The nurses and doctors are chattering away seemingly oblivious to me lying on the bed with my body covered in electrodes.
They told me that I will be strapped to the heart monitor for observation for the next two hours.
I got myself to Accident & Emergency following gradually increasing chest tightness throughout the afternoon at work. There is something wrong with my heart - the ECG is showing up various anomalies - but they don't know what yet.
The staff are courteous and professional as always but they are not cardiac specialists.
I need to stop writing now as my IV has arrived - something about a blood test for a heart attack....
Addendum - later in the evening.
After five hours, several blood tests, a chest X-ray, some tablets I can't remember the name of, and a change of shift for the staff, they are sending me home.
The discomfort in my heart has subsided now but I will need to have more tests. Almost certainly it will be something to do with my medication, which will now need to be adjusted, despite the confident words of The Professor.
Seems like my Parkinson's is still very much in charge...
Addendum - 1am on Wednesday
So I spoke too soon. They are keeping me in overnight for a CT scan and possibly a slightly scary coronary angiogram in the morning. The cardiologist finally arrived and gave a different opinion from the duty doctor - a possible blocked artery, though nothing showed up on his ultrasound, hence the further tests.
They are looking for a bed for me right now. To be honest I will be glad to get out of the emergency ward. Listening to all the late night screams in the neighbouring cubicles is quite unpleasant. Though the attention surrounding the major trauma patients reminds me that I still have it pretty good as I sit quietly typing this on my iPhone...
Addendum - 5am on Wednesday
I am on an "acute" ward, one with constant supervision. I am strapped to a heart monitor all night as the tightness in my chest ebbs then flows again.
I look at the old man next to me, frail and diminutive, more dead than alive, sucking irregularly on his oxygen mask and occasionally moaning. At the end of his life in a decrepit state I wonder what kind of great and good man he was in his prime. How far he must have come.
The man opposite, perhaps in his sixties causes a fuss throughout the night as he keeps trying to get out of bed, to the annoyance of the nurses. He too saps oxygen from a mask, his lungs spluttering as he does so. Although he is irritating I empathise with his desire to escape.
How on earth did I get to this place? And how is any of this fair on the wonderful Clara?
I am tempted to start questioning how I deserve this. I stop myself.
Fuck all of it. I will get through this. And the next challenge. And the ones after that.
Addendum - later in the evening.
After five hours, several blood tests, a chest X-ray, some tablets I can't remember the name of, and a change of shift for the staff, they are sending me home.
The discomfort in my heart has subsided now but I will need to have more tests. Almost certainly it will be something to do with my medication, which will now need to be adjusted, despite the confident words of The Professor.
Seems like my Parkinson's is still very much in charge...
Addendum - 1am on Wednesday
So I spoke too soon. They are keeping me in overnight for a CT scan and possibly a slightly scary coronary angiogram in the morning. The cardiologist finally arrived and gave a different opinion from the duty doctor - a possible blocked artery, though nothing showed up on his ultrasound, hence the further tests.
They are looking for a bed for me right now. To be honest I will be glad to get out of the emergency ward. Listening to all the late night screams in the neighbouring cubicles is quite unpleasant. Though the attention surrounding the major trauma patients reminds me that I still have it pretty good as I sit quietly typing this on my iPhone...
Addendum - 5am on Wednesday
I am on an "acute" ward, one with constant supervision. I am strapped to a heart monitor all night as the tightness in my chest ebbs then flows again.
I look at the old man next to me, frail and diminutive, more dead than alive, sucking irregularly on his oxygen mask and occasionally moaning. At the end of his life in a decrepit state I wonder what kind of great and good man he was in his prime. How far he must have come.
The man opposite, perhaps in his sixties causes a fuss throughout the night as he keeps trying to get out of bed, to the annoyance of the nurses. He too saps oxygen from a mask, his lungs spluttering as he does so. Although he is irritating I empathise with his desire to escape.
How on earth did I get to this place? And how is any of this fair on the wonderful Clara?
I am tempted to start questioning how I deserve this. I stop myself.
Fuck all of it. I will get through this. And the next challenge. And the ones after that.
