Pumped full of anti-coagulants, beta blockers and statins, an angiogram revealed a 95 per cent narrowed coronary artery, which was duly stented (widened and propped open with a mesh) and a host of other, too--small-to-repair arteries that were also furred-up and generally not functioning properly.An angioplasty, they call it.
My father, 84 and fit, heart-wise, as the proverbial flea, grunted when he found out: "You've got the MacCalman genes." Well, it would appear that I have some of the maternal line's classic West of Scotland cardiac inheritance, one made worse by my taste - possibly also passed down through the DNA - for deep-fried fish, chips and indeed, fried anything. For pastry, pies, chocolate and cheese. For scones, cakes and bakery products of the most fat-filled form. My paternal line is all West of Scotland but in a different way: industrial accidents and tales of lonely colonial deaths on African cotton plantations.
Did I mention the alcohol, espresso and cigarettes? Not that I've smoked for a long time. Not since that first coronary spasm during a roller coaster ride at the Alton Towers theme park. An early warning back, oh, 20 years ago. And maybe I should have taken greater notice of those high cholesterol and blood pressure figures. Though decades of careless statin, beta blockers and aspirin consumption (when I remembered) probably gave me that extra nine years over mum and grandad. And bicycles, of course.
Some people will tell you that a stent will give you a new, instantaneous, trouble-free lease of life, turning you from a couch potato into a long distance athlete. Mine has not been without problems. Four days after being released by/expelled from ARI, and a stressful 14 hour boat trip (not to mention a stupid fish supper) I was back in hospital with even worse chest pain. It's after being salvaged by doctors and nurses from that morass of agony and despair that I'm sitting in Ward 3 at the Gilbert Bain Hospital, writing this. It's 7 May 2015. Mayday was the day Dr Broadhurst, superplumber, did the angioplasty. So I'm just six days in.
And here I am, still alive. How am I to stay, not just alive, but properly living a decent, satisfying life, in the days, weeks, hopefully years to come?
That story will be told here. After this next bout of tests.
This is basically an introduction, and every post will have its own tab and title at the top of the blog. I hope it might be useful to anyone undergoing stuff like this, and their families. And occasionally entertaining.
And yes, I have eaten a deep fried Mars Bar. Or two. But never again. The truth is, it's a disgusting. Deep-fried pizza, though, or mutton pie....those are glorious delicacies for the West of Scotland palate. But no, those days are behind me. Probably.
