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Morning all.
Huge thanks to everyone who sent their best wishes, it was much appreciated.
My heart attack, like most people's I suppose, came out of the blue. I mean I suppose it could have been expected, I have a terrible family history with 2 grandparents, my mam, dad, and two younger brothers all having had one. But unlike most of them, I had no other risk factors. No high blood pressure, no high cholesterol, no diabetes, non-drinker, no fags this century. I sleep well, and I'm rarely stressed, (Unless I've been golfing with tikay, but that's another story)
So there I was at about 3 in the afternoon, sitting on the settee, sport on the telly and the laptop open. I had just entered a $25 bounty hunter and a $15 freezeout, (I usually play $5 or $11 max so quite high stakes for me)
Suddenly... CRUNCH! Pain like an enormous pair of pinchers squeezing my chest, and even more pain shooting down both arms.
I knew immediately what was happening, and I knocked on the bathroom door where Mrs Red was cleaning..
Me: I'm having a heart attack.
Her: I'm having a heart attack who?
I quickly convinced her that I wasn't joking and she dialled 999. They told her that it would be quicker to take me to the hospital than to wait for an ambulance. We recruited our eldest daughter as driver and off we went, me doubled up in the rear foot well, Mrs Red on the seat brushing my hair soothingly with her foot.
We had a choice between The Royal hospital in Leicester, or the George Elliott in Nuneaton. We chose the GE because it's smaller and usually less busy.
When we got there A&E was absolutely rammed, every seat taken, people sitting on the floor, a long queue at the admissions desk..
I staggered past the queue and grunted, "Heart attack" to the nurse behind the glass.
The NHS is totally wonderful and I love it to bits. It's also teeth-shatteringly infuriating and I could run amok with a sledgehammer, smashing everything to pieces.
At this point, the wonderful part kicked in, a porter appeared with a wheelchair and whizzed me off to a cubicle where I was hooked up to an ECG machine, had a cannula inserted, blood taken, was given tablets, injections, and had stuff squirted under my tongue. In no time the pain started to ease, going from an 8/10 to about a 4 in a few minutes.
Presently, Mrs Red, who had been giving my details to the nurse at the desk arrived and asked what was happening. The doctor told us that I had been treated for a heart attack because of my symptoms and the ECG indications and they were now waiting for the results of my blood test. They were looking specifically at troponin levels. Troponin is a protein that is released into the bloodstream when the heart muscle is damaged. If the count is over 6 that means it's elevated. Mine came back at 38.
"Wow!" I said, 38, what happens now?"
They assured me that 38 wasn't particularly high, but that they needed to measure it again in 2 hours because if there is damage, it would continue to increase for 12 hours.
The next reading was 577. At this point, the teeth shatteringly infuriating NHS took over.
TBC.
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