Putting Humpty Dumpty Back Together

Arghh the pain, the agony! I need the drugs! GIVE ME THE DRUGS! No, it’s not my heart, where they’ve just spent hours burning away tissue to stop my palpitations, or my chest where they’ve fed wires through my arteries or even my groin which harboured two massive tubes... Oh no, it’s my shoulder.

Yes, MY SHOULDER! And I don’t mean the kind of dull ache in which maybe I lay awkwardly during the procedure, no, it’s the kind of pain where I want to rip my arm out of its socket and throw it out the window, and where a dose of paracetamol, tramadol and two shots of morphine can barely take the edge off it!

Apparently due to the aggressiveness in which the surgical team attacked my dodgy tickers tissue, it caused some ill effects on the nerves that lead up to my shoulder. Now I’ve done the entire YMCA dance and no matter what I do with my arm I cannot alleviate the pain at all... AAAAARGH!

I did a quick google (you’re right, I shouldn’t have) and in some cases it can lead to long term chronic shoulder dysfunction... Awesome, well that be me all over wouldn’t it? Go in for heart surgery and come out with a life long dodgy shoulder. But hey, it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve left surgery with long term life affecting nerve damage, an operation many years ago rendered me deaf in my left, but you know, shit happens.

Anyway, enough dwelling on this horrendous pain that makes me want to render myself unconscious just to escape its horrid grasp... The procedure according to the surgeon, went really well! Woohoo, bust out the caviar and get the Doritos ready! Thankfully at this time they did not need to do the AV Node Ablation, which would have rendered the junction box to my hearts own pace maker null and void, thus having to rely solely on my fitted one.

Instead they believe that they were able to Ablate the tissue and electric circuit (yes, we’re still talking about my heart) that were causing the palpations. Now I won’t know how much of success exactly this was for a few weeks as my heart recovers. The objective of the procedure was to stop the ‘SVT’s’ or at least reduce their frequency of them. It may turn out that in the long run it will have proven unsuccessful and my weekly A&E trips shall continue and I’ll have to return again to have the AV Node wiped out... but let’s hope it’s doesn’t come to that aye (awkwardly hopeful smile).

As usual I must commend the BRI hospital staff for both their professionalism and their hospitality. With a room all to myself, electric bed, TV, ensuite bathroom and a skyline view of Bristol, I simply cannot complain about the 5 star accommodation. Though my only complaint of the room was that the clock didn’t work, and I was greatly disoriented waking up in the room still half doped up from the morphine and anaesthetic to find it was quarter to four... on Thursday. So not only had they fixed my heart, but invented time travel as well, marvellous!

After we got there we sat in the waiting room before myself and five others were ushered into cubicles like sheep, though nobody laughed at the little baaa I let out, shame, it was a top joke. We then proceeded to change into those Uber sexy hospital gowns, complete with rear slit to show a bit of rear skin, which I didn’t mind as my wife says I got a nice ass. Hey, if you got if, flaunt it!

‘Erm mr smith’ the nurse said to my as I sat crossed legged on the bed attempting to conceal my manhood in the thin layer of cloth. ‘That’s not a hair net’

‘No?’

‘No, they’re your paper pants’

Oh, I thought to myself pulling the pants off my head. I assumed the extra holes were in case you had pigtails, a ponytail or perhaps a man bun. They’re breezy though, I’ll give them that.

One of the nurses was quite impressed by my laid back attitude as we waited to go down to surgery, she said that normally she had to reassure her patients as they sat nervously on edge, but I was akin to a man sat at home in his favourite armchair with a whisky and cigar waiting for an episode of Emmerdale to start.

I explained that having been in A&E around twenty times, been knocked out sixteen times and undergone heavy surgery earlier this year, you kind of get accustomed to it.

I was then taken to the Cath lab, now I’ve never met her but I’ve heard she’s a lovely person, I did ask if cath had given permission for us to use her lab, which got a chuckle and oh look, Pat left her board here.

Now the lab seems less an operating theatre and more a resemblance of the medical bay from the Starship Enterprise. A Huge TV screen, the kind you’d find in a New Yorkers bachelor pad hung adjacent to the slab of metal they lie you on. Machines of all shapes and sizes surround the room and overlooking the entire operation through giant windows are a multitude of staff monitoring various screens. The doctors and nurses attire are not that of a standard surgical team, instead adorning colourful leaded vests, had they been black I may have mistaken them for a SWAT team.

Then they inject with a sedative which is the absolute bomb. Like downing and entire bottle of whisky but without the hangover or fear of alcohol poisoning. You sit there suddenly in your happy place, telling everyone how much you love them and what a splendid job they’re doing. You get more and more woozy as people are talking to you, trying to explain what they’re doing, but you just don’t care. You’re in your own little world of happiness.

‘We’re just going to put some stickies on your chest’

‘Carry on’

Just attaching you to a drip Andrew’

‘Yeah okay’

‘We’re probably gonna have to cut off your arm as it’s getting in the way’

‘Just do whatever you need to do’

Then you slip off into a dreamless sleep as the doctors and nurses do their stuff, slowly, painstakingly putting Humpty Dumpty here back together...

They Can Rebuild Me...

'Unfortunately Dr Stuart has been off with back problems...' The nurse said and judging by the pile of notes in which she had struggled to lumber into the room I wondered if I had been the sole cause of it. With my Doctor having conversed with various other consultants from my local hospital on  a weekly basis, lugging out Volume 2 of my notes to every phone call may very well have 'done him over.'

The drive up was glorious, the sun was shining and the traffic flowing like a quiet stream on a summers day. While the Wife allowed me to take the wheel on the way up, I was not permitted to also make the drive home. This didn't matter as by then I would have medicated myself to the point of unconsciousness and the journey would seem like a quiet dream.

Parking was a breeze also. Ever the victory is finding somewhere to park near the Hospital full stop, let alone within the first few minutes of arriving. That accomplishment is definitely going on my Top Ten Hospital Arrivals, right next to the Presidential Style Escort I received many years ago.

The wait within the clinic was short too, only a few minutes there and I'd been called in to get my ECG done. I made the usual passing comment 'I'm Dextrocardia' and braced myself to elaborate my condition further. There was no need, I was dealing with a pro here. Unlike the last time in which a Nurse, Sister, Doctor and finally a Cardiologist arrived on the scene to absolutely confirm that yes, the chest leads go on the opposite way with the limb leads staying the same. Had I known then that I was in for such a waxing with all the uber-sticky-stickers being stuck on and ripped off I would have taken the effort to shave it off myself beforehand. There was no such questions or confusion this time though... Bam! on they went and Bam! off they came, next patient please! 'Mooooooooo!' Like a cow being passed through to the next field.

The pre-op nurse was lovely and flicking her way through the pile of my notes so large that it would have brought a tear to even George R R Martins eye, the discussion began.  She asked if I'd been hospital in the last six months... We all had a good chuckle at that one, but believe me the tears were real. She hadn't seen me at the hospital before so was trying to get up to speed with my history, discussions were had whether she should have a quick peek at Volume 1 of my notes, but then dismissed that idea as it would be to time consuming to get the JCB out to bring the round.
She then went on to explain what exactly the surgery would entail...

The catheter AV Node ablation is a procedure in which cryogenic freezing is used to ablate the atrioventricular node in an effort to stop the Super-ventricular Tachycardia... Sound simple, yeah? I've no fucking clue either.

Basically they shove a load of wires up into my heart, give it a little zap from the inside to initiate the fast rhythm then freeze away the bits of tissue that are acting all silly. IF that doesn't work then they'll go straight for the AV Node and get rid of that, effectively wiping out my own hearts pace maker, thus making me 100% reliant on my newly fitted electronic pacemaker, so I implore you, please do not come near me with a magnet or any electrical device that could possibly hinder or stop it as yes, I may fucking die and it will be all your fault.

But the hope is that once this had been done I should encounter no more trips to A&E on a weekly basis, which is a shame really as I'm gonna miss my 4am chats with the Ambulance crew and Resus staff. But I'll be back fighting fit... Bigger... Stronger... Faster... They can rebuild me... They have the technology...

Cancel All Plans People...

Clear your diaries and cancel all plans people... THE CALL has come through! Finally after months of waiting a date has been set for my much anticipated op, the one that should finally put Humpty Dumpty here back together. So crack open the champagne and call Liz to say she'll need to vacate the palace this weekend cause we got some celebrating to do (pause for cheers and whoops of joy).

And while this is great news and a relief the worst part of it all is telling the children, or at least 'child' as my 12 year old son took the news like any other teenager would, he shrugged his shoulders, stuck his headphones back on and told me to get the fuck out of his room. My daughter on the other hand was a heap of tears. I tried to explain to her that it's so they can 'fix Daddy' to which she blubbered 'But they said they were going to fix you before, but they didn't!'... Fair point and I can only reply with 'But they definitely will fix me this time... (I hope)'

So tomorrow I make the trip across the border for my pre-op, a four hour round trip for a hospital discussion that will probably last less than 20 minutes...  Perhaps I'll stop for a spot of lunch? Maybe enjoy a cup of Earl Grey whilst gazing dreamily out of the Hospitals Costa Cofee window, admiring the colourful sculptures of the Children's Hospital which I once came to regard as my home away from home.

Surgery is then scheduled for Friday, as you can guess from my last post I know that date isn't set in stone, but more a little piece of Play-Doh of a young mans dreams which could be squashed at any time. I just hope that if they do decide to cancel it, I get the call the night before and not as I'm packing all my crap into the car, having worked myself up in anticipation of being sliced open again, and spent all night staring into the black void of night with enough thoughts battling through my mind to march on Kings Landing.

I sort of know what they wish to do when they have me lying on that cold, hard slab and I sort of don't. Its an ablation, which I've had before, so I know they're gonna shove wires into my heart and start burning shit away, but a different ablation so I don't really know how much shit they're gonna burn and if it entails anything. Questionable also is what the expected outcome is and what, if any, limitations I'll have following it. But these are all things I should learn tomorrow. ...

And now I shall talk of a tale from last night, where to celebrate 'The Date' me and the missus went on, erm, a date. In which I ended up giving true meaning to my blogs namesake....

We ended up in little pub, a tiny little establishment which seemed to be breaking all kinds of health and safety regulations. The lighting was almost non existent, the sound volume made me thankful to be deaf in one ear and the amount of people packed into the joint would have been a Fire Marshall's nightmare. So having slammed a few cocktails back and completely filled my bladder I needed to visit the little boys room. Being in unfamiliar territory obviously I had to ask for directions so I found the most trustworthy man you can find at bar, an Aussie and he sent me on my way.

So off I went, leaving Caroline  dancing on the table like some Vegas stripper and headed for lavatories. I sorry'd and excused my way through the shoulder to shoulder crowd of young, hip kids busting their moves and throwing shapes and made it across the room. I'd come to a rather long corridor and realised that there was in fact an entire other room!
I headed down the corridor and saw someone heading in my direction, the height of the man put a smile on my face as I realised I wasn't the only vertically challenged guy in the building. As I got closer I sidestepped left to let him past, but he had the same thing in mind, so I quickly went right, as did he. I switched back left, where he followed and it ended up in that awkward left, right, left, right, hey up we're gonna end up in some kind of awkward embrace. In an effort to avoid such an embarrassing situation I  put my arm out to take his shoulder so I could slide past him and avoid this unwanted collision, only my hand never reached his shoulder and hit some kind of wall or something. It was dark, I was drunkingly disoriented so I couldn't tell. I shimmied around and started to stick my right arm out to brace his shoulder and avoid the collision, but my head slammed into something instead...

Then it clicked. There was no wall, no long corridor, no other room and, there was no man either... It was a fucking mirror! A big, giant, massive fucking mirror that stretched right across the room! I'd be dancing back and forth attempting to avoid my own reflection. As two girls sat just a few feet away had seen the whole affair and were probably wondering what the hell this drunken idiot is doing dancing with himself in the mirror, I decided that I didn't really need to pee and headed back, disappearing into the sea of people hoping that the quickening of my heart from sheer embarrassment didn't cause for a night in A&E...

'So Andrew, did anything bring it on this time?'

'Erm, not really Doc...'

Thank You For Your Call, But I May Be Dying

I'm wondering if all this time at home has made me a vindictive, horrible, mean little man...

Earlier today I was having a typical moment with my heart, it was going around 180 bpm and I was sat there doing my shit, debating how long I should leave it before I make the call to the girls and boys in green when the phone rang.

Now when the house phone rings I've got to answer it for two reasons... Firstly, it might be Bristol, calling to say they've finally got me a slot for my eagerly awaited surgery and could I pack up my shit and get on the first train there.

Secondly, it might be my Wife and if I don't immediately answer the phone she may make the assumption that I am dead... or dying and send the riot van round complete with Sally the door-smasher-in'er with the rest of Carmarthens emergency services, including the coastguard for fear I've flooded the kitchen with the washing machine again and am stuck floating in the middle on a pizza tray with nothing but a pot noodle and she knows how much I hate pot noodles.

Anyway, I gasp a hello into the phone and realise its neither of them as a cheery voice echoes down receiver following a short click... 'Hello there, how are you today sir?' Now I could have just hung up or said I wasn't interested but nah, I felt she really cared about my well being and thought I should be nothing but open and honest with her.  

'I'm not feeling to good' I replied. Not waiting for a response I continued 'I've got this really bad chest pain and my hearts beating around 200 beats a minute, I think I might need to call an ambulance and I'm probably going to need to be defibrillated, shock my heart back into rhythm....'

By this time I had returned to the sofa and was hanging upside down in an attempt to bring my bpm back down to normal. 

'Oh, so is now not a good time to discuss your broadband options?'  came her stuttered reply.

'No... actually I fucking tell you what Susan, yes lets discuss my broadband options. I'll just go outside and hail a fucking taxi to get me to A&E. When I'm there I may go a little quiet for a few minutes, but don't worry that's just them knocking me out with anaesthetic so they can power 120 joules of electricity through my body in the hope to shock my heart back into a normal persons rhythm. But I'll be straight back on the blower when I've regained consciousness though. Tell you what, while I doze off into dreamland I'll pass you onto the team of Doctors, nurses, anaesthetists and porters so you can discuss their broadband options too, yeah? Well it looks like you've hit fucking gold today Susan, we might break a deal before I even get to hospital now where theres a chance I may die and I'll already be locked into a 2 year rolling contract which being dead, I'll be unable to cancel! Oh you could be in the money here my love, you'll be able to retire on the commission alone!'

Bloody cold callers, I tell you...

Lets Roll...

Sat in the car I begin 2 hour trip to Bristol alone.  I feel any car games I wish to play are going to be slightly one sided, either way I choose red and I'm off to a whopping start, until I see a bus and debate with myself as to whether that counts.


  The journeys off to a good start, I fly through a mobile speed camera doing around 80 in the outside lane, I tried to convince myself I slowed down in time but its unlikely. The remaining 1 hour and 50 minutes of the journey goes without any trouble though, I only pass three crashes, hit one tailback and get undertaken by three BMW'S two motorbikes and a Nissan Micra.  I even manage to park just round the corner from the Heart building too, although I feel the £5 parking fee for a limit of 4 hours is a bit expensive... lets hope there aren't any long waits.

 Arriving at the  reception there's just one person queueing at the desk, awesome.  My turn comes along and I hand over my appointment card to the receptionist.  I turn around and herd of people have joined behind me, damn sneaky grave dodgers! One guy is clutching his chest, yes pal, well done, we know why your here. Having sat down a mere 5 minutes has passed and I'm already bored, Lorraine is on the TV but its just not my thing.  I pick up a leaflet to read... 'Heart Transplant' great!  Its filled with information I hope I'll never need to know.
 
 A nurse calls me in to take my ops.  While one trainee nurse takes my SATS (yes that's, right, in year 9 I had a nurse take all my exams for me...) anyway, another older, qualified nurse who obviously hasn't shifted out of her chair all day gets my weight and height, she gets this by using a very technologically advanced and superior sophisticated method... she asks me.  What a pro! 
 
Nurse:  'How tall are you?'
Me:  '5ft 3'
Nurse:  'Woo, your small then' (well done, did you not notice that as I walked through the door?)
Me:  ...
Nurse:   'Weight?'
Me:   'I'm not sure'
Nurse:  'About...?'
Me:  'How much I weigh'
Nurse  'No, about how much do you weigh?'
Me:  'Yes, I'm not sure'
Nurse:  Long piercing stare whilst reaching for a very large needle...
Me:  'Between 7st 10 and 8st'
Nurse:  'Let's just say 7st 11' 
 
 Yes, let's.  When the Doctor wishes to inject me with something, medicine, anaesthetic... let's just say about 5 mls shall we?
I could have stayed at home guessed my height, weight and that I'd live another year...
 
 Back to sitting down I go.  The place is empty and there are about 15 chairs to choose from so I sit in the corner out of the way, to get some peace.  A minute later some old guy sits right next to me! THERE ARE 14 SPARE CHAIRS SCATTERED ACROSS THE GOD DAMN ROOM! He turns to me and smiles. 


 Suddenly my palpitation's start, I feel myself short of breath, I fall to the floor wheezing and gasping on my hands and knees, the old man quickly gets up, bending over to see if I'm alright and I hit him with a monster uppercut... the force lifts him 3 foot off the floor... everything is now in slow motion as he glides slowly backwards through the air, my fist still clinched from the follow through, blood fountaining up from his broken face.... and he falls back into his chair.

Maybe sometimes I zone out little, fall into a daydream....




....and maybe not.

Do you have ID?... Because you look about 12

  Now, I'm not usually one to moan about being asked for ID, in fact I carry my drivers licence everywhere so I never have to risk it.  But that is for alcohol, where it is now widely followed that if you look under 25 you'll be requested to produce a form of respectful identification.
  However, I have never, I don't think EVER! been asked for ID for...... wait for it........ Lottery!

 
 So the story goes...
 
  It was a warm afternoon, as all the CHILDREN were in school, the sun was high in the sky letting off an unusual heat for an Octobers afternoon.  A slight breeze brushed past my face as I exited my vehicle, which you have to be at least 17 to drive....  

  I made my way through the foyer of the supermarket, giving the security guard a generous smile, I approached the lottery stand and filled in the forms for the evenings draw allowing myself to pass a thought on what I would spend my winnings on, perhaps an 25-30's cruise holiday?  Sniggering to myself thinking my wife would go nuts if I decided to pack my bags and head for the sea.
    Making my way over to the counter which was manned by a lady, a rather old lady, sorry, very old lady.  She had a warming a smile, a smile I would soon wish to slap off her wrinkly old face. To feel her coarse, harshly rough skin against the softness on the back of my young delicate hand.

'Hi' she said, barely breaking her coat hanger smile as I went to hand her the tickets. 

She followed with 'Do you have any ID?'


 I was immediately taken aback, overwhelmed with confusion and agreed with myself that due to my partial deafness I MUST have misheard

'Sorry?' I said

'Do you have any ID' She replied, her jaw and lips still glued in position, her false teeth sparkling under the brightness of the counter lights.

My smile turned to anguish, what is happening? I thought to myself, confused of the event that was beginning to unfold.  I am 27 years old... am I not? Now starting to question my age, my life flashed through my mind... 



My 18th birthday party, dancing, laughter, I broke my mothers leg...

My friends 21st birthday, drink, drink, stomach pumped...

My son being born March 22nd 2005, cradling him in my arms, tears of joy...

My wedding earlier this year, our first dance, eating chicken and cake in the room....




I managed to catch a glance in a mirror, yes I was still 27, my rugged good looks and defining facial features still held strong.
Fear gripped me, my eyes danced around to see if anyone had witnessed this horror.  No, thankfully.


 I held back temptation to question why I would be holding a set of car keys in my hand and that if she felt I was a mere 15 years old then her witnessing me driving off  it would be her duty to alert the police of Grand Theft Auto, then the police could arrest and caution her for wasting police time and I could laugh at her stupidness.
  My ID was 60 miles in another county, I had nothing to back up claim.  'Never mind' my voice stuttered before I turned and fled.  


 Sitting in the car I was overcome by mixed emotions, gripped with rage yet filled with despair.  I gathered my thoughts trying to put the event behind me and I hit the road, I didn't know where I was going or how long it would take me to get there, but one thing I did know...


I would not let some old, power mad woman destroy my life and deny me my ticket. 

Diary of a Dextrocardia(n)

As my blog is titled Diary of a Dextrocardia(n) it might be a good idea for me to include some actual stories lifted right out of my journal.
So I have scoured my notepads (picked up the first one I could find) and gruelingly read page after page (opened book and picked random entry).


The Date: unknown, I'd say two years ago
Destination of Entrant: Local Hospital bed
Reason for Hospitalization: Probably the usual chest pain....


It's 7.30 am, there's a patient alarm going off, nurses are hollering back and forth and Santa in the bed opposite me is having his nappy changed, good morning world. I'm just finishing off my breakfast and the cleaners are in, they make they're way over and are now shooing me off the bed. I attempt to wave my unfinished peace of toast in they're face but are having none of it, I concede defeat and move onto the adjacent chair.
Looking out the window I notice some old hag staring at me from the outpatients department, our eyes meet, I'm gonna stare this nosey bitch to the ground 1..2..3...4... I win! It's a hollow victory though, she's going home... I'm not. Her husband has now turned his attention to me, they're damn tag teaming me! I refuse to succumb to such childishness... I smile, I wave, give the finger and close the curtains.

My bed is done, at least I think it is? It looks exactly the same and the covers don't seem to be the Thomas the Tank ones I requested.

I move back onto the bed, my DS still hasn't charged, the TV is stuck on S4C and I've read all my magazines... Great.
Oh wait, Morristons Wife Beater has just appeared in his doorway, probably to see why no ones answering the alarm, either that or he thinks 'rounds out'
Finally a nurse has answered the bell, I hope it wasn't fatal.
Morristons Wife Beater wipes something on his vest and disappears back into his room... That was close.

I'm bored, really bored. I decide to re-re-re-read one of my magazines, I lie back and try ignore all the sounds and goings on and escape into my mag.

'Rhodri' Someone calls

'Rhodri'

'Rhodri'

I lower my magazine to see what is going on to see the guy in the opposite bed calling over in my direction 'Rhodri'

He's pretty much shouting now... 'RHODRI!'

I raise my mag, Rhodri's not my name, even it was I still wouldn't answer ('Rhodri!') He probably only wants to go to the toilet...

'RHODRI!!!'

I put down my magazine to find him at the end of my bed leaning towards me, I'd better see what he wants...
'Left out the door' I tell him.

He thanks me, heads for the door and turns right... this should be fun, wheres my popcorn. I should buzz a nurse really but unfortunately I'm all for the thrill of the chase. He's barely passed the window before a nurse is apprehending him. It's over in seconds, damn.

'Where are you going love?' she enquires as she begins to lead him back to his bed

'I need the toilet'

'There's a bottle by your bed' she tells him

'This won't fit in the bottle' he replies

Nice.

My love for Demolition Man

One of the thing's my wife hates about me is my obsession of the film Demolition Man

Starring

Sylvester Stallone, Sandra Bullock and Wesley Snipes

It's not the film itself she hates, in fact she's never even seen it. Her hatred comes from the fact that its been sitting on our Sky+ box taking up space for the last 5 years... even when I have a copy on DVD.

My love for the film though doesn't come from Stallone's cheesy lines, Bullocks bad acting or even Snipe's love for guns and verbal assaults. No, the obsession is built around a memory, it represents a moment of happiness, a release during an difficult time.

When I was about 13 I had to have my tonsils out, not a big or complicated procedure... for the normal person, but due to my heart complications and the medication I take one of the problems which always arise is bleeding.  I bleed, a lot. Taking a medication called Warfarin (a lot of people will probably be aware of this drug as its widely used to treat numerous cases and is frequently used with older patients.)
 #FUN FACT its also used in rat poison
Warfarin is used to stable the blood at a sufficient level to avoid clotting and hemorrhaging, with blood tests taken regularly to control it and haematologists advise the correct dose as levels tend to rise and fall.

Bristol Childrens hopsital - Where I had my tonsils removed

This meant that I bled, heavily and when the inside of your throat has had parts cut out and didn't clot over very well, every time I was sick it was not nice.

*warning next content can be unsettling
It was nothing but blood and lots of it, even through my nose. The first time it happened it scared the crap out of me as I was not expecting it.*

So this went on for a couple of days, and near the end of it I had had enough, I was sick of it literally as well as physically. I turned on the TV and up next was Demolition Man and for that hour and a half I was happy, being 13 I loved the film... guns, violence, naughty words, cheesy lines... this film was awesome. It took my mind off everything, I was no longer thinking when was I going to be sick or if I'd get to sleep that night, I didn't care.

So when my wife asks me...

'Can I delete this off the Sky+ planner?'

Yeah why not, delete away part of my life.

There are some moments in life we will leave behind forever, then there are others we will carry with us through to our parting days.

  There are two things I remember from this time, the first was being constantly sick, scared and wondering if it would ever end. The second was this film and the peace it brought.  Everything else is a blur, something that will fade even more in time.



So in the words of John Spartan:

'Enough! This isn't the Wild West. The Wild West wasn't even the Wild West. Hurting people's not a good thing! Well, sometimes it is, but not when it's a bunch of people looking for something to eat!'



That's right, it made absolute no sense to this post... but I felt it was relevant... Thank you for reading.

Imagination... Lego comes alive

This entry may seem completely irrelevant to what my blog is about, but it's not. My blog is a diary, past and present, of a Dextrocardia(n). And sometimes even a Dextrocardia(n) likes to open up the gates to the world of fantasy and let the imagination go on it's own little journey...




Having two weeks and the weather not being the best I decided to make my own adventure... in my garden.

Take some Lego men, a dinosaur, some wood and delve deep in the undergrowth of the back of beyond...

A Hunters Pride 

[Part 1]

The world awaits for these two hunters

Unaware of the dangers that lurk amongst the tall grass, they slowly make they're way through  the forest

 

 

Escape through the bushes is his only chance, unfortunately his companion was not so lucky

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Escaping one torment draws him into another, clasped up against a wall in the hope that he can evade the preying eyes

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And...

That's as far as I got before a shower came.  I could have done some more with the rain providing some excellent waterfall effects, however I don't think my camera would have appreciated it as much as I would have.

Stay tuned for Part 2

'I can clearly hear a mumur...'

'Can you tell what it is yet?'

My Doctor would ask in his best Rolf Harris voice to the young Junior Doctors all huddled around me prodding, poking requesting deep breathes in... and out, in... and out

Due to my obvious rare condition I find myself quite often thrown at the mercy of young aspiring Doctors. Like a sheep to the wolves, I'm used to test someones ability, even in the world of medicine my condition is not always widely recognised and I must offer a little help along the way.


When having any procedure done unless its with my own Doctor who is fully aware of internal structure I almost always open with the line 'I'm Dextrocardic'. Not every time though, sometimes I like to have little fun, mix it up, break the cycle to test one's ability....

I was once lying in casualty having been brought in with chest pain and difficulty breathing having only returned home a few days earlier from a catheter procedure to insert a plug into one of my leaking valves.

The Cardiac Nurse was doing some tests and as I didn't really want to be hanging about the cold DAZ inspired white room I had been left in (and would be destined to stay for a further 5 hours) I thought I'd help hurry things along. As she was hooking me up for an E.C.G. I opened with the line that usually gets a few raised eyebrows from the nurses...

'I'm Dextrocardic'

'I know dear, I wouldn't be much of a Cardiac Nurse if I didn't know that'
she said with a laugh.... as she continued to hook me up the wrong way.

After seeing the readout she realized her mistake, but we all saw it, there was no denying of what just happened.


As I started saying, I'm used to Junior Doctors all huddling around me, wooing and ahhhing. Like NASA Scientists would if a Spaceship crash landed and they managed to pull an alien from the wreck and have it do little tests for them as they realise of this amazing discovery.

Most Doctors click quite quickly, others not so quick and some are willing to throw in the towel and decide I'm somehow dead.

I recall one up and comer attempting to give me a go...

'I can clearly hear some kind of murmur, possibly.... (makes assumption of words I can't possibly remember)'


I'd like to think that this is how my Doctor wanted to reply...

'No, you complete idiot, what the hell are you listening to? There is nothing there, you are on the wrong side of his chest... Surely you can tell that the beats of the heart would be too weak for this guy to be even breathing, if he went into cardiac arrest now with just you here he would be dead, you would be zapping emptiness with the paddles, in fact you would probably shock his heart out the side of his chest... You want to be a Doctor? Then take a look at an image of the bodies internal organs, see where the heart is positioned? Yes, you should be able to hear a nice clear heartbeat not a murmur, not a stomach rumbling, not wind... Now get back down to your mothers basement before I shove your stethoscope...'

I would have enjoyed that, but unfortunately the reply was usually a 10 minute speech using words I cannot pronounce apart from 'heart' and 'wrong side'.

 

 

 

Although by my post it may not seem like it but I like working with Junior Doctors. When they study me I enjoy the excitement a lot of them get from attempting to diagnose me. It also gives them first hand experience of a rare condition which benefits the patients they work with in the future who have such condition.

Myself: At an age when I was a little less sympathetic to the doctors prodding and poking me so they could attempt to give they're diagnostic

Sorry, I cant hear you... I'm deaf

'Can you put the bins out?' My wife will ask

'What's run out?' Will come my reply

You see, along with the major heart defects, and internal organ reversal I do carry other less serious complications.

One being I'm deaf in one ear. This was a result from a shunt operation which I had when I was about two years old. Although it was always denied by the Hospital that it was during the operation that it occurred. After having the operation it was apparent that a nerve had been severed which caused my left hand side of my face to seize up... it was after this operation that my parents became aware of my deafness although it had been claimed I could have been deaf since birth.

The left half of my face is seized from where a nerve had possibly been accidentally been severed.

'Why don't you sue? You'd probably get a good couple of grand' This is a regular question I am asked and and it annoys me every time. The answer is quite simple...

Why would I take the Hospital, Doctors and Nurses who saved my life to court? I could never stand in front of these people and start throwing blame, trying to claim money off they're backs, when the fact is if they hadn't been doing the procedure in the first place I wouldn't been here today. The only thing I'd say to them is Thank You.

'If your deaf in one year why do you wear both earplugs for your iPod?'

A lot of people don't actually seem to believe that I am deaf, they think I'm winding them up and the above question I get asked quite often. And again, the answer is simple...

If I'm walking down the road or through a shopping centre and someone I happen to know sees me there's a good chance they will say hi or call after me, then if I walk straight past them ignoring them with only having one earplug in they will probably think 'What an ignorant git'. So I always wear both plugs as not offend anyone or seem rude. I learnt this from experience, it's probably why a lot of people don't talk to me anymore.

I also wear have them in when I go into phone shops, that way when the hyenas pounce at me trying to flog the latest Apple phone, Orange broadband or Banana fax machine, I can completely ignore them. I don't want your new phone, I like my phone, it's an iPhone... That my friend is a brick, a useless prick and yes, it offends me.

#Benefit of being deaf in one ear:

Trying to catch some shut eye with 2 kids shouting, screaming and bouncing around the house like its a giant trampoline... I just turn over, rest my good ear on the pillow and... silence... yawn.