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...

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...'

Cancellations, the Domino effect...

BBC News: How operating theatres are wasting two hours a day

In the last three years this has been an all too familiar occurrence for me, especially in anticipation of my last op, where the last time someone cancelled on me that many times was back in the early noughties when I had just got on the dating scene... We're happily married now but that's another story.

I've been called three days prior to my op with many apologies. I've been sat in Frankie and Bennies stuffing my face with what I thought was my final meal for a good while when I've received the call. And I've been gowned up, sat in a hospital bed, three hours past my scheduled time only to be told that the procedure would be unable to go ahead that day.

It's never the surgeons fault, they're overly apologetic, almost to the point of begging for forgiveness. I suppose they anticpiate that some people will take it a little harder than others, perhaps picking up the hospital bed and launching it through the window or even worse, putting in a written complaint to the hospital board.

But whilst I've been sat on one side of the scale, I've also weighed down the other. My last op I was stuck in Intensive Care two days longer than I should have been. They wanted to shift me to the High Dependancy Unit but couldn't because they were waiting to shift someone from there to the ward and the patient on the ward couldn't be moved because they were waiting for a bed to become available at another hospital, where they were waiting for another patient to depart... Still following? Me neither.

Finally though I got moved to HDU where again I spent two days longer there than I should have. My collapsed lung was causing all kinds of nonsense and the only way to get it back to working capacity was to take a little trek every now and then, which was no easy feat with a drip, oxygen cylinder and six lead mobile frequency transmitter in tow. Just taking just a short walk was a challenge in itself, since being in HDU every time I got out of bed on my own accord half the ward would gasp in disbelief, with the other half wondering what the fuck I was doing and shoo me urgently back under the covers. If by some miracle I made it past security... I mean the nurses station, the hospital would go on full lock down, with every available nurse, doctor, anaesthetist, phlebotomist, dental hygienist and Jim from bed seven in hot pursuit.

Needless to say having space and freedom was a necessity in a quick recovery. You can imagine my sheer adulation as a nurse shook me awake at 3.30 in the morning, telling me they needed the bed and I had to pack up my shit and vacate the ward immediately. They'd had an emergency and was having someone come up from A&E to ICU, so had to move someone from ICU to my bed in HDU, then move me to the ward, where the person in the ward was probably kicked out into the dark, cold streets or booked in to the nearest Premier Inn with full continental breakfast and extra chocolates on the pillows under the hospitals personal cheque book. (This is not an exaggeration as I have indeed spent many a night in a Premier Inn courtesy of the Bristol Royal Infirmity)

Its just one big game of dominoes, you just hope all the pieces fall down...

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.

Taking a walk... For Charity

Time to get fit fatty

So I recently had my yearly checkup and the main outcome of it (other than perhaps find a cheaper place to park... say, for free) My Cardiologist determined that I should be undertaking a bit more exercise.
 Now, I'm hardly the beached whale washed up on the sofa, covered in crisps and chocolate shouting at my wife to hurry the midday hog roast snack along...

No.  I'd say I've a fairly ripped physique, with the washboard stomach and my big guns resting upon my arms.  But maybe I do need to work on my cardio and perhaps put a bit more effort in each week to break a sweat.

So in light of this I thought I'd set myself a little challenge, while raising money for a good cause at the same time.


The Goal

My intention is to do a walk.  The walk will be around 20 miles long and the route will be leaving my mothers house where I grew up in, walking to my local Hospital where I spent many weeks during my childhood and returning to the start.

The route is in representation of a journey I undertook many times when I was younger.


The Donation

At the moment I'm not entirely sure as to which charity I intend to do the walk for.  I also have considered giving donations to the children's ward of my local hospital to be used to purchase entertainment for the youngsters. Again, at the moment this is all just being considered and is under 'construction'

The Team

I would like to thank all my friends and family who will be joining me on my quest, my wife especially who will be whipping me into shape for the event.



Keep watch, I will be updating any progressions of the idea and eventual goal.  I will also be advising of my training progress... Last night I banged out a 10 minute run on the Wii Fit, I'd say that's enough for this month... Now wheres my sofa?

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.

'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.

Not all Doom and Gloom

While the majority content of this blog will come across as 'Jeez, this guys life is pretty crappie... he spends half the time in hospital' I do try to put a humorous spin on things, if mostly for my own benefit than anything else.
I would like to take this time to talk about two good... sorry, amazing things in my life... and that would be my two children...



Many years ago sometime in my late teens a conversation came up with my doctor, at the time it just sort of went over my head but I was unaware of how strongly it would of impacted my life
A question arose on my *cough* sexual health and whether I had any problems erm, performing so to speak... my response was an immediate no as to shuffle along the conversation. But while we were on the subject he began to elaborate and explained that due to my condition (Congenital Heart Disease) There is a very high risk that I would be unable to have children.



As I said at the time I was in my teens and this just went over my head as having children was the last thing on my mind...



8 Years ago I met a girl, someone who I adored and fell in love with. I had discussed my health problems with and the conversation arose that I may not be able to have children. At the time it was very early in our relationship and wasn't the top priority in our lives at the time.

But then, Miracles can happen...

Less than a year into our relationship my girlfriend fell pregnant, by accident... It was a shock... a big shock...



I remember telling my father and his reaction was that of that I had just robbed a bank



'Whhhaaaatttt!!????'

My Mother pretty much 'dropped her chips'

My Grandmother almost strangled my girlfriend to death in a congratulation hug.



A few months later I visited my Cardiologist, he could see my girlfriend was a few months pregnant and explained that I was very lucky and very few people with my circumstances were gifted with such joy.



My son is now 6 years old, has no heart problem and leads a healthy life... I couldn't wish for more


The Genetic Jackhammer strikes again...



Again, accidents happen, am I complaining? No. January 2009 My beautiful daughter Aimee is born. No heart problems, healthy and happy..


All my life people, statistics, doctors have told me of thing's that will never happen

'He won't last the night'

'He won't live to his teens'

'It's unlikely he will live a normal life'



'You are unlikely to be able to have children'



The above obstacles haven't been overcome by myself alone, I have doctors, nurses, medical development to help me reach this day today, all of which I am exceptionally thankful for each day.



The biggest of which are the birth's of my children
Myself and my wife are exceptionally gifted people to have two beautiful children (As is every parent) But the fact that again, the odds were told to be against me and I can sit here with my two ruffians, who just cannot sit still, cannot stop moaning and whinge and nag nag nagggggg....



As I reflect on my life, the hospital visits, the never ending blood tests and tablet taking, the pain I went through, the operations I survived... For these two? It was worth it

Catheter Ablation... The Joys

Past tense...
So to pick this blog up a bit more quickly and give it a bit of steam, luckily I have kept previous journals of my time in various hospitals and the joys they hold....


2009 - Catheter Ablation
Catheter ablation is an invasive procedure used to remove a faulty electrical pathway from the hearts of those who are prone to developing cardiac arrhythmia's such as atrial fibrillation, atrial flutter, supraventricular tachycardia's (SVT) and Wolff-Parkinson-White syndrome.
It involves advancing several flexible catheters into the patients blood vessels, usually either in the femoral vein, internal jugular vein, or subclavian vein. The catheters are then advanced towards the heart and high-frequency electrical impulses are used to induce the arrhythmia, and then ablate (destroy) the abnormal tissue that is causing it.

Tachycardia comes from the Greek words tachys (rapid or accelerated) and kardia (of the heart). Tachycardia typically refers to a heart rate that exceeds the normal range for a resting heart rate (heart rate in an inactive or sleeping individual). It can be dangerous depending on the speed and type of rhythm.

I'm lying in bed with my table up against me 3 hours returned from my procedure when a cleaning lady decides to smash her broom into the legs of my table almost knocking my coffee over. She looks up smiles and decides to have another go... this time knocking the cup over, luckily for here though its empty, 10 minutes earlier and she could have had a lawsuit on her hands. I think back to 3 hours ago in the theatre where perhaps there was less danger to my life...
As I get to the Hospital slightly beat from the traffic congested 3 hour ride up (its usually only 2 hours but unfortunately there are a lot of people out there who don't actually know how to drive, and decide to take detours into say, the central reservation) I look on my information sheet to see where in the Hospital I should be headed. As usual I spend half hour looking for the ward, after jumping from level to level (I don't like lifts so I have to take the stairs, regardless how many floors I must climb) I decide that I'm fucked enough and can't risk a coronary and head for the information desk.

SORRY - WE ARE CLOSED

Great, I check my info sheet and on closer inspection I find it actually gives directions, better yet I'm in the wrong building... TAXI!

I finally find the right place, check in with the receptionist and take a seat. I'm surrounded by old people, very old people, at least there is hope for me that I will live a long life. After a few minutes 3 of us are called by a nurse, we are each given locker numbers and disposable white gowns and undergarments. On a level it feels quite derogatory, like we're sheep being taken for slaughter and leaving as little mess as possible to clean up. The herd is then rustled into allocated cubicles, everything is so clean and white it gives an uneasy feel.
My patient number is read out and I'm led to a bed and left there, with me, and my thoughts. I think of the procedure, the current setting, my nervousness and unease...

'MR SMITH?'

A friendly sounding voice calls as it breaks my thoughts, I snap out of it and look up to see a nurse at the end of my bed smiling, it's like a deep release from the room (MORE). She runs through some standard questions, takes some tests and then my Doctor arrives. He's and extremely friendly man, he runs through the procedure with me while discussing with a Junior Doctor on how to enter me... yes, I gave a little laugh too and it seemed for a moment, to take the edge off.
Anyway, due to my height they decide to go through the groin, the other option is the neck but afterwards it can look a little well, unsightly.

After all the pleasantries I'm taken by a nurse and led into the theatre....

The room is like something out of a sci-fi film, huge contraptions fill the room. It's so white I'm surprised sun shades weren't provided as procedure, equipment is covered in see through plastic coverings, a single steel bed occupies the centre of the room and 6 large screens over look the it. There is a long glass window with around 4 technicians sitting amongst multiple screens.

I am invited to lie on the bed, multiple nurses begin to hook me up to numerous machines, my arms, legs and chest are all connected to various devices. I am then injected with the relative sedation.
My groin is then injected to numb the area and man, this hurts like fucking hell. The pain can only be described as an incredible sharp stab (like a knife) being thrust into my groin, the pain lasts for about 15 seconds... I grip the table, my body arches and I clench my teeth and hold back tears... FUUUUUUUUUUUU... Gone. Within a second it disappears, like it was never there.

The screen next to me are all showing different live pictures and information of my heart, heart rate, oxygen levels, continuous xrays, echocardiogram's...

They do the standard catheter procedure which lasts about 40 minutes (which is just to check all the arteries of the heart etc...)
They then move on to do the ablation. Before they can start zapping the inside muscle's of my heart they need to find out what is causing the tachycardia attacks (Where the heart rate goes up to about 200 beats a minute) To do this they need to bring up my heart rate, so they give it a little shock... Boom it shoots up, 200 beats a minute.. Wham Wham WhamWham... my chest is pounding. I like to the monitor's which one of displays the tiny catheter making its way around my heart (at least that's what I think it was)

After an hour I'm in agony, the pain in my chest is unbearable, I didn't know if this was normal or not, but anyway a nurse could see my discomfort and asked if I was alright... 'Yes, yes I'm fine, I have a tube being rammed up my leg, electric shocks are intermittently taking place in my heart and it is going about 200 beats a minute like it's going to explode out of my chest! But yes, I'm dandy....

I'm told to think 'happy thoughts'... Let me be honest, I'm not a 'happy thought' kind of guy, I have no special place, no field that I can see myself in. Bottom line is I'm in pain, it hurts and no thought process can overcome this, I want the drugs... Now.
I explain that I am in an exceptional amount of pain and drugs are administered.

Oh the drugs... My head goes light and my eyes get heavy, this is my happy place. Even with the morphine I still feel relatively aware although my sight is slightly unfocused and my speech is slurred. My mind wanders, I'm overcome with happiness and begin to mentally list the things I am thankful for, I feel a sense of excitement... It is obvious how people can become so addicted to this stuff.

I regain consciousness, the procedure took 6 hours.. thank god I was outers.

After drifting in and out of sleep I wake up in a room on the ward, its a good one too.. en suite! A nurse comes in and goes over a few things, she advises that I can get up and use the bathroom if I wish as it will help the blood flow etc...
So after she leaves I think why not, I pop out of bed and head for the men's. My groinal wound is all bandaged up and is pretty painful. As I'm stood there having a quick relief a voice calls out 'Andrew?' then a knock on the door... 'Andrew!' I quickly finish and reel it in as she comes bursting through the door.. 'What are you doing out of bed?' she practically screams. I try to explain that I was told to told but she doesn't listen as she shoos me back into bed....

Oh the joys