At exactly this time (13.07) I was in Queens Medical Centre, Nottingham, A&E.
I was being told that I’d had (and was still having) a heart attack.
It was a Friday.
I knew I didn’t feel very well when I woke up, but put the relatively mild symptoms down to a cold, or manflu.
All my joints ached, I felt a bit vomitty, and I was heavily sweating.
Sam and I had had a row the night before, there was still an air of awkwardness in the house, so I went off to work.
By 9.30am my symptoms were unchanged, but I felt so much worse.
I did nothing about it because I had a big meeting at 10.30 with my team and my Director.
Around 10.15 I experienced an extra symptom. I felt as if someone was pushing with all their weight against my chest.
I figured out what was wrong.
I texted Sam that I thought I was having a heart attack and went in to my meeting.
The meeting ended at noon.
Sam had called every phone I have, and emailed every account.
I took my Director aside and said I was very unwell and going home.
I drove home.
Sam met me at the house, and drove me to hospital breaking every speed limit, and driving like she was auditioning for a part in The Sweeney.
At QMC I was hustled through A&E and underwent tests which quickly confirmed my self-diagnosis.
After a four day stay in hospital, an angiogram revealed I had a torn artery – the main artery that feeds blood in to my heart.
This was repaired on the spot through the fitting of a stent, and I went home later that afternoon.
The moral of this story is fourfold:
- Don’t be stupid about your job. It’s only a job. Life goes on without it, and the job goes on without you
- Look after those who love you, no matter how prickly or how big a pain in the arse they might sometimes be, they might help save your life one day and be a tremendous comfort to you
- Look after yourself. The buck stops with you
- The NHS saved my life. Please buy a nurse, a doctor, a porter, a surgeon a drink from me
We’re going out this evening to celebrate my Not Deadaversary.
Sam even had a card made up: