Sunday 18th September
I wake at 4am.
There’s a Bonnie Rait song that seems to have moved in to my head.
I could do with a hot chocolate but make do with a small bottle of water.
My work phone has some messages on it.
I consider emailing the recruitment consultant who has lined up two candidates for me to interview for a vacancy.
After thought, I decide not to.
There could be someone who might deputise for me.
We need to fill that vacant post, it’s getting urgent.
I plug my iPod in, in an attempt to evict the Bonnie Rait earworm.
No sex for four weeks!
No ZX10R for possibly the same amount of time!
And no work for who knows how long!
I would normally be devastated by any one of these, but to have to face up to all three at the same time?
That’s just cruel.
Oddly, the iPod seems to be laying a level of musical work over, but not quite masking Bonnie Rait.
I google who wrote ‘I Can’t Make You Love Me’ and am astounded to see it was co-written by Mike Reid.
But relieved to learn it wasn’t that Mike Reid.
Nor the other one.
Elbow has a good crack at driving the Bonnie Rait song out.
But I find myself wanting to wave my phone in the air and sing along to One Day Like This.
Probably not a good idea.
I have had a tremendous amount of good wishes from Twitter and FB.
Try to sleep.
Later in the morning I meet the Cardiac Registrar.
He lays it out for me.
I have had a heart attack (so all thought that I’d had a mere ‘warning’, or had a vagina angina attack have been put to bed).
It wasn’t a ‘lucky to be alive’ heart attack though; it was less serious than that.
So on Monday (or on Tuesday, or on Wednesday – depending on backlogs and things) I’m going to have an angiogram.
And if they find heart damage that needs attention, I will also have an angioplasty.
And then, probably the next day, they’ll let me go home.
How long I stay at home (which means how long I have to rest, and how long before I can drive), will be determined by what the angiogram reveals.
There need to be questions asked about what I do about work in the long term, but right now I just want to get home.
Time passes.
Sam has been brilliant.
She came to see me again this afternoon, bringing many supplies and treats.
I don’t want the supplies and treats.
I just want to see her.
She still looks tired.
I want to go home.
I’m bored and I want my bed and I want my family and I want my cats.
I’m going to watch an episode of Buffy, then I’ll shower, watch a film, have my 10pm meds and then try to sleep.
Sleep isn’t coming as easily as it could.