Thursday 22nd September
I’m home.
My right wrist hurts like hell from the pressure clamp (even though the clamp was removed late yesterday afternoon).
The list of restrictions is longer because of the wrist thing, than because of the heart attack thing.
Bonkers!
The heart attack restrictions are simple. Don’t drink, don’t smoke, don’t drive, don’t ride motorbikes, don’t work.
The wrist restrictions runs to pages, and all involve not doing things that one normally does with one’s right hand.
Flushing the toilet is even on the list.
So to is doing the washing up.
And gardening.
And DIY.
Anyway.
I am home.
Sitting on the settee, gazing longingly at the garage, and the lovely weather, and looking about me at all the jobs I could be doing around the house.
And being unable to do all of them.
Frustrating.
But I am home!
I shall be bored out of my head in 3, 2, 1…
A very good friend of mine had a heart attack a few years back.
Fortunately for him, he was in the hospital car park when it happened. Paramedics put him in the back of an ambulance and used those electric shock paddles to bring him back.
They got his heart going again, but in doing so, the convulsions caused by the paddles zapping him, caused his head to hit heavily against a fire extinguisher, damaging his eye.
He tells me that during his three-day stay in hospital, the doctors seemed much, much more concerned about his eye than his heart.
He too had a stent put in.
I think that minor heart surgery such as that, is done so often now that doctors feel very competent and confident about it.
That’s probably a good thing for all of us.
Aye, indeed it probably is, Young Masher. But a thought-provoking experience, nevertheless.