Our bodies are amazing things. (And I’m not just talking about my ‘perfect specimen’ of a torso, although I will continue to milk that for all it’s worth). All those years studying anatomy, physiology and pathology at medical school have instilled within me a sense of wonder at how it all fits together and works so effectively day in, day out.
Until, of course, something goes wrong. But even then it is incredible how the body warns us of impending harm, compensates for any damage, and manages to heal itself, with or without the assistance of the doctors, nurses, therapists and others.
When I had my TIA in 2011, I was a bit slow off the mark, and it was only when I was in hospital and a junior doctor was taking a medical history and examining me that it slowly dawned on me that the symptoms and signs I was displaying were those of someone who had had a stroke. Fortunately, by then, I was already on the mend and so was able to fully appreciate the wonderful healing hand of nature as I gradually found my speech, and then slowly regained the sensation and movement, first in my arm and then my leg. What a wonder to discover afresh the marvel of my own hand with its opposable thumb; to regain awareness of one complete side of my body of which, during the stroke, I had been totally unaware; to be able, once again, to actually articulate the words I wanted to say…
This time round, I was more on the ball and had worked out what was going on within minutes of the onset of the first symptoms. That was shortly after 8am on Tuesday 17th December. It was a cold, crisp morning and was cycling to the station to catch a train to London. As I cycled up the hill in Allesley Park, I realised that my chest was feeling a bit tight and I needed to slow down. I’m not a fast cyclist at the best of times, but I had to drop right down to my lowest gear and crawl up the hill. The tightness eased a bit as I reached the summit and cruised down the other side, but even so I was aware throughout the day that not everything was right.
I think I had expected the symptoms to be a bit more obvious – this was just a dull, gripping ache and a very slight shortness of breath – as though I’d been running a cross country race on a cold winter’s day. But it was enough to convince me. So, having confirmed that it wasn’t just going to pass off, I booked in to see my GP.
Not that it stopped me keeping active – with the help of Esther, Rob and Joe, I was able to build our labyrinth in the run up to Christmas, and carried on with gardening and building our new terraced garden. But I did find I needed to slow down. Sweeping up leaves was the most obvious and I found that after a couple of sweeps I needed to pause to get my breath back – not a particularly good sign.
I think Lois quite appreciated the slower pace on our walks, without me steaming ahead on all the uphill bits. But the combination of daily symptoms taking longer to wear off, and being precipitated by even quite gentle exercise was enough to convince me that all was not well.
And then it all seemed to reach a tipping point. Lois and I had been leading (somewhat ironically) a well-being day for clergy on the theme of quietness and rest. That evening the chest pain came on without any exertion and seemed to stick with me, keeping me awake for most of the night. So, having concluded this was now unstable angina and not a particularly safe state of affairs in which to remain, off we went to the hospital. The junior doctors seemed a bit sceptical as I continued to look well and my ECG and cardiac enzymes were all normal, so I was actually quite pleased when a brief episode of going grey and sweaty that evening shook them up a bit.
The best bit of course was having my angiogram. It is quite a strange sensation having something moving around inside your heart, but great being able to see it all on the monitor above you. And when the radiologist injected the contrast medium and I could clearly see the blockage of my left anterior descending artery (yes, enough of my medical school anatomy was still there) my immediate reaction was ‘YES! I got the diagnosis right!’
It was good, though, to see my heart pumping merrily away with a nice restored left anterior descending artery after the stent had gone in. It is an amazing organ, the way it just keeps going so faithfully. And now, with a new lease of life, perhaps it will start behaving itself again.
