SHOCKING
I realise it's a bit early for any kind of end-of-year review, but, even with a couple of months left to go, I think I'm safe in saying that I won't look back on 2022 as one of my favourite years. There have been many good things about it, including the return of our much-missed Edinburgh Capitals to the ice, but even that's not much good if I'm too decrepit to enjoy it.
OK, 'decrepit' is maybe an exaggeration, but this has been the year when I started to feel properly old, and not just because the arrival of my state pension gives me formal OAP status. The process of ageing has been something I've been more conscious of for about fifteen years, ever since I noticed that there were lots of people who walked more quickly than I did, something that almost never happened when I was younger. My solo perambulations had always been brisk. But I was rarely ill, other than the obligatory colds. Even the arrival of gout in 2015 didn't really make me feel old, despite the olde worlde connotations of the ailment. I changed some behaviours and went on as normal.
Now I'm somebody who has to remember to take their medication on time. I know that's the case for many, many people, some from an early age, but it's still a bit of a shock when it's you having to do it. You are no longer as you once were. You're one of those people who can go on at boring length about your health conditions, should you choose to do so. (I do hope I don't...) First it was a bit of breathlessness. That became a slightly misfiring heart, and the first of the pills. A further scan revealed no more about that problem, but resulted in a conversation which included words like 'major surgery', 'stroke' and 'death'. Tends to grab the attention a bit. Not that any of that trio are imminent, just vague shadows on the edge of my consciousness. And another daily pill to take.
There was one more pill, a blood thinner that the medics were insistent I never missed a dose of. Certainly not for the 28 days running up to last Friday. Nor for the next 28. Because on that day I might have received a small measure of rejuvenation, time will tell. And my first time in a hospital bed for nigh on four decades (and even that was only due to a panicky GP). Not for long though. They had me into one of those hospital gowns - fortunately the tie up the front type rather than having my arse hanging out the back. Then on to the bed, back at a jaunty 45 degree angle, and wheeled up to surgery. Followed by what felt like a team comedy routine. To my right the anaesthetist and his assistant, trying to get a needle into me and commenting on how my tan made my skin tougher to get through. Had I been on my holidays? (No.) Over my left shoulder a face appeared, introduced herself, and proceeded to stick patches over my torso. The surgeon stood on the left, her paperwork spread over my legs, asking me all the same questions she'd asked when she came to see me a couple of hours before. And, beyond my feet (which overhung the short mattress by a good thirty plus centimetres) a silent young man stared, taking it all in.
I can recall the papers being shuffled back into order, but not them being taken away. But they were gone when I next knew anything. "It worked" said the surgeon. Which was good news. I asked how many goes they'd had. Only one, which was another positive. Could I see the ECG print? Yup. And what a difference from the same thing the day before at my pre-op checks. A regular heart beat, bigger gaps between the spikes and a consistent wave pattern. All from one electric shock. I said thanks, and got the silent man to speak. I hope he learned something from his observations.
Four days later and I'm not yet able to say how beneficial it's been. Still easily tired, still aching a bit, but steadily getting stronger. Back for further checks in a few weeks, to see if it's 'taken'. Sometimes the heart rebels and goes back to it's poorly functioning state. But maybe not, and I will breath a bit easier, be a bit quicker again. There's a lot of criticism thrown at our NHS these days. But I think they're bloody wonderful. Even if they can't stop me getting older...
