The Pacemaker Diaries – One year on…

So it turns out that last week had a number of big days. Huge, in fact because last week marked a year since I had my pacemaker fitted.

I remember it well. Of course I do. At the beginning of that week I had realised that I was seriously ill. Even then, I didn’t know what the problem was – but it had been going on for months – and when I was admitted to hospital I still just thought they’d keep me in overnight and send me home with some tablets that would miraculously make everything alright again. My heart wouldn’t keep me awake at night. There would be no more listening for it and wondering if it had stopped.

The morning came and a lovely cardiologist disappointed me with his lack of tablets, then stunned me with his talk of a pacemaker. Despite protesting – “those things are for pensioners, man” – I was very quickly put in my place. “Put it this way, your heart stopped for over 4 seconds last night.” The other option was not to do it, but to lose my driving licence and then start worrying about my job. After all, it’s not normal or safe to be blacking out left, right and centre and I was told that this was likely.

“I think we’ll fit that pacemaker then!”

I laughed about it but I was crying inside. I was far too young for this. And I didn’t have a clue what it actually meant. At least I felt safe in the hospital, but it was a lot to take in. Still is.

The next day, just after 11am, I was wheeled down to theatre, talked through what was going to happen and then they just got on with it. The whole place was calm, jovial even. I was terrified. But do you know what, the more people singing along to the radio while performing your heart surgery, the more comforting it gets!

Later, back on the ward, there was the kind of drama that you never expect to be involved in, as my pacemaker failed and my heart monitor set off every alarm within a five mile radius. At least it felt that way. My heart decided it was time for yet another episode and the palpitations started with a vengeance. Doctors and nurses crowded around my bed, assuring me that help was on the way while I watched a monitor until my heartbeat hit 209bpm. At that point someone took the sensible decision of moving the monitor out of my eyeline.

It turned out fine. Someone from the cardiology department fixed it all online and in as much of a matter of fact way as was humanly possible. While I felt like I was quietly awaiting the grim reaper or a lovely warm light or whatever death looks like (various deceased comedy legends welcoming me ‘home’ and saying they’re my biggest fans?), him and his machine had “a chat with” my pacemaker. It worked.

The next day I was released back into the wild, not really knowing what awaited me. In truth, I didn’t really know if I could make it to the car without stopping for a rest. I imagined though that it might mean a couple of weeks off work. It was four months later that I finally went back.

It’s been a weird year. In some ways I feel worse than ever. It definitely did something to me, mentally and I do find it difficult to motivate myself. On the other hand though, I’m running regularly and actually feel fitter than ever. There have been three 10k races in the last 6 months or so and I feel like I’ve proved a bit of a point to myself. I’m still not quite convinced though.

I can feel my pacemaker every day. When I put on deoderant or have a wash, it’s there. Sometimes, I catch it a bit and it hurts. Occasionally, when I’m carrying a box or something of any decent size, it might rebound on to my chest and boy does it sting! The wires sit there, just above my scar and the pacemaker and they’re right there, just underneath the surface of my chest. Place a finger there and it’s almost like you could pluck them out with a little bit of effort. Not that I’m encouraging anyone to try! I think this is a consequence of me not being very well built; another reason to curse my body! And if you look closely, through my lustrous chest hair, you can actually see the outline shape of the pacemaker itself. How attractive!

There have been no more scares though. No more lying awake at night listening to my heart and wondering what it’s doing. So, the pacemaker is actually a comfort. My heart works which is rather nice.

For a long, long time I was fatigued. I felt like I’d never get better or feel like myself again. My body seemed to take an age to come to terms with what had happened. Coming off beta-blockers helped, but didn’t solve it. From my third day back at home I was going for a daily walk. At first, it was just 10 minutes, but being as bloody-minded as I am I worked that upwards as quickly as I could. But I’d be capable of very little else once I was done and days would simply drift past. Months later, when I felt capable to run a short distance, it would take the rest of the day to recover. In short, for months I just felt terrible. My body ached and I generally felt exhausted. I’d be out of breath easily and immensely frustrated by this.

It’s really not an exaggeration to say that this last year has been a real battle. I’ve felt incredibly low at times – and still have periods like that to this day – and I’ve had to work really hard to keep myself going. I’ve suffered with terrible bouts of sadness, that I didn’t imagine would be possible for me; not just feeling sorry for myself, but genuinely feeling sad, tearful and lonely about life and how things were turning out. The pacemaker made me angry and in truth, I still can’t get my head around the fact that I have to have it.

I regularly remind myself of how lucky I am though. It’d be too easy to just sort of give up and feel sorry for myself. I was almost discharged from hospital before I’d even got to a ward. Only a last minute check showed any kind of problem and only when a senior cardiologist had looked at it all properly was it decided that I had to have a pacemaker. I was actually minutes from going home, so who knows what could have happened? Clearly, I’m lucky though. I’m still here, my quality of life is good and although there are still one or two flutters with my heart now and again, I’m fairly confident that my pacemaker has it all covered!

What I’ve learnt over the course of the last 12 months is that it’s going to take me a while to recover fully and to feel like I’m back to my normal self again. I was ill for months before I got treated – my own fault because I hid what was wrong. But I think that has taken its toll. As I said earlier, I still struggle mentally but I don’t have as many low periods as before. Normal life with work and everything else has helped. But I’ve learnt that I really do have the strength to come back from adversity. Maybe, in another year’s time I’ll have consigned pacemaker diaries to the back of my mind. Maybe.

Hopefully, the future is a bit happier and healthier! Maybe I’ll get to change my tune and write about that instead!