Lasts and firsts

Sunday 19th May 2019:

I had to say farewell to my remaining heart buddies at rehab on Monday as I reached my final session, which I’ll admit was particularly crushing. I now feel a little lost. In a selfish way, I hope they do too. It would be great if I’ve been as important to their recovery as they have to mine. I know they’ll miss my cakes and, more so, my hair changes. I think though we will all miss instructor Matt’s synonymous phrase when he wanted us to march on the spot: “Juuuust pacing”.

My sadness has, however, been balanced somewhat with emotional reunions with old friends who I hadn’t seen since before my attack. Seeing Seren in Bath was possibly the most surreal as I’d only met with her the last time on what was to be the day before I ended up in that ambulance.

I still have a few more of these get-togethers to go with my long-distance chums and they never get any less momentous. Immediately I am transported back to that rather rigid bed on resus awaiting the results of my CT scan, not knowing if I’d ever see any of them again.

Before the tears roll, though, I also think about the drug addict in the next bay who was surrounded by police officers and my jestful concern about being caught red-handed with the security tag still attached to my dressing gown.

The stupid thing hadn’t set the alarm off at the shop I’d bought it from as I exited the door a couple of weeks before. It had, however, made the buzzers go off in every other store I’d trundled to and from that day…but could I find the bloody thing as I rummaged through my bags? No!…because it was hidden under the damned lapel. I made sure it remained that way that night. This still makes me smile.

Where there is dark there is always light relief if you look hard enough for it.

This week I also found my dancing legs for the first time post heart wobble. Now this form of exercise is definitely my drug of choice…way better than clopidogrel and aspirin…and it felt great to reach the high before hitting the hay well before midnight. I might not be completely back to normal but I’m getting there. I’m definitely a cheap date these days that’s for sure…a couple of glasses of wine and I’m anyone’s. If they’ve heard about my dickie ticker though they’ll probably give me a wide berth.

In other news, I bought a ridiculously expensive pair of shoes because…well, just because….and I’ve booked myself onto a neuro sarcoidosis seminar at London’s Royal Free next month. It’s the only UK hospital that specialises in the disease. I’m scared what I might find out but I’m prepared to fight.


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