Every time the 2nd of November rolls around I have very mixed feelings. On the one hand, I am unbelievably thankful that I am alive, but on the other I remember every little detail not just of the day 11 years ago, but the months, nay years, of struggle beforehand and the long recovery afterwards.
So, what happened I hear you ask?
In about 2002, I began to get very short of breath, initially during any exercise. I duly took myself off to the Doctors and was diagnosed as having exercise induced asthma and prescribed inhalers. Over time, the breathlessness became more and more severe until I couldn't hold a conversation without gasping for breath. I basically lived at the Doctor' surgery and was put on increasing strength inhalers and also had several courses of steroids. All to no avail.
Things came to a head on October 20th 2005 when I became so desperate for breath that Adam called the out of hours service who sent an ambulance. When they arrived, they diagnosed an asthma attack but because I still couldn't breathe they took me to hospital. In A & E, I was sent for a chest xray and had bloods taken and was on the verge of being discharged when I mentioned that I wouldn't be able to climb the stairs to bed as I was still too breathless. I was kept in.
Now I was in the 'system' I was assigned a respiratory consultant and was spasmodically sent for tests that showed I didn't have asthma but what I did have, they had no idea! A CT scan of my lungs was ordered along with an echocardiogram of my heart. The echo happened to be the first one I was sent for. I will never forget the moment the scanner was placed on my chest and the sonographer paused before saying to her colleague on the other side of the curtain 'who's on call today?' They'd found something at last!!! But they weren't allowed to tell me without a consultant.
The following morning, the 2nd November 2005, I was called out my shower by a consultant I'd not seen before. He told me that I had a tumour INSIDE my heart and I needed surgery to remove it. I had been in Walsall Manor Hospital for 13 days at this point.
I was transferred by ambulance to New Cross Hospital in Wolverhampton that afternoon. I remember asking the ambulance staff questions about the surgery, including how the surgeon would get through my breastbone and being told it would be with an angle grinder!
The care at New Cross was incredible, my lovely surgeon, Mr Morgan, explained everything and as I was interested, offered me a DVD of the operation, I jumped at the chance and the disc is one of my prized possessions. I had to sign a consent form which under 'reason for procedure' states 'To prevent sudden death'
My surgery lasted four hours and I was then put in intensive care. Once I was awake, I was amazed at what intensive care actually means: a nurse literally sits at the bottom of your bed and monitors you. They constantly check the readings from the multiple machines you're connected to and if the nurse needs to leave for any reason, they can't unless a replacement can take their place. After a couple of days I was moved to slightly less intensive care and a couple of days after that into what is called step down where there's one nurse to about 4 beds. I eventually got moved to a standard ward to continue my recovery.
Mr Morgan came to see me twice every day. He told me my tumour (called a myxoma) had been taking up 90% of my left atrium and slipped through the valve into the left ventricle on each beat of my heart. The tumour measured 5 x 7 cm and was thankfully benign. During the operation, they connected me to an external pacemaker and every day Mr Morgan turned it down hoping my heart would take over but every day it refused! I think my heart had worked so hard for so long that it needed a rest! Finally, 12 days after the surgery, I began to feel decidedly odd and after connecting me to an ECG machine, it was found my heart had finally kicked in - yay!!!!
I was discharged the following day so all told I had spent 26 days in hospital. I couldn't read for 6 weeks or my head hurt and it took me a good 6 months to feel me again. I went back to work in January 2006 which looking back was too soon, but I was just desperate to be normal again.
Although the experience was difficult and certainly life changing, I live to tell the tale, sport a beautiful 8 inch scar which I call my war wound, and have a DVD of my operation. How many people can say that?!!
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