Were my exact words to the doctor as i lay in my hospital bed a couple of days after admission.
On July 23rd i had been out doing my usual errands, i hadn't been feeling too great but i'd put it down to the heat. I put it to the back of my mind and plodded on, refusing to be beaten by weather, Plus , it was a good day i was getting a new phone and i was particularly pleased as it was brand new . Anything prior to that had been second hand. However as Ronnie Corbett would say, i digress.
I got home and by the time i'd got settled it was becoming more and more obvious to me that i was a long way from well. I went to lie down, hoping it would pass. BIg old wrong. I was sweating, not sweating , it was pouring from me there were some minor twinges but nothing that indicated what i was to find out.
After i'd rung my surgery they told me to ring for an ambulance , which i did.
A very sullen lady paramedic came out and after much moaning about my cats, wired me up to a portable ecg monitor. Even in my panic driven state i knew this couldn't be good ( amazing the insight pure terror can give you)
Before i knew it, i was being helped into an ambulance and my partner , ashen faced was sat opposite me looking concerned. I was admitted into the cardiac care unit before i could say "well i'm buggered" My partner sat with me looking pale and tearful.
I felt lousy and was wired up like an amp at Reading festival.
I don't know if it's just me but time seemed to blur a little. The next day after much prodding and examining i had a nap after what passed for lunch and when i woke up, my sisters and three of my brothers were sat round the bed . All smiling and joking my kid sis holding my hand. This continued for a few days and gradually i got my strength back, i was allowed to use a proper toilet and everything. Fluid was coming off my lungs my bp was levelling out and my heart rate returning to something resembling normal.Before long i was mobile off the monitors and doing things for my self.
That was when i learnt the truly scary part of what i'd gone through .The doctor explained to me that when i was admitted, my heart was in failure and continued to be for three days. This explained the huge family presence i assume.
Anyway i was discharged and i'm finding that recovery is whole new learning experience in itself. i'm continuously discovering i have newer, and in some ways frustrating limits. i get knackered making a cuppa, the stairs down from my flat are now the descent of a mountain , so i do a little bit every day. I have to weigh myself every day and i'm losing weight at almost an ounce a day. SO the physical recovery seems to be going okay. The emotional side is where i'm struggling.
Most of who may read this will know i suffer from depression anyway. I don't do well with the way things are. I hate that i can't whizz around doing the shopping or picking up prescriptions as i used to, i hate that my partner has to do the things i used to, despite the fact she is in constant pain herself, yet she never complains, she never gets angry at me when i beat myself up for being like this . She reminds me that one day i'll be better than i am at the moment and chides me gently for my impatience. Yet not once has she complained. She is an amazing woman and when i have one of my crying bouts she listens patiently, even if she's heard it all before and she smiles and tells me i'll get there. She's right though, she always is. With her in my corner i'm gonna kick this things arse. At my own speed though.
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