It’s bigger than what I thought it would be (that’s what she said).  Say hello to my gimp wrist…

Oddly, I was tempted to see if I could peel the skin back and have a look around inside. *Vomits.*

Fingers are crossed that it heals, because the next option is to remove the offending bone and fuse my wrist together with sellotape and superglue. This will mean one arm will be half an inch shorter than the other!

Jeremy Beadle eat your heart out…I’m gonna need to work on the goatee.

Unfortunately there is nothing exciting to report back on, but the psychologist did agree that I was showing some signs of anxiety and stress – and apart from my rubbish sleeping skills, there was nothing to be overly concerned about.

That was until she told me I didn’t breathe properly…(I was once told I don’t blink properly too, how I’ve lasted on earth I’ll never know).

I have short, shallow breathing (which is  a sign of anxiety and contributes to stress) and I don’t use my whole diaphragm to breathe. So she wants to fix that.

Almost without pausing for breathe (no pun intended), she then moved onto asking if I was still getting a Morning Glory since my heart attack.

Woah there! Any chance you can segue into that a bit better next time…

Medications/stress/anxiety can all affect it blah blah… Oh, ok, that’s why you’ve brought this up (not literally).  I stopped short of telling her how proud I was of finally being able to bash one out this morning…left handed.

Not long after, the allotted hour had ended and she send me packing with some breathing exercises and knowing how much of a wanker I am – I know people who wouldn’t take an hour to come to that conclusion.

Most of the session was spent telling her my back story, but she said there’s some things for me to work on, and asked me to keep a record of my mood each day over the next couple of weeks. According to the doctors/nurses, and now the physiologist, I’m heading for a big depression crash soon – (depression is very common after a heart attack), but if it wasn’t for the doctors and nurses etc telling me that, I wouldn’t put myself in that bracket at all.  I feel almost the total opposite and for the majority of the time have been in a good mood since it happened.  *Shrugs.*

I’m still a bit blurrggghh about going to see a psychologist (and she didn’t look anything like Dr Melfi), but I’m keeping an open mind and I’ll give it a couple of sessions and see if I get anything out of it.

As with last years operation I was told there is only a 75% chance of it healing.  But this was lowered further when I spoke to the surgeon afterwards who said “your blood vessels are what I’d expect to see in a 60 year old smoker.  I’m not confident of it healing as your bone didn’t look too good either…it’s about a 50/50 chance it’ll heal”.

Given I’m not 60 and Ive never smoked it’s not exactly what I expected to hear. But I didn’t expect to hear ‘you’ve had a heart attack’, either, so nothing is surprising me at the min!

Add my dodgy blood vessels to my dodgy heart, then maybe I’ve got some mad Benjamin Button thing going on?  It would certainly account for my lethargic, sloth like, nature since my teens….

The wrist and my heart shit have started to catch up with me in the past week though. I’m starting to feel a bit trapped by it all (I can’t do this/I can’t do too much of that etc, don’t forget to take your tablets – I took 19 tablets the other day. 19!).  I think cabin fever is setting in.  Now my wrist is covered in a cast that just adds to more things I can’t do.  Although, I think I’ve only just shook off the after affects of the anaesthetic/painkillers 6 days later, so that probably hasn’t helped my mood since I came out of hospital.  And although I’m supposed to limit myself to 2 units of alcohol per day, it’s my birthday on Thursday so I’m in 2 minds whether to have a few (which will turn into several) drinks or not and shake off the doldrums (I havent had a drop of alcohol for 3 months and said I wouldn’t drink again until at least after id seen the cardiologist again in May…dum dum duuuumm).

In the meantime I keep wondering what type of scar I have under my cast.  I know there are two (one zorro shaped one from last year which he said he’d open up again and there should be a new 2 inch scar on top of my wrist).  Having a scar is always good addition for any man.  I just need to invent an animal attack story to go along with it. It’s got to be better than the rather pathetic “I fell off the couch and needed a bajillion operations to fix myself again”

End of left handed, one finger, dad typing, post…2 hours after I wrote that first paragraph. Sigh.

But on the more serious side, I found it to be worthwhile and if nothing else, it’s got me back into exercise, which I was very nervous about doing. I mean how long should you exercise for after a heart attack? How much can you exercise? I wouldn’t have a clue (and I’d be terrified) of doing too much and making myself have another heart attack. So it was beneficial for me to at least do some of that whilst I was supervised and my pulse was being taken every few mins.

I tentatively got back on the treadmill last week – I barely managed 5 mins – but slow and steady is the name of the game.

One thing that did come out of the rehab program is that they said I’m showing signs of high anxiety and stress. Which isn’t exactly unusual after what I’ve been through, but they think some of it could be attributed to some underlying problems.

I told them about a few things in past (which I’m not sure I’ve wrote about on here or not) such as being stabbed and my mum passing away not long after (about 10 years ago). Neither of which I’ve never really talked about to anyone. Then adding to the heart issue, they said having no one close over here to talk to probably isn’t helpful as I don’t have a ‘support network’ (although even back in UK I didn’t speak to my ‘close’ friends or family about how I was feeling). But the long and short of it, is that they have referred me to a psychologist.

I sent an email back to my family and told them this and my brother phoned me (for the first time in the 2 years I’ve been in Australia) asking me what was wrong. I think he thought if I’d been referred to a psychologist it meant I was about to top myself…it took a while to convince him otherwise!

I’m very indifferent about going to see someone though. I don’t feel like I need to, but it’s also not the first time someone has told me I should talk to someone, so maybe it’ll do some good. What’s the worst that can happen?

But fuck all that nonsense off, for now. It’s Thursday, the sun is shining and I’m going to see The Prodigy tonight. As the Kool Kidz would say…BOOM!

“I can’t do that, I’ve got to take it easy…doctors orders” will become my most used phrase.

The cardiologist I seen this week said he has no concerns at the minute, not even that I feel my heart flutter/do a mini jump a few times a day – which is a bit unnerving when it happens – but he wasn’t bothered about it so it must be normal.  I go to see him again in three months to do a shit load more tests when he’ll be able to tell if the heart has repaired itself.

On top of adjusting to my heart being a bit rubbish, I went to see the hand surgeon again on Monday and I need to have a second operation on my wrist. Last years surgery didn’t work.  So he’s cutting me open again and doing some other ‘bone graft attached to blood vessels’ thing in my wrist next month. Joy of joys.

Although I feel good in myself, I could do with going out and getting shit-faced, but I can’t.  Like the rest of the world, I’ve been advised against “binge drinking”, but in my situation having more than a couple could course problems at the minute. “Everything in moderation: a couple of units are ok”…which I translate to: it’s not even worth it. I’d drink them before the barmaid had had a chance to give me back my change.  Weekends just aren’t the same…but I’ll be back!

Before Christmas, when I’d send an email to the family in the UK telling them I’d done something brilliant over here, I’d always sign off ‘living the dream’.  Now I’m just signing off with an alive/dead status: “Living…”

Yes, I am that funny.

(I realise that last paragraph doesn’t fit in with anything else in this post, but sod it. It just popped into my head and made me laugh).

You know the animal character on the top of the hat and tassels (sometimes morphed into gloves) hanging down.   Where did they come from?  Who is responsible?

They’ve just popped up out of nowhere and all of a sudden I see a grown man walking around in 25 degree heat with one on in Sydney this morning. As if it’s normal.  

Is it a thing now?  I’ve no idea what the kool kidz are doing these days.  Are people wearing them to show how wacky they are?  

‘Look at me, I’m dead mad, I’ve got a tiger hat on’.

If you’re past puberty, stop it.  It makes you look like a massive knobhead.

My blood test results came back and they were all clear…so there’s sod all wrong with me. I’m literally that person you read about where someone has a heart attack and no one knows why.

Just to complicate things on top of all the heart stuff – I need to go back and see the hand surgeon in a couple of weeks (I’ll probably need another operation on that bone in my wrist because it hasn’t healed)!  Work have been good with me though and my boss said they’d be ok with me working around whatever I need to do.

I start cardiac rehab tomorrow so hopefully that’ll help my recovery too.  Maybe I’ll make some new friends there…Edna and Stan will invite me to Bingo nights (or whatever old heart attack people do).

All the consultants, doctors and nurses keep telling me I’ll start feeling a bit down about the heart attack and part of the rehab is to get you to speak to someone about it all.  I can’t see myself feeling down about it…I haven’t been thinking about it in a depressing ‘why me’ way at all.  I’ve been very blasé about it (apparently it’s common for people of similar age to be blasé).  But I’ll just go with it and take what they offer…every little helps I suppose and it’s there for a reason.

The way I look at it is that I’ve fell off my bike.  I just need to get up, brush myself off and, with the stabilisers attached for a while, carry on.

When we got to the airport I started to feel nauseous and because I’d drank quite a bit over new year I put it down to a hangover.  I couldn’t remember the last time I was sick from a hangover but these things happen, so I didn’t think much of it.

After checking in, I vomited again and thinking that was the last of it we went to our departure gate…to find out our plane had been delayed by 2 hours.   Then I had to vomit again and it all started.

I had sweat pouring off me and I was dizzy, nauseous and had some pains in my chest and after being in the toilet for about 20 minutes eventually made myself get up, find my friend and find some first aid as I knew something was up.  

My friend thought I was having a panic attack due to the plane being delayed and we’d been rushing about earlier to get to the airport.  I wasn’t convinced, but whilst I was sat with the first aid person I was getting worse, I was short of breath, the pains weren’t going away, I was still nauseous and even with an oxygen mask on I was struggling to breathe – so they called an ambulance. 

The ambulance came and they hooked me up to an ECG and took me to hospital.  Once I got there, the first couple of doctors said to me that I was showing signs of a heart attack, but “it can’t be a heart attack, you’re too young, fit, healthy etc”. They thought it was an inflammation/virus of the sack around the heart – like a flu virus – so they done more tests; ECGs, echos, ultrasounds, ultrascans…everything. 

Eventually another cardiologist came in and stood there with about 8 people around him waiting to whisk me away.  They were going to do a angioplasty procedure to rule out a heart attack.  They took me upstairs to the cardiologist unit and slapped some resuscitation pads on me “in case you do anything silly during the procedure”. 

They gave me a local anaesthetic and they cut into my groin and sent a tube up to have a look at the arteries.  Whilst they were doing that they found I had a blood clot in one of the main arteries of my heart – which they cleared and put a stent in the artery to keep it open.  I was awake whilst they were doing this and felt them doing it inside of me – even heard my heart monitor stop for a second too.

The blood clot had caused me to have a heart attack.  

The doctors still don’t know why it happened.  They’re still waiting on results of blood tests to see if I’m prone to blood clots.  My blood pressure and cholesterol levels were a bit higher than normal but not remarkable so.  The doctor said that nothing I’ve done in the past or have done caused this to happen.  It was all in my genes and it was like this from when I was born, it’s just been waiting to happen and I was lucky it happened when it did (with people around/close to hospital etc).  If that plane hadn’t have been delayed and I’d been on the plane, he said I wouldn’t have made it to Brisbane.  

I’m back home now and I will make a full recovery.  I’ve already been out and about for a few (very) slow walks.  I’m like a pensioner at the minute and I’m wondering if I can nab one of them mobility scooters from somewhere (I’d love a go on one of them).  But aside from all the tablets I need to take I’ve got to go and see a cardiologist in a month and to attend a cardiac rehabilitation program for 6 weeks (starting next week).  Have just been told to take it easy for the next 4-6 weeks – and as long as I don’t exert myself I’ll be fine.   I’ve got to reduce the risk of it happening again, so I’m off the booze for the foreseeable future (if not indefinitely).  The doctor said I couldn’t have sex for two weeks, to which I replied “that’s ok, 2 weeks, 2 months, 2 years, it’s all the same”.  He didn’t find it as funny as me.

I’m just relieved it happened when my friend was here, she’s been amazing and I don’t know what I would’ve done if she hadn’t have been around.  We’ve got the same sense of humour, so we’ve found the humour in everything – from me off my face on morphine in the ER, to walking around like a pensioner.  When something like this happens it makes you realise how far away from family and friends you are.

Because it’s so rare for this to happen to someone of my age, the doctors have took my charts to use to teach other doctors and they’ve also put me on a research program as well.

I still haven’t got my head around it yet, but it’s all been very surreal week.  I’m 33 years old, no history of health/heart problems, relatively fit and healthy and I’ve had a heart attack.  It just goes to show, it could happen to anyone, at any time.

It’s time to put my feet up and get through a shitload of movies and TV.  What a start to 2013. 

First off, I went over to Tasmania for a few days, starting in Launceston for a day and then driving down to Hobart for a few days. Not sure if I missed something while I was in Tasmania, but there’s not much there. It was pretty uneventful and apart from seeing loads of road-kill on the road and being asked to leave a pub for apparently being drunk…after 6 drinks (I wasn’t), there’s not a lot to say about the place.  Maybe I went at the wrong time of year.

Next up was New Zealand.

I went over to Auckland to visit some mates from back home, so it was good to see some familiar faces. But whilst they were in work during the week I decided to do a little solo driving tour around some of the north island.

Bilbo Baggins wasn’t home

My first stop was a place called Matamata. Matamata is the place where they filmed Hobbiton for Lord of the Rings, it’s on farmland in the middle of nowhere. Hobbiton looked just like it did in the films (and they’ve just rebuilt it all as they’ve recorded the Hobbit film there again) so it was looking especially ‘new’. Didn’t see any hobbits. Disappointed.

Geothermal thing

My next stop was Rotorua to see all the volcanic geothermal stuff there. By the end of the day I was all geothermalled out, but the best I place I went to was Wai-O-Tapu Thermal Wonderland (who knew there was a wonderland of thermal?). I thought I’d be a bit more impressed than I was, but it was pretty good seeing different landscapes and shite things.

Taupo was next and a 20km hike to do the Tongariro Crossing. The hike goes across two volcanoes: Mount Ngauruhoe (aka Mount Doom from Lord of the Rings) and Mount Tongariro (which erupted in August), and I’d been looking forward to this for months and it didn’t disappoint. Some of the views were amazing and it was like being on a different planet at times. Even though it was a 20km hike (and I’m not the fittest person ever), it was still harder than I thought it would be. Part of the crossing is an active volcano which had a big eruption in August and actually erupted again a week after I got back. So I missed all the action. Although I would’ve pooed my pants, I did want to see it erupt whilst I was close to it.

Tongariro Crossing – Emerald Lakes

After a day of wondering why I thought hiking 20km up a volcano was a good idea, I headed back towards Auckland, stopping at Waitomo Glow Worm Caves.

It was a 2.5 hour drive from Taupo, but it was the best drive I’ve ever done. It was that good I thought I was in a car advert – I hardly seen any cars and virtually every bend I went around was a bit of brilliant scenery. It sounds stupid, but apart from having rolling hills everywhere, the grass is greener over there than I’ve seen anywhere else (and I wasn’t even on drugs).

Rather than just do a normal run of the mill tour in Waitomo Caves, for some reason I thought it’d be a good idea to have a bit of an adventure and opted for a 5 hour “Black Abyss” caving tour.

Clad in a wetsuit and helmet (complete with little light); it started with a 35 meter abseil into the cave, zip lines in the pitch black, climbing waterfalls, jumping off 10 feet ledges into water, floating along on black rubber tubes in the dark staring at the glow warms (which looked like staring at stars in the sky). At one point I somehow managed to not be able to move myself in the tube, my arms and legs flapping and not moving…if you picture a stranded tortoise on its shell? That was me. The tour guide told me to just stand up as the water wasn’t deep but either she hated me or I was in the only part of the cave that was deep water so I flopped out of the ring and sank. It was a great tour, and I’d recommend it to anyone but after 4 hours underground I was glad to get back above ground.

Mt Doom

A week(ish) ago, it was my 2 year anniversary of landing in Australia.  Time really does fly when you’re having fun.