Family – Page 4 – Middle Age Fanclub

It’s my birthday. But really, it’s just a Tuesday.

Yesterday was my 51st birthday. I would have postponed it if I could. Or maybe just ignored it entirely. But then family and friends won’t let me do stuff like that, however ordinary I might feel.

Having got myself – with the help of family and friends – through a very difficult last few months, I found that I wasn’t at all bothered by the approach of my birthday. But as it got closer and I became even more disinterested, others became more interested. My wife and children were particularly concerned with what I wanted and what I wanted to do. I tried to steer them away from it, but they wouldn’t change course.

The reality is I’m tired. Exhausted even. Having had my pacemaker fitted in early November, after struggling with my health for a good 6 months, while attempting to hide it from everyone around me, I needed to just stop. However, normal life carries on, even when possibly the most normal thing – work – has been taken away and you’re not there due to your health. A birthday just felt like one fuss too many, after the last few months.

So yesterday morning I woke up with very few plans. My wife seemed surprised that I was getting out of bed as early as usual, but I just wanted to get on with things. Even if all that added up to was to do the midweek shopping, a load of washing, some dishes and maybe some writing. I also wanted to go for my walk, which has been an almost daily occurrence since a few days after getting out of hospital and always gives me a bit of breathing space and time to think and maybe even assess how well I’m doing.

I was out on my walk by just after 9am, having got out of bed at 7.15, showered, dressed, had breakfast and cleaned my teeth. As it was my birthday, I walked up to the park, where I’ve spent quite a while already during my recovery. It’s just a lovely place to be and I had it almost to myself yesterday. But instead of doing a full circuit round the park, I detoured a little bit and headed out of the top entrance and right to the top of the hill that our town sits on, crossing the motorway via the bridge and hopping over the stile that leads through the fields of a local farm and gives a great view down onto another local town – Batley, as well as over the neighbouring hills towards Huddersfield. The sun was out, so I stood taking in the views for a while before taking some photos and heading back off towards home, where a shopping list, a load of washing and some birthday dishes awaited!

That pretty much became my day. My birthday. My parents rang and my sister texted, but despite wishing me a happy birthday, I could sense that their focus was more about my recovery and how I was feeling. And that was fine. This birthday was very much just another day. A Tuesday, like all of the other ones I’ve had for the last few months. There were wonderful presents and cards from my wife and kids, contact from friends and there will be dinner out with my wife today and tea out with the family at the weekend, but I still don’t feel like celebrating this particular landmark.

While last year’s 50 didn’t really bother me at all, 51 feels old all of a sudden. I know that’s mainly because of my health, but it’s all left me feeling so frustrated and in a way, angry. Not at all like celebrating a birthday.

What I would have liked to do on my birthday was go for a run in the sunshine, the stillness and the chill of the morning. Instead, I settled for a walk where I checked my heart rate at the top of every hill and felt nothing short of depressingly tired as I got into the last 15 minutes towards home. Worst of all was seeing a few runners and just feeling immensely jealous. I’d really hoped that by this point I’d have been running, even if it was slow paced and over shorter distances. Birthday, schmirthday! It feels like a terrible cliche, but given what I’ve been through, I’m genuinely just glad to still be here, whatever my age might be. Landmarks don’t feel like they matter, at the minute.

Anyway, only 364 more days and I can try again. Hopefully, by the time the next one comes around I’ll be a lot more healthy and a lot more happy and I promise that I’ll throw myself into that one!

Top 5 Benefits of having a pacemaker.

(I’ve added a couple of bonus positives to my Top 5 too. I always manage to think of more than I need!).

Since having my pacemaker fitted in early November, there have been quite a lot of dark times. Some if them have lasted for days, others hours and lots of them mere minutes when I’ve felt really sorry for myself before snapping out of the fog of it all. Ultimately, I can always fall back on the fact that I feel quite lucky to still be here, however dramatic that might sound.

Today though, I’ve decided that this pacemaker lark can’t all be doom and gloom. Obviously there’s a good side – it’s making my heart work properly – but there must be a lighter side too; a side that makes me laugh a bit. Because the lighter side of life is the one I’ve always liked to be on.

So, I sat down and gave some thought to what might be the positives of the fact that I’ve had a little machine surgically embedded into my chest! Because everything has to have a positive, otherwise what’s the point of bothering, right?

So, as a result of having my pacemaker…

I can now tell people I’m part robot. That way, I sound cool, futuristic and I am easily the closest thing I know to Steve Majors, the $6m Dollar Man. When I get back to work I can tell amazing stories about what I’m/it’s capable of. I can make up ridiculous tales to tell classes because experience tells me that they’ll believe practically anything you tell them as long as you can keep a straight face. Come to think of it, I can easily get away with this type of thing with some of my younger colleagues too, as they tend to be quite gullible. I don’t mean that as an insult, they just are and I know this because of the sheer amount of bullshit I’ve told them over the years!

2. I got to grow a beard. I’d never had any interest in growing one before, but during my hospital stay, I couldn’t really shave on account of being attached to a heart monitor. I could have taken it off, but then I ran the risk of having nurses knocking on the bathroom door. I found this out to my horror one time when they were frantically hammering on the door because my alarm was going off and the panic was so evident that even I thought I might be dying, even though I was stood on the other side of the door just having a wash! So, I didn’t bother shaving. Then, once my pacemaker was fitted my left hand side was rendered useless, again ruling shaving out. Before I knew it, I had a beard and to my surprise I really liked it. Thanks, pacemaker!

3. I may be able to get work as Santa later on this year. My cool beard is a great deal more white than I’d like. But, if I can work on my “Ho, ho hos” and other such stereotypically Santaesque dialogue, I might have a rather rewarding sideline come December.

4. I’ve watched a lot of daytime TV, especially in the first four weeks or so of my recovery when my days consisted of getting tired out by washing and eating breakfast and napping. I mean, there had to be something in between. And so, I’ve become a connoisseur of shows on Discovery and Sky History, as well as every show that revolves around buying a house somewhere sunnier than England. I still can’t bring myself to watch ‘Come Dine with Me’ though.

5. I can move to the wilderness with my new found skills. For the first few weeks of my recovery I made a regular 10am appointment with the Raney family and their show, ‘Alaska Homestead Rescue’. From doing so, I’ve realised that all you need to survive in the wilderness appears to be a good roof, a gun to shoot bears with, a greenhouse (who knew?) and probably some sturdy fencing. With a good 7 years on my pacemaker battery, I’m toying with the idea of buying some land in Alaska and moving off grid!

6. I’ve discovered a love of pyjamas. For years, I had refused to wear them. But, having lived almost exclusively in them for weeks, I can tell you those PJs can be a hard habit to break. Even when proper clothes became an option again, I’d regularly head upstairs in the middle of the afternoon to pop my pyjamas on again. And while I feel like, months later, I’ve broken my addiction, I’m still strangely fond of wearing those comfy beauties!

7. I’ve been given a bit of time to re-evaluate – work, fitness, lifestyle, food and drink. Serious stuff now. Although there’s no damage to my heart and I’ve been told that there isn’t a risk of heart attack, I’ve decided to change a few things. Although I wasn’t a big drinker, I’m cutting right back. I’ve been forced to anyway, so I may as well just carry on. I’m trying valiantly to watch what I eat as well and last week I created a new milestone in my life when I cooked a stir fry (the first I’ve ever cooked) that had three (count ’em) different types of vegetable in it. Three! I felt like a proper adult as well! Also, with my fitness now completely gone, I get to stage some kind of Rocky style comeback. I won’t be punching anyone, but I will faced with some kind of training regime, which I actually like. If I can just get over my fear of going running again… Having time off work has also enabled me to sample retirement. And it’s fantastic, if you take away the pain, anxiety, nausea, confusion and exhaustion! But, I’m hoping that actual retirement won’t feature any of this! So now, I have an age in my head that I’d like to semi-retire by and for the first time in many years I’ve done some research into my pension. I love my job, but it clearly hasn’t helped my health, so there has to be some kind of plan, however tentative. It’s no good vowing to change and then doing all of the same things all over again, however much you loved them.

So there we have it. Apologies for ending such a silly, lighthearted piece with such a serious few sentences, but it’s all true. And even the serious stuff has come about because of my pacemaker, so it had to be mentioned as a benefit, however unfunny it was!

I hope you enjoyed reading.

Fighting fit: The mind boggles!

As I write, it’s been 62 days since having my pacemaker fitted. A rough estimate puts that at 1492 hours or 89,543 minutes. That’s a lot of time to think. A lot of time to worry, to feel low or even just to find yourself giving up. However, there have been positives in that time too and I hope that from today, I’m going to start feeling the positives outweigh the negatives.

My last ‘fighting fit’ update was a few weeks ago. In the time since then there have been good and bad days. Christmas and New Year came and went and if anything, they slowed my progress down. Not only was my diet a bit worse, but the festivities take up so much of our time that I didn’t manage to fit in anywhere near enough exercise. Turns out no one wants to wander slowly around the streets keeping an eye on a wobbly, wheezing middle aged man dressed in a long coat and a bobble hat when there’s Christmas films to be watched or left over turkey knocking around.

However, I enjoyed both Christmas and New Year. We managed to see some family and despite the fact that my kids are a bit older now – 13 and 16 – it was still nice to see them open their presents. And I always enjoy seeing what my wife makes of the gifts that I’ve bought her. It’s nice to give gifts and it was nice this year that I bought my wife something she really wouldn’t have expected, but really liked. It was a print based around The Fairytale of New York, her favourite Christmas song. If you’re a music fan and enjoy artwork you might want to check out where it’s from – www.stuffbymark.co.uk – his art really is ace!

Once all of the celebrations were out of the way and the kids were back at school, there was a lot to think about. Given the return of a quiet house, the bonus of having the ability to think returned too! My main conclusion has been that I need to do more exercise and to do it regularly if I’m going to get my normal life back.

So, that’s what I’ve been doing. I’ve had a few more visits to my favourite park and gone back to look at the two animal sculptures. This time I made sure to read the inscriptions and one of them gave me a lovely glowing feeling. It was on the Harry the Hare sculpture and it was about the fact that a local business had commissioned it. One line in particular got me. It just read, “For the people of Morley.” What a great gift! I hope others appreciate it and take time out to go and have a look. It’s literally a work of art! Whether it’ll succumb to vandalism, who knows? But I sincerely hope not. Anyway, here he is below.

And here’s the owl that I visited again the next time I was in the park.

The mental side of my recovery is something I’ve found really tough going. I’m not used to being poorly and not used to being unable to do the things I want to, physically. I’ve found it all very frustrating. I enjoy my work, but haven’t been in since all of this started. Furthermore, I’m faced with another month off sick now too. It’s led me to see pretty low days and I joined an online support group to see if it would help me.

Talking about my problems isn’t really me, but I’ve managed to ask a few questions and listen to what other people have been through and it’s really helped. Apart from anything else, it’s comforting to know that there are lots of people going through the same as me and lots of them who know a lot more than me and are happy to pass on advice.

The support group has also encouraged me to read a bit about pacemakers and what’s happened to me and that’s been a real positive. It was explained in hospital and on the visit to the cardiologist, but I suppose understandably, I didn’t really take it all in. Anyway, reading about my pacemaker and its genius has really made my mind boggle. It’s about the size of a matchbox but it has the technology to store a ton of data about what’s going on in there, while also pretty much making my heart work properly. I guess we shouldn’t be that surprised by the capability of modern medical technology…but I still am.

Another form of support came as a Christmas gift. My daughter bought me the book below – with her own money for the first time ever – and told me it was so that I could read it and not feel like I was going through it alone. Even typing that feels emotional, so you can imagine how I felt on Christmas day!

It’s quite a remarkable book by a poet called David Toms, who was born with a rare heart condition and faced up to his problems in many ways. In the book he talks a lot about the power of walking and, as this is something I do a lot, I could really relate to his story. He also eventually had to get a pacemaker, so what he had to say about that felt really useful too. Reading the book also helped me to see that I could get through what’s going on with me. David Toms has faced up to a great deal more than I have and despite whatever setbacks or challenges, he’s found the strength to just keep going. So, keep going is exactly what I’ll do.

I’m beginning to realise how long it’s going to take me to feel better both physically and mentally. Two months on and I’m still tired out very easily, especially compared to the way I was before and the level of fitness I had. The area around my pacemaker and my scar is still sore and my movement still restricted and I’m left breathless much more often than I’d like. And mentally, testing myself out terrifies me, but I’m just so incredibly frustrated by how weak I feel. Even when I get back to the normality of work, I know that I’ll still be nowhere near fitness and nowhere near feeling confident. It seems it’s going to be a long road.

And with that, I promise to update you whenever something interesting happens. Fingers crossed that it’s not any kind of setback though!

New Year’s (quiet) resolutions!

It’s that time of year again. Time to put the last one behind you and start kidding yourself that everything will be a great deal better for the next 365 days simply because one year rolled over into the next one. A new year, a fresh start, time to make some changes and all that.

As it happens, things have been so bad for me lately that the turn of the year is actually just convenient for change in my life. My previously documented health problems mean that things need to change and I’m now just about well enough to start changing them. On top of that, I think I can be more than hopeful that next year will be far better than this one was!

I’m keen not to set myself too many big targets though, hence the quiet resolutions. And I know that there are previous targets and goals that I’ve set and then never really done anything about, so I’ll stick to a manageable number this year. I mean, it’s still very early in the year and healthwise, I already feel shattered, so let’s keep things in perspective!

Here goes…

Stop keeping secrets. An important one, this. It’s not me blatantly telling anyone who reads that they can’t trust me, by the way. However, I kept my heart problems to myself last year, in the hope that they’d go away and that I wouldn’t have to bother anyone. Fat lot of good that did me! Hopefully, there won’t be much to report, but if there’s any action in my chest, I’ll be sure to let someone know. Anything more and I’ll blab to the nearest medical professional. Common sense, I know, but that’s not always been my strong point where health is concerned.
Get fit…again. Heart problems blighted last year for me, culminating with time spent in hospital and the shock of having to have a pacemaker fitted. It’s been a long recuperation and it’s left me feeling decidedly unfit and still pretty poorly. I’m breathless and wobbly on my feet if we walk too far! Just before Christmas though, my cardiologist gave the all clear to start running again, albeit really gradually. I’ll freely admit that this is something that scares the living daylights out of me, but once I find a bit of courage, I’ll be back out there getting fit. Hopefully, come the Spring time, I can start taking part in races again. Baby steps for now though. I’ll keep you posted!
Get healthy and stay that way. I’ve been off work now for around 7 weeks and to be honest, while I know when my latest sick note ends, I’m really not sure when I’ll be well enough to go back to work, although I hope it’s sooner rather than later. And then there’s the matter of getting back to normal life. It’s not just been about being off work. If I run upstairs, I’m out of breath. If my clothes are too tight, I struggle to get them on or off and it hurts to do so. Tying my laces still hurts. If I take one thing too many out of the cupboard, I struggle with the weight on my left hand side. I can’t think fast and I struggle to get my words out quite frequently; I don’t know why. And I’m genuinely quite scared when I feel any kind of activity in my chest. So it’s not just the physical side of things that need to get better. It’s all too easy to tell people that you’re ‘getting there’ or whatever other platitude I might use when asked how I’m doing, but I’m not coping anywhere near as well as I’d like. So, getting healthy is going to continue to be a big old job!
Finally send some poetry to somewhere other than my blog. I’ve had this ambition for a while now, but although I write poems on a fairly regular basis, I always seem to end up just adding them to my blog. I’ve resolved to enter some poetry competitions before now, as well as looking into sending stuff into literary magazines. I’ve just never found the time or I suppose, the courage to do it. However, I have a few things that I’m working on at the moment and a few finished poems that I’ve done nothing with, so 2023 has to be the year that I break my duck in this area.

And that’s that. Part of me wishes I had a fifth resolution, just because it looks like a better number. But then, if I’m trying to lessen the burden a little bit, adding a fifth would just be counter-productive and I’d be even less inclined to actually do anything about it. Anyway, that top three is going to keep me pretty busy, I reckon!

I’ll keep you posted about how things are going. In the meantime, perhaps you could let me know about your own resolutions in the comments? Maybe someone might yet inspire that fifth one for me!

Christmas Films: Five Underrated Gems.

It’s that time of year again. The nights have closed in, there’s a fair chance of snow and really, you should be out doing some Christmas shopping. But, out there in the not too far distance you can hear the annual call of the Christmas film. Or, if you’re American, the Christmas movie. It’s telling you to ease your way down onto the sofa, snuggle in with family or the dog, grab some snacks and something warm and cast those eyes over something you’ve seen umpteen times before.

So off you go, repeating all of the catchphrases in Elf, signing along to The Grinch and howling at the festive funnies in any or all of the Home Alones. But what do you do when you’ve exhausted those old favourites? Allow me.

I thought I’d offer you some Christmas film options that you might not have heard of or even have rejected if you’re one of those people who rely on reviews. Here, in no particular order are my 5 most underrated Christmas films!

A Christmas Carol (U). Yes, I know that this is not an unknown film. I’m more than aware of the popularity of the film and of course the Dickens novella. However, I’d suggest that you watch a different version of A Christmas Carol than you possibly already do. Lots of people will watch the animated version with Jim Carrey being brilliant as Scrooge or even the Muppets Christmas Carol. Plenty more will enjoy the brilliant old Alistair Sim version too. But what about the 1984 made for TV version starring George C. Scott as Scrooge and Edward Woodward as the Ghost of Christmas Present? I mean, the bloke who played General Patton and the bloke who played the original Equalizer! What’s not to like? Scott plays Scrooge perfectly; gruff, cold and with a little bit of a sadistic twist in the way that he seems to thoroughly enjoy telling people “Humbug!” or when he’s just scaring the bejeezuz out of random children on the street. Better still, Scott is equally brilliant in redemption, carrying Tiny Tim around town on his shoulders and laughing like a drain! And then there’s Woodward playing his ghost like some kind of deranged Yorkshire Santa Claus! Trust me, it’s great stuff and well worth a watch.
Daddy’s Home 2 (PG13). With a 6.0 out of 10 rating on IMDB and a Rotten Tomatoes score of just 21%, you might well ignore this one. But, in my opinion, you’d be missing out on some fantastic comedy and a bit of a classic Christmas tale. Co-dads Brad and Dusty (Will Ferrell and Mark Wahlberg) take their families away for Christmas, along with their own dads Don and Kurt, with disastrous and often hilarious, if a little bit predictable results. If you’re a fan of Will Ferrell, you’re going to get what you’d expect here and alongside the comedy, there’s a heart warming Christmas tale, just as soon as everything that could go wrong, goes wrong. A must watch for us, every year!
Fred Claus (PG). Another one where you’d be better off ignoring the reviews. This one is another 21% scorer on Rotten Tomatoes and only gets 5.6 on IMDB. However, all I can say is that the ratings are wrong. Vince Vaughn plays Santa’s slacker older brother Fred, who couldn’t give a figgy pudding for Christmas, but ends up in the North Pole against his better judgement. And just when it looks like that Christmas spirit might fall flat, Fred is there to save the day and see the light. Another family film with a big chunk of redemption running through it. A comedy with some interesting takes on what Santa’s home and workshop at the North Pole might actually be like. The kids will love the elves and hopefully you’ll laugh along too.
Arthur Christmas (PG). This time, we’re focused on Santa’s son, Arthur, who while he’s a well meaning, friendly sort of chap, is a bit of a disappointment when compared to his dad. Mind you, who wouldn’t be? So when Arthur and a team of oddballs end up on a mission to deliver one last forgotten Christmas present at the last minute, perhaps this is the very time that he proves himself worthy of the Claus name. A fantastic cast, an excellent and at times ridiculous story and some amazing animation. This is a funny and original feel good film that puts a twist on the Santa Claus story and comes out as a classic underdog tale. Well worth your viewing time.
Bramble House Christmas. A bit of a different one to end with. I suppose that in amongst the cheesiness in this film, the overall message would be something about showing good will to all men. But in between that, this one’s got a lot going on. When a wealthy man leaves his young nurse a big chunk of money in his will it leads to suspicion, fear of treachery, a mystery Christmas trip to what would appear to be the perfect town and at then end of it all, a love story. In the end, Christmas cheer is the big winner and your cheeks might just ache from all of your smiling if you’re so inclined! I like this one – even though I’m not that big on smiling – because although it’s a little bit cheesy and a little bit predictable, it’s just a nice, harmless film to watch at this time of year. A good one to watch with the kids too!

Hopefully, there’s at least one film on my list that you’ve so far overlooked, meaning that you might get the chance to add a little bit of variety to your Christmas. So here’s to, picking one out, settling down with some hot chocolate and snacks and enjoying a good, new Christmas film on me!

Fighting Fit: an occasional diary (volume 2)

With time on my hands following heart surgery, last week I started writing an occasional diary. It seemed only right, especially after more than one person (including myself) joked at the time of my latest cardiology drama, that I’d do anything to get something to write a blog out of! Well, the joke’s on them; it’s very much more than one now!

Not a lot has changed in my routine this last week. It can’t really, as I’m just not capable of doing a great deal at the minute! I am now managing to walk every day though, without fail. I don’t go far. I’m not commuting out to beauty spots and hiking for untold miles across rugged terrain. Rather, I’m shambling my way around the streets where I live and making sure, that if I take an occasional selfie if it has a field or a tree in the background, so that my life looks slightly more interesting.

The positive with my walks is that they are edging ever further in distance. Or rather, I’m taking more steps each time. I haven’t yet recorded one on my Strava app as I feel pathetic enough as it its, without recording it on a form of social media that shows a map of my route and the invariably embarrassing statistics that yell, ‘Hey everyone, Graham used to be really fit, but now he can walk just short of a mile in 40 minutes!’

It feels quite lovely to be out though. I’d hesitate to say anything about how it feels to still be alive, but there is a small element of that. While I haven’t found myself standing marvelling at the magnificence of trees, I do feel quite lucky. And actually, last week’s diary did blather on about how dramatic the fog was!

In other news, I’ve grown a beard. This is largely down to circumstance, as I can’t really lift my left arm up for very long without it really hurting because of the scarring from my op. It’s also just an action that I’ve been told to avoid for something like 6 weeks, while my pacemaker settles into my chest, so the action of stretching my skin with my left hand while shaving with my right is a bit of a no-go area. Hence, the beard.

I’ve never had any inclination to grow a beard before. However, despite its whiteness, I’m quite pleased with it and for the near future at least, it’s staying. My wife and children don’t like it so much. It tickles when I’m near them. I’m certain that my parents will hate it too. Others have said it looks good though. I worry I might be turning into Roy Keane, while hoping that I’m actually morphing into George Clooney. Who knows what the truth is? Actually, me and it’s not the Clooney truth! I actually quite like it though and I’m surprised with how much I’ve taken to it.

As time has moved on and I’ve felt less pain, I’m writing more too and as well as some blog posts, I’ve written first drafts of four or five new poems. It’s very tiring though and so there’s only so much that I can do. I suppose I need to find some kind of balance between resting and trying to do more, while also kerbing my urge to just get stuck back in again at full pace. Some days I long to be back at work, but for once I’ve been sensible enough to listen to what the professionals have told me and stick to getting the rest that I need. Hopefully it’ll pay off and everything will get back to normal given time.

I worry that all I seem to write about is being poorly though. I suppose it’s obviously still fresh in my head, but while I had a tentative brush with something serious, I really don’t want to bore people to death about it now! With that in mind I’ve made a list of things I can write about so in the coming days I need to find the energy to research a couple of things and possibly write some Christmas themed posts.

The final thing that has been on my mind this week is my lack of sleep. Since leaving hospital I’ve managed one unbroken night of sleep. And by unbroken, I don’t just mean not waking up. I always wake up on the night. What I mean is not having to get out of bed.

Almost every night for over a month now has been punctuated by an extended amount of time out of bed. The pattern seems to be that I sleep for anything up to an hour before waking up, unable to get back to sleep. This then usually means a couple of hours or so spent downstairs, reading or doing a bit of writing. I even did the dishes at 1.30am the other day! I’m hoping that I can find a way to sort this out!

Overall, this week I feel noticeably better. I still get tired out easier than I’d like, I’m still bored a lot of the time and I still miss seeing people…but I feel more human.

Until next time…

My name is Graham and I’m part robot…

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a bloke in possession of what he thinks are a perfectly good pair of legs, will NOT be allowed to walk up to a cardiology ward from his A&E bed, no matter what reason he gives or how ‘ok’ he feels. And so it was that I found myself clinging to an overnight bag while a porter wheeled me through the eerily quiet hospital corridors up to my new temporary home.

Having spent around 7 hours working my way through the various stages of A&E, I’d almost got sent home. Almost. Then, minutes after the cardiologist doing my ‘final’ echo scan had mentioned discharging me, he found a problem and performed a rather neat about turn, admitting me to a ward.

So, having had my sleep disrupted on several occasions during the night, either by a nurse checking a monitor or taking my blood pressure or by a fellow patient making loads of noise in their sleep, I woke next day to the wonderful hospital sensation of a nurse turning on all the lights, yanking the curtains open and asking if I fancied tea or coffee! This would be the first of several occasions that I’d be woken from a slumber, hospital wards being both great places to nap and probably even better places to get woken up.

Now this was most unexpected when I started my working week. I thought I’d just be clinging on for Friday to arrive, as usual, and now here I was clinging on to the hope that I might still go home with just some tablets to take.

However, as the day went on things just seemed to get gradually worse, culminating with the visit of the head cardiology honcho, who broke the news that I’d be having a pacemaker fitted. Despite my relative youth for such a procedure, my condition just meant that it was the common-sense decision. Staggering. A pacemaker wasn’t on the menu as far as I was concerned; not for at least another 20 years. Yet, when everything was explained, it made perfect sense. I could either carry on not knowing when I might black out again – and have my driving license taken away – or I could have a pacemaker.

I was told that I’d have the operation that day, meaning that I could even be home that night. But in the end I never even got my next echo scan and so was told that there’d be another night in hospital.

To be fair, this didn’t much bother me. I think I was still quite stunned by what was going to happen to me and so the thought of having a bit more time to think was quite welcome, really. So, the rest of my day was spent mulling things over, reading, napping and snacking until it was time to go to sleep.

I got to sleep that night without a problem. Truth be told, I was shattered. The latest episode with my heart had worn me out and the news that accompanied it had been mentally draining. However, it wasn’t to be a quiet night and I was woken up by a new patient being admitted to the ward. Clearly drunk, my new Slovakian friend veered between laughing or crying hysterically, insulting the staff and praising them and telling anyone who’d listen that he’d been homeless for the last 6 nights as well as having been wrongfully imprisoned at the same time. Welcome to the ward my friend! I felt sure that I’d never get back to sleep, yet I did.

The next day was a whirlwind of activity that will stay with me until the day I die. And for a short time, it felt like it would be just that; the day I died.

Having had some breakfast, I was taken down by the now familiar wheelchair to another part of cardiology where I would have my pre-op echo scan. On my return to the ward I imagined that I’d have a bit of a wait for my operation, so I called my wife just to explain what was going on. However, within about a minute a nurse appeared with a gown for me. It was pacemaker time!

Thankfully, for this operation I managed to avoid the paper underwear that the NHS usually insist on, but even wearing my own pants, the gown and NHS slipper socks didn’t really do a great deal for my dignity.

The operation itself was successful – or at least it seemed so from my experience – so I won’t bore anyone with a blow-by-blow account. Rather, let me tell you a few interesting things that either struck me while I was there or have done since.

It always surprises me how many people are involved. Mine was quite a routine operation, but I swear there were at least 8 people present. In fact, at one stage a random man appeared in an adjacent room and began talking to my team via some kind of intercom. It was a bit like he’d just wandered in to have a look, like a competition winner. Perhaps someone on the team had told him, ‘Hey, we’ve got that bloke from the Middle Age Fanclub blog in again’ but I highly doubt it.
The sheer talent of these people is awesome. At one point they were chatting about the songs on the radio while one of them had my chest open and was concentrating on turning me into a robot. Meanwhile, I still stick my tongue out of the side of my mouth while concentrating…on anything.
My gown made me look like something from the hot counter at Greggs, such was its colour and design. I’d like to think that the operating team also had me down as something from the hot counter. Again, I very much doubt it.
Knowing that the area around my scar was numbed, the surgeon just kept dropping his instruments on to my chest. It wasn’t that numb and I felt every pair of scissors as they hit my collarbone!
They have to make a kind of pocket in your flesh to put a pacemaker in. To do so, they drag your skin and flesh around like you’re a particularly heavy and stubborn bit of furniture and although it’s not painful, you are fully aware of what’s happening! So, you’re kind of lying there thinking, ‘Ooh, he’s ripping my flesh!’
While pulling stuff around in my chest, I could feel the sensation in my throat. My voice has changed slightly since my op. No, really, it has! I take it this is not a coincidence.
They cover you up completely in a kind of big sleeping bag and have you face the right, leaving a gap you can see out of. It’s to protect the wound from your own germy mouth!
While looking to the right through my sleeping bag gap, I could watch my own heartbeat on a monitor. It goes unrecognisably mental when the pacemaker is switched on and looks nothing like a heartbeat anymore. I was also able to watch – in some horror – while my heart stopped a few times as the pacemaker started to get used to its new home! Coupled with the fact that, prior to the op, my cardiologist told me, “You’re heart stopped for 4.2 seconds this morning”, this was a development that I didn’t need to see. Indeed, it was at these points where I had the dubious pleasure – and not for the last time that day – of quietly telling myself, “Just breath and you can’t die”.
My feet were freezing for the whole op.
The whole thing took around 45 minutes, during which time the team involved chatted, danced (I think) and sang, while also telling me exactly what was going on and why. These people are incredible.

It was a relief when I got back on the ward and I was fairly sure that they’d send me home within a few hours. But not every story has a perfect ending, does it?

Having messaged a few people to tell them I was back on the ward, I sat back in my bedside armchair to relax. But, in what now feels like some kind of twisted tradition, my heart had other ideas.

Without warning, my heart began to race again and it didn’t feel like it would stop. I told myself that my pacemaker would kick in and take over, but that didn’t happen either. Suddenly the alarm on my heart monitor was going off and within seconds there were nurses and doctors at my bedside and the curtains were being frantically pulled round. If you’ve ever watched a film that has any kind of hospital-based emergency, it was just like that. Bodies everywhere!

No one was panicking, but clearly there was a problem. And I was it.

My heart wouldn’t slow down. In fact, it was getting quicker. A doctor told me that they were in touch with the people who’d fitted my pacemaker, whose customer service was thankfully as good as their operating skills, and that this would be sorted out and my heart would be slowed down. In the meantime, it seemed that lots of them would ask me how I was feeling, and I would reply as calmly as I could, that I was ok. I wasn’t ok, I was terrified and reduced to telling myself that I couldn’t die if I just kept breathing. So, I kept breathing.

Sadly though, my eyes were still fully functioning and the last time I saw a monitor my heart was hitting 209 bpm. They took the monitor away after that, but I’m led to believe that it went higher.

The ending of this particular episode still seems slightly surreal. After what seemed like a couple of hours, but was probably only 7 or 8 minutes, a man from the pacemaker team arrived at my bedside and ushered everyone else away. Then he uttered something incredible in both its calmness and ridiculousness.

“Hi Graham. I’m Dan from the pacemaker team and I’m just going to have a chat with your pacemaker.”

I think I laughed, which in the circumstances was great, given that I was fairly sure I was going to die, whether Dan was going to have a chat or not.

But then, he got to work. Dan pressed a few keys on what I swear looked like some kind of Fisher Price My First Laptop and then strolled around my bed doing I know not what. As he went back to his laptop, I noticed he’d placed some kind of device on my bed. It looked just like e Wi-Fi router. Then, he said,

“OK, we’re going to chat to it wirelessly now”.

After this he tapped a few keys on his Fisher Price toy and within seconds I could feel my heart slow down. So, I told him I thought it was working, to which he replied – cool as you like – that he knew it had worked. At this point I wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d made himself a martini.

The rest, as they say, is history. I think I had a major brush with death. Dan from the pacemaker department probably hasn’t thought about it since. However, for at least a few of those minutes I thought my time was definitely up. I didn’t panic, I didn’t see any light (people have asked!), I didn’t cry or shout. I just kept thinking that I should keep breathing.

My cardiologist decided that they’d keep me on the ward for the night, so that everything could be monitored, so again it meant that I wouldn’t be going home. For once, I was delighted. The ward was safe. The ward had Dan or a Dan alternative that could sort me out if anything happened again. So, I called my wife to let her know what had happened before having a bit of a nap. When your heart’s been beating at over 200bpm, you’re going to get tired out.

I’m now a few weeks down the line in my pacemaker journey. And I’m sorry that I couldn’t think of anything better to call it, by the way. It’s not been easy. I’ve not spoken to many people about exactly what happened, because it’s quite a difficult thing to talk about. Easy enough to write about and crack the odd joke about though. I can’t do much and what I can do tires me out. I feel guilty for not working and I miss being around my ‘big sisters’ and my students. I can’t hug my wife and kids and I’m not allowed to kiss them as I can’t shave and have grown a very tickly beard! And I really feel for them, because none of this is easy for them. I hope none of them ever finds themselves wondering when the next episode will happen, but I think they will and that might just be the saddest thing to come out of all of this.

On the bright side, I’m alive. I have a future, even if I don’t really know what it looks like yet. There’s thinking to be done. I also have a couple more stories to tell and a lump in my chest where me pacemaker is, meaning that in years to come I can lie to anyone and everyone about what that is and how it came to get there. Live a day in my shoes and then tell me that’s not one of the best things ever!

Be thankful for what you’ve got, tell people you love and cherish them daily, listen to your body and try to enjoy life as best you can. Stay safe everyone.

Making the most of December.

It’s silly to ask how it happened. I get the concept of time and I know how it happened. Still though, time seems to have flown since the warmth of August. Summer feels like it was mere days ago and yet somehow, we’re already in the last month of the year. It’s time to make the most of December!

It promises to be an unusual December for me this year. Where usually I’m coming to the end of a gruelling half term at work, pushing classes like my Year 11s as much as I can with both a new year and their exams looming and trying to help with Christmas preparation at home, this year is really very different. I’m recovering from heart surgery, have been off work since early November and every day seems to just revolve around my daily walk and the number of steps I can take! Like I said, unusual!

Regardless of the changes, the need to set myself some end of year goals is still very much the same as it ever was. So, what am I targeting then?

Fitness and strength – given what most of November involved, I’m in huge need of a great deal more fitness and strength. If you’re new to my particular brand of nonsense, you’ll have missed the fact that in early November I was fitted with a pacemaker to help manage the curious rhythm that my heart had decided to adopt. If you’re a regular reader, you can’t have avoided it. Apologies for that and the fact that I’m still banging on about it. Anyway, the whole thing has left me a bit short on fitness. And good health, I suppose. Where before I coached a football team and was a regular distance runner, with a healthy level of fitness for a man of my vintage, now I’m much more akin to a little old man. Since leaving hospital, for all but the first two days at home, I’ve managed to get out and walk every day. This started out with probably no more than a few hundred steps and I’ve built from there. For the rest of December I’ll be working on upping my walking distances, while always staying close to home. However, my real goal will be to start something else, which at the moment I think will be either yoga or working with resistance bands. The trouble with both is that I still can’t really use my left hand side that well, but I have to start somewhere. I fear that it’ll be uncomfortable, perhaps even a bit painful at times, but I have to have a go. My ultimate goal is to get back to running, but I fear that may be mid-January at the very earliest.
Wrapping – as a well-informed man in the know, I can reveal that it’s Christmas soon. And that is the kind of nugget of insight that has you reading my blog avidly, dear reader. Anyway, every year – and I’m a bit ashamed to say this – my wife becomes Santa in our house. She doesn’t command a team of elves or reindeer or anything like that, but she does get busy with the laptop searching out deals and bargains so that our kids have a wonderful Christmas when it comes to presents. She usually does the lion’s share of wrapping them all too. However, this year, with an abundance of time on my hands, I’ve vowed to do a great deal more in order to take a bit of pressure off her. My left side not working as well as I’d like – have I told you I had surgery recently? – is a problem here though, yet not as much of a problem as the fact that I’m absolutely appalling at wrapping. So, while I’m definitely vowing to help out a lot more, I can’t say that I hold out a lot of hope for this goal. What I will say is that if there’s a sellotape shortage, it could well be me that’s to blame.
Mental preparation for going back to work – I’m going to find this tough. In early January, barring some kind of disaster, I’ll be going back to work. Physically, I think I’ll just grind this out. No problem. Mentally, I might struggle. Firstly, I need to know what work will ‘look’ like for me. I’m hoping for some kind of phased return, simply because I’m wondering if I’ll cope with just being thrown back in to teach all of my classes full time, attend every meeting, do duty, attend training etc. So, while I’m fully aware that work have been great and that I will have had over a month off, I’m really quite scared about what work holds for me. The other aspect that worries me is still mental. I fell ill in my classroom, during a lesson. I then sat in our office surrounded by friends and colleagues who did everything they could to help me while I apologised for not telling anyone how poorly I’d been. Going back means revisiting that as well as fielding who knows how many questions from who knows how many people. I also feel guilty for leaving my friends and colleagues to pick up the pieces, as well as for just not telling them and possible giving them a bit of a fright too. And I feel guilty for leaving my classes. I’m going to have to be ready for all of this.
Work out a way to pay people back – The British Heart Foundation has always been my charity of choice. When I ran my first Great North Run as a kid I knocked on every door of our local area to ask people to sponsor me and ended up raising quite a lot of money for them. As far as I was concerned back then, their work, along with the NHS, had saved my life. I’ve sought sponsorship on many occasions since then too and even make sure that everything we take to charity shops goes to the BHF. In the last four years I’ve had two lots of surgery on my heart and I think I owe them again. So, I’m going to spend some time this month having a think about what I can do to raise more money. No doubt I’ll try to get sponsored when I eventually get back to doing 10k runs but given that I have the whole of summer off I think I’ll be able to plan something bigger too. Time for a think…
Enjoy the festive period – simple really. In terms of my health, it’s been a tough year, but there have been a few other things that have taken their toll on us as a family too. With just short of a month to get prepared, it’d be nice if we could just relax and enjoy the day itself and the time around it with smiles on our faces

I think it’s easy to have some time in front of you and then over extend yourself with the things you’d like to get done. So, I’ve kept my goals as minimal as I can. Essentially the next few weeks just needs to be about getting better. It’d be nice to be able to go back to work and just not be out of breath so much! Nicer still to be able to think that I was as ready as I could be, having had a good Christmas.

Enjoy your December and I hope you’re all ready for the big day when it comes round! And of you have any December goals of your own, then let me know!

Doctor, doctor…I wish there was a joke to finish up with!

So, there you are, a forty something year old man, living your life, minding your own business when all of a sudden, your heart decides to stop working properly. While at hospital, you think you might die and when you don’t, one of the things you decide to do is start a blog. At the very least you’ve got a sob story to tell…

Fast forward four years and hundreds of blog posts later and everything seems peachy. You’re fit, healthy, love your job and family life, you coach a football team and really enjoy going out running. It’s like some kind of Disney film, if you want to watch a Disney film that’s probably in black and white and is about a bloke with a very normal life who occasionally pushes the boat out and tries out stuff like smiling and having useful ideas in those meetings where he’s not in a semi-comatose state.

Then, a few months after your 50th birthday, you start to realise that you don’t feel that well. Work leaves you almost constantly tired. You’re having to cut down on the running. Your heart’s beating a bit funny and you’re lying awake at night listening to it do just that. You see a doctor, go to a hospital and have your heart monitored, but the results are pretty inconclusive.

Fast forward some more to October half term. We’ve booked a very last-minute holiday to Majorca, hoping to soak up some sun and just relax. Having not felt well for weeks, this felt like the right thing to do. Just go and sit by a pool and laze around on a beach, with not much pressure to do anything else. And that’s exactly what we did.

However, this was partly because I think we all felt too scared to attempt anything else.

At Manchester airport I’d felt rough, but had kept quiet. I figured that we were almost on the plane and that a little bit of sun would make me feel a lot better. And then, it happened. One minute I was in the queue for security and shuffling forward while my wife tried to retrieve the passports from her bag. Next minute, everything went black.

There were voices disturbing my dream. And they were getting louder.

“Are you alright mate? Are you OK?”

I wasn’t sure who they were talking to, but he wasn’t responding. It didn’t matter though, because I was asleep and still dreaming.

“Are you alright, mate? Do you need help?”

Suddenly, I could see my wife and kids. But why was I looking up at them? Why was the voice still asking those questions? Why did it sound like more voices had joined in? And more to the point, where was I?

It took a short while to figure things out but it turned out that I’d blacked out. I remember feeling dizzy and trying to hold onto a wall for balance, but nothing else. The airport ambulance was called for and we were reassured that we’d still make our flight if I was ok. We were moved over to one side and the queue diverted in the other direction while the security staff got me a seat and some water. Then, when the ambulance staff couldn’t attend because of an emergency, we were allowed through security on the understanding that if I felt poorly, we’d ask for help. We made the flight, but it’s very much a blur as I slept for much of it.

A few days later, there was another dizzy spell and although we had an amazing holiday, I felt poorly for much of it. I just hoped that it would pass and that I’d get back to work and begin to get better. I did manage to cop for a few emergency ice creams as well, so the dizziness wasn’t all bad!

Back at work, I didn’t tell anyone what had happened. Sorry pals; that didn’t turn out to be my best decision, did it? But I didn’t want anyone to worry, and I really don’t like a fuss. Pretty selfish and pretty stupid, eh?

I think I failed with the fuss and the worry stuff as well.

On the following Monday, I was giving out some texts at the start of a Year 10 lesson, when I felt the now familiar dizziness. I knew before I felt it that my heart would race and I crossed my fingers that it would be over within seconds. Not long after common sense prevailed, which it doesn’t often do where I’m concerned. I got myself sat down and continued on with the lesson while writing a short email to my department. Someone needed to come and help. I couldn’t black out in front of my students.

It felt like hours before someone arrived, but it was probably less than a couple of minutes. I closed the door on my classroom, quickly explained what was happening and then headed into our main building, not knowing what I wanted to do. I did know that I felt awful though. I was too hot, dizzy and felt sick.

I don’t remember much after that. I know that I saw my friend Gemma (yes, she of ‘Educating Yorkshire’ fame) and that in our office people rallied round and made stuff happen. I also know that I was apologetic and just felt really upset with myself. And I do know that I’m eternally grateful to everyone who helped me out.

As I sat there, I was still hopeful that it would all fade away and that I’d be back at work by the Wednesday, but my friends insisted that I was going home and that I shouldn’t worry about work. They also stopped me from driving home; a good idea given my dizziness and the fact that I’d have tried to concoct a story about not feeling that bad to tell my wife when I arrived home.

Instead, I was made to call my wife and confess! Not long after she collected me and, after we’d called at home to change my clothes, we headed into Leeds to go to A&E.

Once there, there was another dizzy spell and a bit of a fall into a nearby seat, which actually righted my heart rate. But I wasn’t getting out of this one. Instead, we were taken through various stages of Accident and Emergency and tended to by several amazing people. And just when it looked like I’d be able to head home, a last echo scan revealed a problem with my heart – a leaky valve apparently – and I was told that I’d be admitted.

This made me feel equal parts sad and relieved. I’d told my wife that I didn’t want to be back on a cardiology ward, but the news that I was going to do just that meant that whatever the problem was, it was hopefully going to get sorted out. But it was incredibly frustrating to know that my heart was letting me down once again.

The next day, after more monitoring and scanning, my latest wonderful cardiologist broke the news that I’d be fitted with a pacemaker and I have to admit, it felt like my world was crashing down around my ears! My heart’s abnormal rhythm would need to be controlled and a pacemaker was the answer, despite my age. But, pacemakers are for pensioners and here I was in the prime of life! But there was no point wallowing in self-pity. After all, what did I know about heart health?

It’s a bit of a big one to write about just now, so I’ll do the detail in my next blog, but it’s safe to say that it’s been a weird last month or so. On October 9th I ran a 10k race here in Leeds and ran it well, feeling fit and strong throughout. Just over a month later, I was on an operating table having a device fitted to control my heart for me. Writing about that another time isn’t some dramatic cliffhanger ploy, it’s just still a lot to take in. And I’m too knackered to do much at the moment!

For today, I just wanted to write something to update people and to say a heartfelt thanks to the friends and family that have got me this far. So, from the bottom of my poorly, electronically controlled heart, thank you! And sorry for not saying anything sooner. Boys will be boys though, eh?

Until next time…

Parenting: The Ghost of Halloween Past.

It’s coming up for one of the best nights of the year: Halloween. Parents everywhere will be busy trying to put together costumes for excited children wanting to turn into ghosts, witches and even walking skeletons. The supermarkets are crammed with pumpkins of all shapes (don’t try to tell me they’re all perfectly round!) and sizes as well as millions of bags of sweets, the nights are drawing in and lots of us are looking forward to the big night and a bit of harmless trick or treating.

Sadly though, for me this year things have changed. And they’ve been changing for the last couple of years, to the point where this year might be our final year of trick or treating and Halloween fun.

The simple fact is my children are getting to an age where they don’t want a family Halloween anymore. My youngest is 13 and while I’m yet to hear his plans, it wouldn’t surprise me to find out that he’s feeling far too old to be going round our area, dressed up like a zombie and knocking on doors in order to get a bucket load of sweets. My eldest, now 16 and an A-Level student don’t you know, definitely won’t be with us and has already driven us to distraction with her plans and demands for a Halloween dress to customise for a party with her friends. So there’ll be no spending time with the family then!

It took me a little while to get into the whole Halloween thing as a parent. As children, my sister and me weren’t allowed out trick or treating. I’m not entirely sure why – although I do have a sketchy memory of my dad grumbling about it being ‘begging’ – but while friends may have been out ‘terrorising’ the neighbourhood, I was sat indoors dreading the inevitable knocks on the door that may have friends or just one night only spooky visitors that my parents would send packing with not even a sniff of a sweet.

In some small defence of my parents however, I could point to the fact that this was the 70s and 80s where Halloween and trick or treating was not the commercial behemoth that it has since become. In the UK, we left that to the Americans and watched ET go out trick or treating with Elliot and his pals with a mixture of fascination and befuddlement. So perhaps Halloween was just another night in front of the telly for my parents.

Consequently, I carried a bit of this attitude into my own parenting. It was wife that started the ball rolling where Halloween was concerned, taking our two out for a brief wander around the closest parts of the neighbourhood to scare some friendly folk into giving them sweets. I stayed behind, probably making the excuse that dishes needed to be done or something else enormously mundane.

The next year, it became a bigger deal as they were both old enough to stay up a little later. Out they went with mum to find a whole new trick or treating world where some of our community had gone all out to create amazing scenes in gardens and sometimes in entire streets. Again, I stayed at home, but this time only to answer the door to any of our own scary visitors. And that was when the spirit of the whole thing grabbed me. The combination of my own kids’ excitement – and how cute they looked – and that of the visitors to my door had me almost hooked!

From then, it grew and grew. I joined in the trick or treating, cajoling the kids to go and knock on doors and glowing with pride at people’s reactions to how good they looked or their mock fear at these two terrifyingly cute monsters! Year upon year, prompted by my fantastic fun-loving wife, we decorated the house and the garden, leaving ever growing buckets of sweets outside the door for anyone who might call while we were out.

I’d estimate that we’ve spent a small fortune on costumes, sweets and decorations over the years. I’ve even managed to allow myself to be talked into dressing up on a few occasions when we’ve held our own family parties. But, if you’re reading this and you know me, no, I’ve never ever ventured out on to the streets in a Halloween costume. You already knew this without me having to tell you!

It’s fair to say that for me there’s been a complete transformation in terms of my approach to Halloween and I’ve gone from being an out of place Grinch to a somewhat awkward, but enthusiastic(ish) zombie. I’ve taken a huge amount of joy from watching my kids – and my wife – throw themselves into the whole trick or treat thing for years now. Even last year, when my daughter decided that she was too old and it was too cold for such frivolity, we went out with my son and his two friends, trudging around the streets for hours, admiring the amazing decorations and gathering more and more sweets as we went. It was pouring with rain and yet we still had a brilliant time! In fact, the rain meant that we were almost the only ones out on our estate, meaning triple helpings of sweets and chocolate! I don’t think I’ve ever seen those lads happier!

This year promises to be a much quieter affair. And having only just got into the swing of all things Halloween, that makes me feel quite sad. I no longer have the cute, carefree kids that would dress up as a character, fully made up and stride up to door after door to scream “trick or treat!” like their very lives depended on it. A bit of the sense of fun has now gone. I expect that we’ll still go out trick or treating with my son, but it won’t be the same. And by this time next year, maybe it’ll be at a complete end.

So, I’m left feeling a little mournful about the past. It’s getting to that stage of my children’s lives where they’re beginning to leave certain things behind. Halloween now and probably things like our traditional egg hunt at Easter next. I can see why people might be tempted by the thought of just having another child, even if there’s no way that I’d make such a decision!

Obviously, what’s happening in our family is inevitable for every parent and their children. You can’t stop them growing up, after all. I’m glad that I softened my stance on Halloween though, because it means that I have memories that are impossible to forget. Maybe one day I’ll take my grandchildren out trick or treating. But for now, I imagine we’ll just have to make the most of the upcoming one, while we still can!