Day five, my heart is still beating, I know because I am still checking each beat. I must be feeling better today because the start of the days routine amuses me, tea and drugs arrive, the nurses still insist on calling the mushy stuff food but I can forgive them anything as their combined efforts are keeping me safe.
I find that the mobilisation has worked and I can actually make it to the toilet, almost unaided.
I ponder on how quickly I have become institutionalised. I have a feeling that if someone said I had to spend the rest of my life being cared for in my ward, by my wonderful nurses I might not argue much, I feel safe and cosseted here, I have developed a lack of trust in my heart. It has stopped once and it could do it again so living in a hospital may be a good idea. Apparently this lack of trust in my heart is common to heart attack victims, not surprising really. Safe in my new world I chat to nurses, cleaners and my other new friends.
Noticing that I am starting to pong a bit I ask if I can shower, permission is discussed and granted, so in I go. A small tip here, if you do not want to flood a hospital ward, do not stand on the drain hole. Screams in the ward and a nurse with a mop bursts in to my shower prove that. Showers are wonderful things for making you feel more alive, buzzing with pleasure I leave the shower and head for my bed……. and get a massive shock. Someone is being put into my bed and my belongings are being bagged up!!
The sister takes me to one side and announces that I am going home, “Isn’t that great” she smiles. Well actually it is not great, my family are not expecting me and I feel safe right here thank you. But apparently it is not optional. I phone home and say “I’m ready to come home” shocked silence, then panic. It would seem that, like me, my wife is not ready. I suppose that we are worried about being on our own with my seemingly unreliable heart, or maybe my wife does not want to be a nurse. How will either of us cope? Again we have no choice so we arrange for my wife to come and collect me.
Very soon after the shower I am in a wheelchair and being pushed out of the ward, I hear a cry and Scary rushes up for a goodbye hug, then abruptly I am on my way again. I am taken to a waiting room where my paperwork is to be processed. There are a few other people waiting to go home and they are swapping “how sick were you” stories and in a weird form of NHS top trumps it appears that my heart attack wins.
I get time to think while waiting for my wife to arrive. I am nervous, my world has very quickly shrunk to just the ward and I was soon dependent on it for everything it was small, womb like, comforting and safe. In a few short days I have left the wider world behind and it now I look forward to returning with some trepidation.
My wife arrives concern written on her face and we set off along an endless corridor I am still very weak and walking to the car is a challenge, finally we leave the building. My senses have to take in the space, brightness and the bustle all around me. Luckily the car is close and I settle in for the drive home. My wife and I chat on the way home about the day to day stuff married people talk about, but not about hearts.
We arrive and my daughter opens the door, I’m home, inside we hug all three of us. I have missed that and will never tire of our three way hugs. The dogs are not sure, they tend to sulk if anyone is away for a while but when I have settled onto the settee they lay close by. I look around, it is good to be home. We catch up on what they have been up to but soon I am ready for bed. I take a slow stagger up the stairs to my first nights sleep at home, impression of a very, very old man giving us all our first proper laugh for a while.
