe I should apologise for my awkwardness, that the entire process would be cut by well over half if my heart was situated on the right side, I mean left side, the standard, normal, everyday persons side. 'Excuse me doctor, before we start and you attempt to analyse this unfortunate predicament I am in, I must first have you accept this letter of my sincerist apologies for the task that will shortly be undertaken.' Oh well, at least these kids are learning aye?
In the end the decision was unanimous, probably brought together by a congregation of doctors in a small darkened room smoking the finest Cuban cigars.
'It seems a jolt of electricity is the only thing that is going to bring this strange little mans heart rate back down to normality' one doctor would suggest.'With that I propose... a cardioversion!'
'Shocking' another would reply, as the entire room burst into guffaw at the incredibly clever pun.
'By gawd are we the cleverest bastards on this earth' a third would admit, before blowing thick cigar smoke into the air of the compacted room.
An evil laughter erupting from the corner of the darkness before a figure appeared through the thick, heavy cigar smoke.
'I shall do the work myself' the evil voice states. He brings his hands into view, revealing two jump leads as he sparks them together laughing manically as each connection lights up the room.
Thankfully there were no jump leads involved, at least not that I'm aware of, I was unconscious after all so who knows and where would attach it to... oh.
Well, they stickered me up with these two large pads that would apply the electrical current into my chest. I reiterated that my heart was on the opposite side and they nodded at each other before removing them and swapping them to the opposite sides. Bullet dodged.
The whole affair didn't take long and a mere half hour had passed before I started to come too. It had been a complete success. Afterwards, once I started to regain my bearings from the anaesthetic, we high fived, drank champagne and partied deep into the night. Light entertainment was supplied by Olly Murs who spent the evening belting out hits such as Heart Skips a Beat, Right Place Right Time, Please Don't Let Me Go and Never Been Better...
But then you do get some strange dreams when sleeping off a concoction of drugs.
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