It wasn’t what I’d planned to write about. But then I wasn’t planning to have a heart attack. Yes – I have joined the hordes of (upper) middle-aged men struck by the curse of a blocked artery and suddenly I know more about echocardiograms and angiographies than I was ever supposed to. 

 Now I’m going to confirm the stereotype by telling you all about my ailment! Or at least how it happened. I hope it may help you to respond should you find yourself or a loved one in a similar predicament.

Having taken early retirement just a few weeks ago I decided that I would try to regain a degree of fitness. I’d returned to the gym and (another stereotype alert)…thought I would attempt a small run.  

Before you think “case proven” or just “daft git” I should say in my defence that there had been little or no history of heart illness in the family and my blood pressure was only slightly above normal. I’ve been running on and off all my adult life so didn’t think I’d be taking a major risk by half an hour of gentle jogging. (Friends will blame my sweet-tooth and occasional liking for an afternoon ‘fancy.’)

Just an “off-day”

So off I went and although the exercise felt slightly harder than normal I just put it down to an “off day.” Twenty minutes into the run the gradual feeling of heaviness in my upper chest began to intensify. It was enough to make me stop running but even then I wasn’t unduly worried. I’d had a similar experience about a year previously that a hospital had diagnosed as gastritis so I assumed that it was back. The feeling on the left side of my chest and left arm was uncannily similar to the “gastritis” so, although worried and in some pain by now, I was perhaps less concerned than I should have been. I decided not to phone my wife and just carry on walking. Looking back it’s clear that I should have called for help immediately.

I know that every heart attack is different. Some people who have been unlucky enough to experience one have no doubt gone through acute pain. But in my case it was not the searing, muscle-crunching agony I had imagined. Don’t get me wrong – this was no gentle fluttering and a few hours later I would have been happy to make a deal with the devil for a drop of morphine!  

Once I had realised on the run that I might be in trouble, I considered taking a short-cut across the golf course back to my in-laws’ house where I’d been staying. But the over-polite British voice inside my head told me that the land was private and anyway, I’d be at risk of getting hit by a golf ball.

Rapid response

In one of those “twists of fate” or “strange coincidences” that we sometimes like to believe in – I had decided to take my mobile phone on the run. (Cue X-Files theme tune). I’m not saying it saved my life but after my initial hesitation it brought vital help in the form of bags of love and care from my family and a rapid response from paramedics.  

Chicken wire

One week on and with a stent (described as a tiny piece of “chicken wire”) holding the once-clogged artery open) I am feeling somewhat stunned by this turn of events but otherwise perfectly well. (Thanks for asking.) And I’m still asking myself how they managed to access my heart by going through my right wrist.  Really! 

If it’s taught me anything it’s this: Ignore the over-polite British voice inside your head. Don’t fret about causing a fuss. By all means Keep Calm but DON’T Carry On.

What my heart looked like just before the stent was fitted.

With deep respect and thanks to the staff of the cardiology unit of the James Cook Hospital in Middlesbrough.