Road to Recovery

Day Six of recovery and Andrew is in the Park...

The peaceful tranquillity washes over me as I take in the beauty of Llangunnors evergreen. The morning light breaking through the tree's, mist silently hovering above the playing fields, my dog taking a crap on the grass... Milo! You couldn't wait until we got home could you? He looks at me with his big brown eyes the same as anyone would look at you whilst relieving themselves, 'Dude seriously, some privacy?'

Oh well, I suppose the bending will help with the circulation, yet it doesn't make the big black bruise down my leg any less painful. It feels good to get out, get that fresh air into my lungs. Though every step rocks me with fear, that I'll feel that ectopic beat that has tormented me these past months, that un-synchronised misstep within my hearts rhythm that sends it tunnelling down the path of no return.

With each step I hope that it won't be the case. The signal up here on the mountain carries the same strength as the caffeine in a hospital coffee... and I'm not sure what I'd be more upset about if my heart kicked into one of its episodes? That the past surgery was for nothing and I was back to square one or that I'd have to drag my body through the wet grass of the misty playing fields like some kind of commando who should have been kicked out the helicopter long before it left the cadet school.  And then there's the dog, it's not like I've got myself a Lassie here, who would run immediately to alert the neighbours of my peril... 

'Whats that boy? Andrews stuck down a well?... Oh, Andrews unwell! Quick show me, John! John! Get help!'

No, I tell my dog I need help and he'd happily sit there licking my face. It might have been more beneficial for me if I'd have gotten a Husky or one of those St Bernard's where I could just hang onto his neck and he could just drag me home. Unfortunately my little Cavalier King Charles can barely drag his big floppy ears along without tripping over them...I didn't quite think this through.

But nevertheless each step also fills me with great hope. There is no missed beat, quickened heart rate or any divergence from my pace makers stabled rhythm (as of yet). Yes my thigh where they fed the tubes feels like its had a knife grinding away against the bone, my chest holds all kinds of discomforts which seem to come and go as they please and the painkillers I've been consuming to fend off the pains make me want to do nothing but sleep. But at least the shoulder pain that plagued me so heavily has since faded into a passing ache, that's reason enough to celebrate at the moment. So Milo, fetch me that stick and let us march into the days of glory with our heads held high, and the hopes and dreams that perhaps, maybe even soon, everything shall be right again... No Milo, thats a sock.

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...'

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