Thursday 4th April 2019:

After missing my last rehab session due to my most recent hospital admission (I’m getting a bit of a reputation), I made it to my third cardiac gym class today…with the new kit my family managed to select and buy while I was lying on the floor of the sports shop after overdosing on GTN spray due to indigestion, and desperately trying not to become hysterical with worry. What a plonker!

Of course my ultra-supportive heart buddies didn’t see the funny side…much. Actually, they thought it was more hilarious than anyone else I’ve had the misfortune of mentioning it to. It’s funny because it’s true…and they know it more than most. They are still total gits!

In all seriousness, though, I do love my new crew. I can’t help but beam as I pedal and row my way around the circuits, and we laugh so much my cheeks ache when I leave each session. And it’s not just the patients, but the volunteers and this week it was Matt the instructor’s choice of music. Note-to-self, Matt: Elvis’ Love Me Tender is not the high-octane track you need to hear when you’re trying to pump the weights with sass. Though one of the old chaps…let’s call him Fred…did a spot of free-style dancing which did make my heart skip a little beat (in a good way for once this month).

You’re seriously not supposed to enjoy working out this much, are you? Who knew there were genuine advantages to having a heart attack?

Having said that I’m still not fully convinced about relaxation, given I usually run on about 80% adrenaline. Last night I listened to a spot of “sleep meditation” and it actually kept me awake. I also gave yoga another go yesterday but the half “headstand pose” came seriously close to wrecking my bouffant quiff.

I’m definitely more Boo Boo than I am a Yogi but I’ll keep on keeping on.

Monday 1st April 2019 – April Fools’ Day:

Sunday 31st March 2019:

This was meant to be a positive blog day about what a wonderful Mother’s Day I’d had sipping afternoon tea, and tucking into finger sandwiches, cakes and scones with my mum and my mini-mes. A day I had so looked forward to.

My first mistake (20 minutes after the above picture was photographed) was going to a major sports shop…which shall remain nameless, but I’m sure you’ll know the one when I mention zero-hours contracts. No wonder the staff look happy.

I should have turned back when I got chest discomfort and breathlessness walking up the stairs. Instead, I stopped a couple of times til I reached the top, now with beads of sweat forming on my face and neck, and in typical understated Paz-style, threw off my fox fur coat (which is vintage and was my gran’s before you recoil in horror), administered my GTN spray and laid down flat on the floor…which thankfully looked relatively clean. Total drama…though no-one batted an eyelid. I didn’t even frighten my kids who kept bringing over gear in my size which they thought I’d “look good in” at my rehab classes.

After half-an-hour or so it passed and I eventually made it back home. I went for a rest on the bed before it annoyingly and frighteningly returned…three more times in quick succession, in fact. This time the chest was tightening too. Three uses of GTN in a row and it’s time to call 999. Luckily we were in the car after two and by the third, Andre was wheeling me through the doors to A&E.

So, now I’m back on the coronary care unit where the staff must truly think I’d much rather be than at home. It’s actually a bit embarrassing. I’ve been in six of the eight bays now…nearly a full house! Oh, and my old friend the commode is back.

My children delighted in telling me they thoroughly enjoyed the “extra dark chocolate cheesecake with yummy, gooey caramel on the top” and “blueberry mousse with sticky apple in the middle and pastry” when I called them earlier.

I’m finally settling down with a couple of slightly bendy pieces of toast and a rather average brew. But I’m safe, I’m being monitored and the blood tests revealed there were no signs of another heart attack, so let’s wait and see what delights tomorrow brings.

Thursday 28th March 2019:

It was my second day at rehab today and this time I dressed the part. I hadn’t received the full letter explaining what the first session would involve and I just assumed it would be a sit-down introduction. They must have secretly rolled their eyes at me when I rocked up in ripped jeans and a white t-shirt. If I’d have seen me I would definitely have whispered, under my breath, something akin to: “Who’s she come as? Bros!”

The class was just as enjoyable as the last session and I’ve made a few more “heart attack buddies”. The bond is inexplicable – they totally get it! We all know where we’ve each been and the way it’s changed us. I know there’s no-one in that gang who won’t alter something in their lives now. Some have already quit smoking, others are looking at changing their jobs, while a few are planning to take that holiday they’ve always promised themselves they’d do “one day”.

Collectively most of us gave meditation a go for the first time today. I sat on the back row like a class trouble maker trying my best not to snigger at the sight of such an eclectic bunch of unlikely Buddhas. However, we were all in it together and once we stopped being self-conscious it was actually quite useful. I’d much rather have been on the white sandy beach the teacher was asking us to imagine we were sinking our toes into but I guess it was a close second, and better than the Yeovil actuality.

I’ve also booked my first session with a life coach today…another NHS service I had absolutely no idea existed until the nurse practitioner at my doctor’s surgery, Leah, suggested it might be a positive step for me. The scheme is aimed at folk who have experienced a serious medical episode or illness. My coach, Chris, will hopefully enable me to make decisions about every aspect of my existence. It’s about taking back control and realising what’s important to me and building a positive future (something I had doubted even existed three weeks ago).

I feel so lucky to still be here and there was nothing better than taking an unaccompanied stroll…completely on my own…down Sherborne high street in the sunshine earlier…headphones on and tunes blaring. Ok, so I did have to park my bum on a couple of benches on the way down the hill from home and check my pulse to reassure myself I was still in the land of the living, but it was at least some momentum (in more ways than one).

Another smile-inducer was receiving my “get well” cards from work and the realisation that many colleagues (and friends) are reading this blog. They were even signed by the BBC Online team in Birmingham who usually sub-edit the news stories I write before they are published. Touched doesn’t even come close…though I am now conscious they are undoubtedly silently editing my copy…right…now!

Tuesday 26th March 2019:

Today I managed 20 minutes of much-needed weeding in my garden with my wonderful friends Viv and Rachael who offered to come round and give it a tidy-up…well Viv did, Rachael got dragged into it as I’d embarrassingly forgotten she was coming. I must start writing these things down. Usually I’m good at keeping dates and meetings firmly in my mind but I’ve been more forgetful of late. Thankfully she still gave me the Easter biscuits she’d brought.

After my Vitamin D fix, Viv took me out for lunch. I’m like Lady Muck being driven everywhere at the moment because by law you’re not allowed to get behind the wheel for four weeks after a heart attack if you didn’t require stents fitting in furred-up arteries…which I didn’t. It’s frustrating…and don’t even talk to me about insurance. Mention “heart attack” and it has the same effect on inflation as the word “wedding”.

Breathlessness still gets the better of me from time to time and I’ve no idea whether it’s my dodgy ticker or sarcoidosis at play. Luckily, I’ve had no chest pains today and I’ve been monitoring my heart rate which seems good.

You see, I used my current medical state as a justified reason to buy an all singing, all dancing watch that monitors just about everything. It even tells me when to breathe, just in case I forget.

However, it can’t cook dinner so I decided today was as good a day as any to rustle up my first family meal, post attack. The kids requested Malaysian chicken curry…admittedly a marked improvement on hospital food but now I need a sit down.

Monday 25th March 2019:

Well, what a brilliant day!

First of all I revisited some of my nurses and took them a home baked Victoria sponge…they love a bit a cake.

I was also told my lovely work colleagues, and a woman at my husband’s office, had had a whip round adding more than £120 to my non-runner half marathon charity fundraiser.

I also…and probably most excitingly of all…had my first cardiac rehabilitation class at hospital but thankfully as an outpatient this visit. I had no clue what to expect and was initially surprised to find I wasn’t the youngest member of Yeovil Heartbeat. I’ve actually got 10 years on one of my classmates…I know!

The session started with a one-hour introduction with a physiotherapist, gym teacher and cardiac nurse, Victoria, who I first met two days after my attack.

Heart monitors were strapped to my and another newby’s chest and we were first made to carry out an assessment which involved us stepping up and down on a gym step to the beat of a glockenspiel, which gradually got faster over the course of 15 minutes. And I’m sure it was a recording of someone actually tinging the keys of a glock rather than a sound effect as whoever was responsible occasionally missed a note, which gave us a smile.

After an hour we were joined in the gym by about 20 other patients of various ages…I was definitely on the younger end of the scale. I’d put the oldest in his 80s…either that or he’s had a hard life.

We started with a 15-minute warm up of stretching and marching, followed by 30 minutes of circuits on rowing machines, bikes, treadmills, cross trainers and weights, with a 15-minute cool down to end.

My heart rate got up to 134 beats per minute and I even worked up a bit of a sweat. The endorphins felt incredible. I was so bloody happy. At first I was worried I was pushing my heart too much but was quickly reassured I wasn’t overdoing it and simply working at a steady level for me.

All I’ve heard from family and friends is the importance of rest but being allowed to actually get my body pumping in a safe environment was a huge relief. It’s the best I’ve felt mentally for two weeks. I’m beginning to think I will get “back to normal” and more importantly run and play netball again.

The group is also a perfect way to share experiences and realise I’m not alone in this alien world of recovery. We also get a cup of tea and a biscuit at the end which obviously helps.

Me and the 50-year-old newby hi-fived each other at the end of the session. I think I’ve made a new friend. I had a quiet tear. I can’t wait for my next class on Thursday.

Sunday 24th March 2019:

Today, I was supposed to run the London Landmarks Half Marathon. Although I know it’s better that I had my heart attack two weeks ago and not as I crossed the finish line, psychologically this is a set back.

In more positive news, I’ve raised almost £550 for Alzheimer’s Society (huge kudos if you sponsored me), I’ve also received further wellness packages from biscuits (thanks Nikki) to home cooked chilli (you’re a star Edna), the sun is shining and I’ve joined a sarcoidosis support group.

This, at the moment, seems like a step in the right direction but hearing other people’s experiences is also a tad unnerving. Better to know though, right? It’s like when I was in hospital I made sure the nurses and specialists knew I didn’t want anything either keeping from me or dressing up. If the prospects are bad, for me it is better to face them head on. Total control freak. Though knowingly totally out of control.

Five years ago I experienced left-sided paralysis of the face and limbs, my speech was also temporarily affected…like I’d just downed 20 gin and tonics but without the initial hedonism or latter hangover. I was hospitalised for a short time and spent several months off work. Initially, it was treated as Bell’s palsy but later put down to stress. I also suffered chronic fatigue…which frankly I believed was a Mickey Mouse illness until it struck.

There is now a train of thought that this episode could either be related to my heart attack or…and I fear this the most…my sarcoidosis. Is it possible I have had this inflammatory autoimmune disease on my brain – neurosarcoidosis? I certainly intend to find out.

It is undoubtedly further proof that we have no clue what’s going on, on the inside. In fact, on my initial admittance to A&E for my heart attack I was questioned twice over my age and whether I was really 40 as I look “so much younger”.

Don’t judge a book by its cover.

Friday 22nd March 2019:

Yowzers! That was a long sleep. 11 hours. It was probably the longest forty winks I’ve had in at least nine years…since pregnancy and children. To be honest I could roll over and kip for a while longer…and I just might. OK, so I won’t be rolling onto my side as we’ve already established I’m too terrified to sleep in any other position than on my back.

Who would have thought sitting on one of my dining chairs and having my hair done yesterday, along with making lunch and hanging a few “get well” cards could be so exhausting? I didn’t even leave the house.

I managed a 20 minute afternoon snooze before the cyclonic entrance of my children after school. I wouldn’t have them any other way but even that wipes me out. My mind feels capable, my hair looks good (if you like cosmic coral and a number one on the sides), I’ve been wearing my war paint, yet I still have to stop several times while ascending the stairs. Even my parents are more adept. To be honest just standing up for more than a few minutes warrants a long relax on the sofa.

Maybe I need to remember what my body has just been through. I’m popping the pills and my heart seems to be behaving itself, for the most part, but baby steps really does mean baby steps. I wonder at what stage I will no longer be scared of what a fragile line I walk…we all walk? When will I go back to taking it for granted…that easy-going feeling of immortality? It certainly has its perks.

Wednesday 20th March 2019:

According to the cardiologist, the current “best prognosis” for my heart attack is that it was triggered by the sarcoidosis on my lungs which it’s believed caused inflammation of my heart and led to the ventricle tear.

My heart is now working at 68% as opposed to 49% a week ago (55% and above is considered normal). I now await outpatient appointments for an MRI scan in Taunton on my heart and a lung check with the respiratory specialist in Yeovil. I have also got my first cardiac rehabilitation class on Monday which aims to get me fighting fit with various exercises. I’m told I’ll be back running in six months…though I’m not sure half marathons are still on the cards. Time and mind (fear) will tell.

Right now though, I’m trying to get used to life on the outside. Being in hospital under 24-hour surveillance is not only life-saving but also hugely comforting. I know I can cope on my own but I do miss human touch on tap from those in the know.

My nurses…namely Cheryl, Cath, Julie, Sharon, Adrian, Alice and Joyce…saw me at my absolute lowest. They were dreadfully dark moments. There were times when I didn’t know if I’d even walk out of that hospital alive. But those selfless nurses always had time for me emotionally as well as medically; offering bear hugs when I helplessly held out my arms…the tears pouring down my cheeks. Did they ever complain? Absolutely not.

There is no dignity in being in hospital…particularly peeing on a commode that occasionally leaks…but I was always treated with the utmost respect. Even when having chest pains the nurses and doctors never failed to ask if it was ok for them to lift up my nightie and attach the ECG machine, to check my heart rhythm. “Oh God, don’t worry about that they’re like fried eggs anyway, just get the bloody thing on me,” I’d say.

I had the greatest care from the moment I became poorly. In fact, I probably owe my life to the paramedics who spotted the tiniest of anomalies on my initial ECG test. All other observations were completely normal but they took no chances. The NHS may well be underfunded and I did hear a lot of complaints from patients in hospital…mainly about the food and the lack of “luxury loos”…but we are so blessed to have it.

Now I’m finally out my family and friends have picked up the baton with gusto. From dozens of flowers to handmade cards, literally hundreds of messages to homemade lasagne (thanks Mands) and freshly laid eggs (thanks Angela…send my regards to your chickens). As well as the realisation that it wasn’t just me who thought I really might have pegged it, I have discovered what incredible people I have in my life. Chuffed is an understatement.

Tuesday 19th March 2019:

This is short and sweet as I’m exhausted.

I was discharged from hospital today.

Of course I escaped the institution in my typically low key manner…black and white checked Vans, red, blue and yellow Wonder Woman dressing gown, a bunch of flowers – complete with water and vase in a plastic bag – and electric blue headphones swung round my neck.

Now I’m home.

Life has never felt so good.