Heart health – Page 2 – Middle Age Fanclub

Turning Points: The Road to Recovery

Today, my body hurts almost more than ever. There’s a dull ache almost everywhere, except for my pacemaker scarring and the area around it. That’s really very sore and it feels like almost every movement on my left side makes me wince.

It’s all OK though, because that dull ache, the fatigue I feel and the way my brain seems to be telling my eyes to just close is just the result of another turning point in my recovery. I’ll explain later on why I feel so rough.

It’s been just over 7 months since my surgery and while there have been setbacks that have brought me crashing back down to Earth, there have been some notable turning points that have told me that everything is going in the right direction. A lot of negatives, but enough positives to keep me going.

The first one was actually getting out of hospital. Whatever the reason for being in hospital, I think you automatically feel a little bit better when you’re back at home. The familiarity of it all, the good will and love of family and friends will give you a certain air of contentment, however your body feels.

It took me a couple of days before I felt strong enough to go out for a walk and we only went a very short way, but the sense of achievement was more than enough to make it feel like a big turning point. I wasn’t just lying in bed, feeling sorry for myself; I was trying to recover, trying to get stronger and fitter and I knew that this was exactly what I had to do for every day that I was at home and away from work. From day one I was determined to get well.

My next turning point was accepting that what had happened – having to have a pacemaker fitted – was quite a big deal. However, despite the fact that I was struggling to feel remotely alive, I was sure that the operation was just routine and that it was more my age that was holding me back. A few people had to sit me down and have a bit of a word before I was able to take in exactly how serious things had been. Coming to terms with it all has been a huge factor in beginning to feel anywhere near my old self again.

Heading back to work after 4 months off was part of this. All of my friends and colleagues were very kind, checking up on me, letting me know that I’d been missed and that it was great to see me back. I didn’t believe any of them when they told me that I looked well, but that’s another story! However, getting back into the routine of work and seeing that I could still do everything that was necessary to be a high school teacher was a definite turning point and something that helped pick my confidence up from the basement level where it had been previously residing for 4 months!

The first major turning point in recovery was visiting friends in Toronto in April. I can’t pinpoint exactly why, but suddenly I felt a lot better about everything. It was of course wonderful to see our friends – Andy and Kim and their kids, Hannah Mae and Benji – but still I can’t say exactly what made me feel so much better. Perhaps it was simply seeing such brilliant people again? Perhaps, the knowledge that I was capable of heading to the other side of the world and being on the go all day, every day? Or perhaps it was just the freedom of it all and the fact that I enjoyed everything so much? After all, they say that laughter is good for the soul, don’t they? Whatever it was, my body felt lighter when I returned and my mood had very definitely changed.

Top 10 Toronto: Some highlights of our trip.

Running again has definitely helped me turn a corner. I ran a 10k race in May – my first in almost 8 months – and it proved to me that my body was capable of more than I’d dared to imagine. Even going out on short runs had been a boost. However, the biggest turning point so far came on Sunday just gone and it’s the aforementioned reason why my body aches so much this week.

On Sunday 18th June, I ran the Leeds 10k and proved a lot of things to myself. It told me that my body is inching towards being better, fitter and stronger, although I’m already aware that it’s going to be possibly another 6 months before I reach the kind of condition that I’d been in before my surgery.

I won’t bore you with the minutiae of the race, but I can tell you that it felt like I did well. ‘Well’ that is, in the context of being a 51-year-old man just over 7 months out from heart surgery! This was only my second 10k run since October last year, but my best time since then too. Strava keeps reminding me that I was averaging around 52 minutes for the distance last year, but my one previous effort this year had been completed in a fraction under an hour. So, to achieve a time of 56.54 on Sunday felt like winning the lottery.

For weeks I’ve felt down about the times I’ve been posting when out on runs. I’ve had numerous setbacks and had to rest for weeks too, which has made me feel really low. So completing the course in 56 minutes felt good! A friend has repeatedly told me that times don’t matter, but being as stubborn as I am, I just haven’t been able to ignore that clock!

There was also the fact of how my body felt on the run itself. Apart from one short lived, but very tired spell in the final kilometre, I felt very good (again, in the context outlined earlier!). I felt light and strong, which I’ve not felt all year. Runs have felt like I’m heavy and plodding, dragging myself around my routes. It’s felt like no fun at all and and yet on Sunday it was an absolute joy to be out on the roads and not feel the energy drain from my body at any point. I kept telling myself to relax, reminding myself when to lengthen my stride and when to shorten it for uphill stretches. Most of all though, I kept reminding myself to just keep going! I hadn’t managed a full 10k in training and so that made me slightly nervous, although I knew deep down that I wouldn’t stop until I crossed that line! But for almost the whole 10k, I felt completely in control.

Without doubt, this was a massive turning point in my recovery so far. Without sounding too dramatic, but while also trying to simply tell the truth, it was one of only a handful of times in the last 7 months when it’s felt truly wonderful to be alive. The payback has been how badly my body has taken it! My efforts have really worn me out and for the first couple of days afterwards, it was tough just to get through the day. However, I’m confident that will pass. Anyone’s body needs to recover after being pushed to its limits and I know only too well that my body is no different.

It’s been a good last few days and a nice reminder that I am getting better. Now, the hope is just that I can keep on moving forward and not be forced to take too many backward steps any more. My next 10k race is in October and I genuinely can’t wait!

Recovery Goals: My First 10k Race!

As lots of you know, I suffered a bit of a health setback in November of last year when I was admitted to hospital and had to have a pacemaker fitted. It was a shock, but not in terms of feeling unwell. The truth was that I’d been struggling with heart ‘episodes’ since around May last year. I just made a really stupid choice in trying to manage it and hide it from everyone. My distinct lack of medical training allowed me to have faith in the fact that it would probably just go away.

Despite all of this, I’d kept on going out running, striving to build fitness while all along fully aware of the palpitations and dizzy spells I suffering on an every more regular basis. I never felt bad when running though, so I kept going.

On Sunday 15th May last year, I ran the Pontefract 10k in West Yorkshire, finishing in just over 51 minutes. I felt great.

By May 28th I was a complete mess and was forced to reveal a little bit of what was going on to my family when I had my worst episode of the year. The palpitations got so bad that my whole body was shaking. This lasted for around 6 hours and for almost all of this I managed to hide what was happening. I was forced to confess as we were due to go out to a gig and I was worried I may well collapse. Miraculously, I didn’t end up in hospital as, with a bag packed, I suffered a dizzy spell that shook me from the feet up and levelled my heart rate back out. I was exhausted, but fine, so no need for a doctor. It couldn’t and didn’t last though.

In October I collapsed in Manchester Airport as we were heading off for a break. Again, fate intervened as the ambulance was unavailable, so we went on holiday, took things easy and vowed to visit the doctor when home. But my ‘luck’ was about to run out. It was while waiting for an appointment at hospital that I ended up being admitted to a ward anyway, a month later. The rest, as they say, is history.

To cut a long story short, I set myself some goals in hospital. One of them was to get fit and run the Pontefract 10k in May of 2023. Despite several setbacks along the way, I achieved my goal a couple of weekends ago. Here’s how it went.

Having only been able to manage three full weeks of training, I was beyond nervous on the morning of the run. I hadn’t actually ran a full 10k since the previous October and knew that once I got to 5.5 miles (8.85km) I was in unknown territory as far as my heart – and actually more importantly, my legs – were concerned. With a minute to go, standing on the start line, I felt a little bit sick and more tired than I’d hoped for. My previous training run had gone well and I’d felt stronger than I did now. Talk about bad timing! Surely all I had to do was start running and keep going though?

The Pontefract 10k course is affectionately described as ‘undulating’. In truth, it’s tough and hills seem to dominate. So, even though I knew what was coming as I took the first turn out of the park that it starts in, I allowed myself a wry smile as my heart sunk (metaphorically, don’t panic) at the sight of the first long climb. If I’m right, it’s about a kilometre long and really a lot steeper than you’d like as you set off on a 10k race.

Around about 5 or 6 minutes later, as I finally crested said hill, my legs felt wobbly to say the least. However, knowing that there was a stretch of flatter running to come calmed me a bit.

The course feels like it takes you up more than it does down, which as it starts and finished in the same place can’t be true. But as each hill appeared, I began to feel doubts seeping in. I covered the first couple of miles in around 18.5 minutes, so although I was going slower than I’d have liked, I was steady. My goal was to run it in under an hour, but I was more hoping that I’d be close to 55 minutes as this had been what my training had indicated I was capable of.

I ran a focused race. Just telling myself to shorten my stride and keep plodding along for hills or lengthen it for flat sections or downhills bits. When heading downhill I was careful not to get too carried away though as the course has a nasty habit of following a lovely downhill section with a punishing climb. I tried not to look at my watch too often in order to check times and distance, but as the race went on and I got more tired, it proved too much and I was making checks on a far too regular basis, which didn’t help me.

Turning at halfway, I was greeted with the usual big hill, which then takes you left and up another one. During these climbs I started to doubt myself a little bit, but was spurred on somewhat by the fact that some people had began to walk. Despite being encouraged to do so by my family, walking was never an option for me, but although the sight of others doing this lifted my spirits a bit, it did nothing for my legs! I’d also started to feel sick by this point too, but I knew there was a water station a mile or two ahead, so just hoped that I could reach that point incident free.

Underpinning every step I took, both in training and the race itself, was the fact that this was a major goal I’d set while lying in a hospital bed feeling very sorry for myself. In short, I was determined that I’d finish, on my feet, running. And I’d finish in under an hour!

The hills just seemed to keep on coming though and despite the fact that I’ve ran the race twice before, I still couldn’t work out when they’d end. Every time I dragged myself up one, it felt like there was another in the distance and I’d lengthen my stride for the flat section before steeling myself for the energy sapping climb to come!

The water station came and went and I grabbed a bottle, being careful just to sip some in order to avoid being sick. Lots of runners take a swig and discard their bottle pretty quickly, but I decided I’d just keep mine until I saw my family near the end. I’d be able to just keep taking regular sips in order to keep going. Those hills didn’t want to stop though!

Every so often on the route, people had come out of their houses to cheer the runners on and the support was invaluable to me this year. It’s naturally quite encouraging and people say the loveliest things as you run past, although not the most accurate. Whoever called out, “looking good” as I ran past in the last few kilometres clearly needed an eye test! I was also struck by one old man’s generosity of both thought and gesture as we approached the last sections of the race. He’d bought a few crates of bottled water and was using his Sunday morning to help people out. It was a lovely gesture and although I was clinging on to my water station bottle and didn’t need any more, it distracted me for a little while and took my thoughts away from how tired I was.

The race ends on the same stretch that it begins with, meaning the uphill start is reversed. I’ve never been happier to be at the top of a hill! I’d checked my watch and knew that the 6 mile mark (almost 10kms) was approaching, so I lengthened my stride once more and ran faster. I knew that my family would be somewhere on the hill, waiting for me, but as yet I couldn’t see them. Knowing they were there really helped though.

About halfway down the hill I spotted them and I knew they’d be able to see me. It spurred me on that little bit more and I picked up speed once again. The last thing I wanted was to worry them and I knew I wouldn’t look too good, so moving faster was my only hope!

Passing them, I knew that the final bend, leading to the last straight was about 30 seconds away. Time seemed to be moving faster than I would have liked though and the clock was getting uncomfortable close to the hour mark.

Two runners passed me at the very start of the final straight. I told myself out loud to let them go – normally I would have kicked on again and tried to catch them. But now, I was exhausted and my only goal was just to get over the finish line.

I was aware that I was moving fairly quickly though. Somehow I’d found the strength to not quite sprint, but to move a great deal quicker than I’d been doing in the last few miles! At this point in the race people are lining the road and everyone cheers the runners on loudly; but not as loudly as my family. My wife, daughter and son had cut across a field to get to the final stretch and I could hear them shouting encouragement as I got close to the finish. The trouble was, I couldn’t see the finish. Normally, there’s a big arch, but this year just a small sign, so for far longer than was comfortable I was unaware of exactly where I was.

By now my competitive streak had kicked in and I checked over both shoulders, sensing that other runners would be finishing strongly too. To my amazement, it seemed like no one was close, so I turned my head around briefly to check. The nearest runner was at least 20 yards behind me. No one else would pass me now. But then I noticed that up ahead, one competitor was walking. It was a club runner that I’d been close to for the last half of the race, but he’d gotten away from me while I was flagging. I sped up – fractionally – feeling that he was sure to hear me and run, but he didn’t and I was able to make up one more place in the finishing order.

Just when I thought it would never come, the finish line was mere yards away. I could see the clock ticking on. 59.50. My watch was reading a minute less, but that would be my time over the start line, not my gun time. Again, I kicked. I could just dip under the hour mark. Using every last bit of energy, I made it, crossing the line in a time of 59.58!

In amongst the feelings of sheer joy, I must admit that I welled up at the end. Having set this as a goal 6 months previously and nearly not made it, it was a little bit overwhelming. But I wasn’t going to cry in front of hundreds of runners and spectators, so I gritted my teeth, covered my face a bit and took some deep breaths. Job done!

By the time my family located me, I’d picked up my medal, grabbed a bottle of water and was waiting in the queue for a t-shirt. As I stood, my legs were rapidly cramping up though. I knew I hadn’t been able to train enough and was fully aware of what the last 10k had taken out of me. I was so tired that I didn’t have the strength left in my legs to stand still and stretch in order to get rid of the cramp! My wife had to hold onto me, so that I could balance and stretch. Later, when I had to go and take a match for my youth football team things would get worse as I kept getting cramp in my feet, but couldn’t balance in the stretch position needed to alleviate the problem!

So 6 months on from my operation and I feel like I’ve finally achieved something tangible. I certainly feel a great deal more like my old self, even if it’s been a long road to get here. I guess there’s nothing else for it than to keep moving forward. So, where and when is the next race that I can enter?

Poetry Blog: ‘Adjustments’.

When I got ill at the back end of last year, it’s safe to say that it came as a bit of a shock. I should have known really, as I’d been having problems with my heart for around six months. I just didn’t really let anyone know, preferring to keep things to myself in the hope that it would just pass. It’ll come as no surprise to learn that I have no medical qualifications whatsoever…

After having my pacemaker fitted, life changed. I didn’t really realise just how poorly I was. To me, this was just a setback and while I was in hospital where the biggest ask of the day was to avoid the attention of the bloke in the opposite bed, I felt okay.

It was the recovery that would cause me problems. I was constantly tired, unable to do lots of previously routine things and ended up being signed off from work for 4 months.

The poem is about the changes that I felt happening at the time.

Adjustments

The white beard is the most noticeable thing,
and it's salt and pepper by the way, if we're trying to be kind,
but when one side of you doesn't really work
one's vanity is forced to take a back seat.
The worried looks and constant stream of questions
come from both sides; yours because you see what I don't,
mine because I feel what you cannot.
The daily walk in the early morning frost and biting cold
is new; pleasant and frustrating all at the same time,
a conundrum that's vital if I'm to get any better.
The layers help because everything and everywhere is cold 
and channeling my inner Inuit is the only way I know of fighting back
and easily the best way of hiding too.
The fractured sleep and vivid dreams are an irritant, 
but one that I have lots of time to deal with all of a sudden.
The lethargy just isn't me.
not usually,
but then, there's nothing of the usual about this present normality.
Similarly, the new sleep positions are restrictive, 
but then again the lack of choice might just set me free.
Or keep me awake.
As for the guilt and the fear, well there's no positive spin
to be found here; a work in progress is what it is I guess and I have it on the authority of those in cardiology that these things will eventually pass.
Life will move on in time and a new version of me can finally emerge, 
whenever that may be.
For now, I have to make adjustments.

The title was the first that came to me in the writing of this poem, which is unusual as I usually struggle for a title. I was thinking about the way things had changed for me while I was ill. I wasn’t working, my routine was different and even my appearance had changed. Thinking about it all was an unavoidable yet dangerous thing to do though as it never failed to make me feel down. At times not only did it feel like everything had changed, but also that it would never go back to normal.

In short, I came upon the idea of these somewhat traumatic changes being more like adjustments. I was still me…just adjusted in quite a few ways. It didn’t matter if I could shave or wash properly. It didn’t matter that for a while even 10 or 15 minutes of walking left me exhausted and it didn’t matter that I felt frightened or guilty; I had to tell myself that it would pass. And as frustrating as it was that it took so long to feel even vaguely normal, what mattered had to be that one day I’d feel like myself again, even if I’d had to make a few adjustments along the way.

I hope you enjoyed the poem and that anyone who reads regularly isn’t getting bored of me telling them I was poorly once!

P.S. In case you’re wondering, the picture is of an Inuit, as referenced in the poem. It was how I felt out walking in winter in the big coat, hat, gloves, scarf and several layers that were needed to make me feel like I might make it home from a walk and not be half human, half block of ice!

Poetry Blog: ‘A Familiar Face’

This is another poem about being poorly. I’m conscious that I’ve written quite a few poems and articles around this theme since the run of the year, but I’m afraid you’ll have to forgive me for getting a little bit obsessed with the failure of my heart.

Luckily, people are always very complimentary about these poems and I’ve received some incredibly supportive messages as I’ve been recovering, which has been a real help. I keep finding these poems tucked away in notebooks on scrap paper and figure that I might as well put them out as a blog. I’ve said this before, but if I don’t they’re just words on a bit of paper that no one other than me will read. Well, what would be the point of a blog in that case?

A Familiar Face

Amazing how, after all this trouble and time,
the answer could be hiding in plain sight.
The thing you feared the most, yet least expected,
the solution to the mystery you'd never have suspected
has come back to haunt you, bring chaos where there was relative calm.

For some time now, you've sensed its approach,
felt the uncomfortable sensation of its hot breath on your neck.
The thing you wouldn't name, but still recognised,
the terror that you lived with, but couldn't look in the eyes
lands a blow to leave you weak at the knees
and grabbing at thin air for balance.

So now, a new danger from a familiar face,
as you fight against yourself, your own failing,
knowing that whatever you do, whatever changes you make
may not be enough
and while all around you wish you well,
offer love, support, concern,
you have never felt so helpless, so frightened, so alone.

There were question marks, asterisks, scribbles and arrows all over this poem when I found it, which suggests that it was another one written in the early hours. The scribbles tell me that it might have been one I wrote after first deciding to go back to bed, but then sitting back down aware that there was another idea or another line still stuck in my head. I’d have been more sleepy than I realised, hence the mistakes and scribbles.

It’s another poem about being ill. This one focuses on the frustration I felt at the fact that my heart worries had come back to trouble me and the fear I had about just how bad I felt post operation.

When I first got poorly having had an episode of palpitations and dizziness in May of last year, I remember explaining to my wife that it frightened me and that I was determined not to end up back in hospital. A month later I was in hospital having tests on my heart. And then, just the other day I read a Facebook memory about a run I’d done in training for the last 10k race that I ran. It was early October of last year and I’d just done my last training run of about 12k and commented that I’d do anything at all to avoid anymore trips to the cardiologist. Sadly, less than a month on, I’d not only collapsed, but had been admitted to hospital to be told the next day that I’d have to have my pacemaker fitted. Life comes at you fast, as they say!

Fingers firmly crossed, but I feel better than I’ve felt in a while, despite a small setback about a month ago. Here’s to less heart-related poetry!

The Pacemaker Diaries: We’ve definitely hit a bump in the road.

Every once in a while I’ve written an update of what I called my ‘Pacemaker Diary’ over the last few months. It’s mainly because it’s a good way for me to have a bit of a moan, but it also fills people in on how things are going and means that there might just be a few less people that I have to lie to and fob off by telling them I’m ‘getting there’. I mean, if I had a pound for every time I’d said that since November, I’d be a millionaire. I’d also be very annoyed at myself for not discovering this get rich quick scheme a lot earlier.

I thought I’d update simply because a lot of them so far have been about progress, however small that’s been. But lately, my progress has slowed to a crawl again. Maybe writing about it might help me find the motivation that’s needed to keep moving on. Or maybe it’ll help me to ‘frame myself’ as some would say in our part of Yorkshire.

It’s been a shock that such a small thing could derail me so much. But initially it was a slight cold that slowed me right down. It was a couple of weeks ago that I was aware that I was slowing down again. I couldn’t go upstairs without feeling out of breath and had a hint of a cough. So it wasn’t a heavy cold, but it was having an effect on me.

At the same time I’d stepped up the hours of teaching on my phased return to work, taking on an additional class and four extra hours of teaching a week. That weekend the football team that I coach had its game cancelled, leaving me with a free Sunday. Rather than rest, I decided to go for a run in the early morning sunshine. Boy, would I regret that.

I hadn’t even ran a mile and I was struggling. But, I kept on going. Not long after though, a little voice in my head was telling me that I couldn’t do this. It was a voice that dominated me when I was younger, but one that I really hadn’t heard in years. Still, I kept on until faced with a long hill to run up, I decided on a compromise. With my body aching and struggling to breath steadily I re-routed, doubled back and avoided the hill, settling for running a 5k (3.1 miles) rather than the 4 miles I’d been aiming for. It was slow and ragged, but worst of all, I didn’t enjoy even one step of it.

I only just made it. My legs felt like they were falling forward independently of the rest of my body and I was wheezing heavily. I was alarmed by just how I terrible I felt. I took a photo of myself when I’d finished and it horrified me when I looked at it later. I looked haggered and old. Everything hurt and it left me feeling very down. My body continued to ache well into the next week.

On the Monday at work, my Year 7 form were added to the mix on my timetable and even on the first day of that happening I was struggling. I’d had a poor weekend, not really sleeping and struggling to shift the tiny bit of cold that I’d picked up. On the very first day of the week I put in a request to have my last lesson of the day covered in order to head home early. Work, as ever during this whole nightmare, were kind and obliging. A great start to the week though and enough to show me that getting back to a full teaching timetable might have to be a way off yet.

I’m also struggling with a back problem that had first hit me in February. I’d bent down to pick up my son’s football boots and been hit by nausea inducing levels of pain as my back froze. I’ve struggled with my back for many years, so I though it would pass within a week or so, but it hasn’t. Instead, even as I write, I can feel pain in my hips and hamstrings. The pain has moved down my body and in way, I feel more fragile than ever. Nothing to do with my heart – for once – but enough to begin to get me down.

The next weekend brought even more problems and no run, making me feel like any recovery had very much ground to a halt. I seemed to have picked up some sort of bug and felt dizzy and sick the whole time.

My heart continues to just plod along nicely, kept in check by the little machine that sits just underneath my left collarbone. The scarring hurts still, but that feels like the least of my worries.

The most frustrating thing of all is that my heart feels fine. However, having hidden the problem for around 6 months last year and then had to take so long off work after my operation, my body might just be a little bit broken. Clearly working for so long with the problem has really cost me. Clearer still, spending four months at home, only managing a daily walk while being otherwise inactive doesn’t keep your fitness at the levels you might need, however much you might kid yourself.

I’m quickly learning that my body is going to take much, much longer than I thought to heal. It feels like the slightest little problem, like a cold or a stomach bug, is going to have a huge effect, setting me back if not to square one, then square 3 or 4 at best. Impatient as I am, I wanted to be just stepping off square 25 by this point. As a result, I’m angry and sad and I really don’t like feeling that way.

I’m hopeful that the coming weeks will go better for me. I’ve rested and not gone out for a run for over a week, but I hope that I’ll feel ready enough soon to get going once again. I’ve entered a 10k race in May and am desperate to take part. It’ll really hurt if I’m not able to do it.

Poetry Blog: ‘Reach’.

A couple of weeks ago I posted a poetry blog and a bit of an angry rant of a poem called ‘Simple as that’. That one was a poem about the troubles I’ve had with my heart in the last few months. Well, apologies because I’m writing about the same thing again. I suppose this is inevitable as my health dominates every day at the moment, but I’m sorry if this seems like I’m raking over old ground. You can take it from me though, there’s a lot to talk about on this subject!

This poem is, in a way, the partner poem to ‘Simple as that.’ Where that one was pretty much furious in tone, this one could maybe be viewed as me feeling just sick and tired of it all. It’s one written when I wasn’t sleeping so well, so probably written around 2am one Winter morning and I would have felt like just giving up.

Anyway, have a read.

Reach

You're not quite in any kind of hell, 
and while you're very definitely moving forward
it's sometimes hard to tell,
like trying out the treadmill in diver's boots,
a head full of questions, but no answers
and of other people's made up thoughts and opinions
as the paranoia kicks in and leaves its mark
alongside all of the other scarring.
Suddenly mortality is on the agenda
and you sleepwalk your way through hours, days,
contemplating just how long you might have left.
Every stretch, every reach, every twist is some kind of pain,
the opportunity to hold someone who matter has gone,
replaced by something tentative, mechanical.
Some days are more positive, so you lose yourself in song,
contemplate enjoying things again
and force yourself not to think that you're just glad to be alive,
because that particular platitude feels like nothing more than consolation.
Every piece of good news and every milestone is blighted by doubt.
One day things will be normal again,
your smile not forced, the back of your mind not crowded with clouds.
For now, moving on is just out of reach.

At the time of writing this poem it just felt like I was never getting better. Yes, I’d be able to do a little bit more every day, walk a little further, maybe even do some dishes, but I found it very frustrating. I’d gone from being very fit and capable – for my age – to being very slow and poorly and old! I really didn’t enjoy this at all!

I’d been told not to raise my left arm above my head for at least a week, for fear of dislodging my pacemaker wires, and that this was a process that would be difficult and uncomfortable for 6-8 weeks. Six to eight weeks of having pain when you lift an arm up! It meant that shaving, washing, washing my hair etc were difficult to say the least and I needed help getting in and out of my clothes. I mention mortality in the poem; not because I thought I might be nearing my end though. It was just that I used to be out on my daily walk, knowing that when I got home the day would be more or less at its end as I wouldn’t be able to do a lot more. It felt like I was wasting time and I began to think about that in terms of having already probably lived half of my life. It was just about what I’d be able to fit into what was left, I suppose.

Things have got better. I’m nowhere near where I want to be but know that it’s going to about steady progress with the odd stumbling block. I hope you liked the poem.

Poetry Blog: ‘Simple as that’

When I was ill – think death’s door to ramp up the drama, dear reader – I had numerous sleepless nights and chunks of these solitary hours were taken up by writing poems. Although I talked a lot about what was going on with my weakling heart, there was still a lot left unsaid. You can’t burden people with everything that’s going on in your head, can you?

As I began to get better and slept more, I sort of forgot about these poems. Some were repeatedly drafted, others clearly unfinished; snapshots of how I was feeling. Some were in a notebook, while others were scribbled down onto random bits of paper retrieved from our ‘drawing cupboard’ which still somehow exists, despite both kids being way beyond sitting at the table drawing. All were collected up and thrown together with the vow that I’d revisit them when the time was right. I took a picture of this one complete with scribbling, arrows, asterisks and late night handwriting. Quite a bit to decipher some months later!

This poem is a bit of a rant, to say the least and the more I read it back, the more I’m convinced I was channeling my inner John Cooper Clarke, yet without his gift for words.

'Simple as that.'

This heart of yours is having a laugh; it's as simple as that.
The sole aim of the holiday was just to relax
but your body wouldn't even allow that 
and instead you collapse at the airport, then
practically pass out on a promenade bench in the heat,
before having to call for help weeks later, 
when giving out paper became a bit too much for your health.
False hope in the hospital once again ended
when they then decided that your heart is need of being mended
and you're treated to an operation surely designed for pensioners
that you cannot help but keep on mentioning as
you're put on a ward with people 30 years older than you
and a crazed Slovakian, who laughs in his sleep and howls at the moon.
Consolation is thin on the ground, unlike the tea 
and the biscuits that shouldn't really be allowed,
you another have scar that is ugly and crap and in truth
your chest is beginning to resemble and Ordinance Survey Map.
Back home you discover a penchant for pyjamas that was never there before
style, much like your dignity has now been slung across the floor
and any remaining semblance of cool has been traded in,
there's no doubt about that, without so much as a crossed word,
let alone a fight and now, my friend, you look like a twat.
On top of this, you cannot leave the house without a hat
to keep you warm, cannot get to sleep until it's almost dawn,
cannot wash properly, cannot tie your own fucking laces, 
cannot walk down the street with anything other than shuffling paces,
you cannot run, you cannot dress yourself, cannot rant, cannot rave
and now you look like a tramp because you cannot shave
meaning that, as December looms with its festive banter,
your surprisingly white beard has you turning into Santa
and as life is forced down this prematurely ageing path,
this heart of your is having a fucking laugh.

So clearly I was a bit on the angry side then! And it’s easy to look back now and smile about it all, but believe me it was a horrible time in my life. Around 4 months of being stuck either in hospital or at home, feeling a bit sorry for myself, fending off peoples’ best wishes and enquiries and bein unable to do very much at all. And even before that, we were unable to enjoy a holiday because I collapsed in the airport. I suppose it’s all there in the poem! Apologies for the swearing if that’s offensive, by the way. Just words to me and words that had to be in there in order to capture my feelings, but I know some people don’t like that kind of thing.

I rarely bother with rhyme but in this poem I’ve made a conscious effort to use it. I was determined though that it wouldn’t be a simple rhyming poem. Instead, I opted for mixing up the rhyme so that while for large parts of the poem it’s quite traditional, occasionally I threw in a bit of internal rhyme just to mess with the structure. I wanted to do this just to try and reflect the disorder in my life at the time. I mean, for quite a while I never knew when I was going to simply fall asleep – often in the middle of a conversation – so it was hard to enjoy an ordered, planned day!

I wanted to present the poem as a bit of a rant and so there aren’t many end stops in there. Believe me though, when you’re sat on your own, wide awake at 3am, you can become prone to a bit of a rant, even if they have to be quiet ones!

As ever then, I hope you enjoyed the poem. Feel free to let me know what you thought!

Defining Recovery: It’s not as simple as just resting up.

The idea for this blog came from a tweet that I liked a few weeks ago. It popped up on my timeline just because someone I follow had liked it and I usually scroll straight past most of these ones. However, there was a picture of a man wrapped up, wearing a hat, out in the woods by the looks of things and it made me think of myself doing similar, day after day for these last few months.

The tweet read, ‘Healing is not as simple as ‘rest’. It’s exercising, rehab, falling down, fearing and going deep into the pain and fighting your way back.’

In a strange way, the tweet made my day. Since having my pacemaker fitted and spending months off work, I’ve gone through all manner of stuff, but have lost count of how many times I’ve felt the need to brush it off and tell anyone who’s asked that I’m ‘slowly getting there’.

Over 3 months on from my operation and I thought I’d try to explain my own personal experience of recovery. I haven’t fully recovered and I think feeling that way is actually a long way off, but I think I’ve managed to get myself into a position where I feel a great deal stronger, fitter and more confident about my heart. So, before I start to forget the things I’ve been through, I thought I’d get some of it down.

I didn’t think I’d done a lot of resting, until my family told me otherwise. I was talking about the fact that I thought I hadn’t really got many naps in during my time at home and it brought about a few smiles from those around me. Apparently, the truth is more that I was napping pretty much every day for the first three weeks of being out of hospital. And while in hospital I just felt like I lurched from nap to nap, even pretending to be asleep on a regular basis so that the bloke opposite wouldn’t talk to me!

So in fact, I’ve been so exhausted during my recovery that I can’t even remember how it’s been a lot of the time. The first few weeks are a blur. I know that they featured a lot of pyjama action, a lot of irritability on my part and, so I’m told, a lot of napping. I’m told that there were times where I’d just fall asleep mid conversation, which sounds a lot of fun. I also remember feeling very frightened by it all, worried that one wrong move would pull the pacemaker wires out of place meaning that I’d have to go back into hospital.

When my first sick note ran out – after a week – I had a telephone appointment with my doctor. This made me realise how poorly I was. We spoke for a good while and I felt like I was having to fend him off at times, as he alluded to me going back to hospital. Then, when he settled for just issuing another sick note, he instantly doubled the time that I’d asked for. This was good, in that it settled me down a bit while also making me think that I could find lots of things to do with all of that time. It became bad pretty quickly when I realised that I wasn’t strong enough to even sit and read for over long, before I was nodding off! It quickly felt like it would be a very long month.

There have been quite a few unusual times since then. While recovering, I seemed to develop a bit of a stutter and at times simply couldn’t get the words out. Furthermore, I’d find myself talking about something one minute, then unable to remember a word or where the conversation was going next. And people would tell me about things I’d said and done, but I literally couldn’t remember a single bit of it. And – as per the quote that inspired this – there’s also been a bit of falling down. It’s amazing how many times I’ve taken a tumble when just trying to tie my laces, but that left hand side of mine just wouldn’t work for a good few weeks!

The healing or recovery process has been one of the most frustrating times of my life. I joke about tying my laces, but there were plenty of times in the first couple of weeks where someone had to tie them for me. My wife had to help me get dressed, as well as undressed, including doing things like zipping up my coat and putting a hat on my head if we went for a walk! I hated it, but it’s definitely the kind of thing that keeps you grounded, in terms of how you think your recovery’s going! I found that lack of independence incredibly frustrating and it was something that I struggled to deal with as normally, if something needs done, I just do it myself. Then suddenly you’re in a place where you’re not allowed to even get a glass of water and someone’s started doing your jobs around the house. Awful!

A combination of beta blockers and lack of sleep (I think brought on by taking beta blockers) made me feel like I wasn’t recovering at all. Every day, I’d just feel like I’d taken another hit and was back to square one, which was kind of demoralising. I’d be out on a walk, feeling like I was definitely getting stronger, watching my heart beat not quite hit what it had the day before at the top of a hill and being able to walk just a little bit further and yet I still couldn’t sleep, still couldn’t remember things, still couldn’t hold a conversation without telling someone to forget it because I couldn’t remember what I was going to say!

I struggled to sleep for well over a month. It’s still hit and miss now, but when it was night after night after night, it felt like it might never go back to normal and that being awake until 3am might well be how it was now. As well as leaving me exhausted, it also had me worried that I wouldn’t be able to hold down a job. Because of this, for a good while it felt like my life was about to encounter an even bigger change and it was a fear that didn’t sit well at all with me.

By far the most difficult part of the whole healing process has been the mental side of things. I’ve always felt that I was mentally very strong, but for the last few months I’ve been filled with a kind of fear and doubt that I don’t think I’ve ever experienced before. I suppose it’s kind of a given that I feared I might die, particularly in the early stages when I didn’t fully understand what was going on and then again when I stopped taking beta blockers. I felt that they were absolutely crucial to keeping me safe and so although I was pleased to come off them, as I was assured that they were adding a lot to my fatigue, I was nervous about what could happen when they were taken away.

It’s been difficult adjusting mentally to not being at work. Alongside that though, has been a bit of fear about going back there too. My final episode with palpitations and extreme dizziness happened in my classroom and I’ve not set foot in there since. The prospect of doing so again fills me with trepidation, even though thinking logically, I know it’s not the classroom’s fault. Nor is it work’s fault. But both things terrify me. I went back for an attendance meeting recently and to discuss my phased return to work and despite having worked there for 8 years I was physically shaking when I entered the building. It took me more than an hour to feel anywhere near right again and it was only when I ventured down to my old department that I settled more.

I’ve suffered with guilt the whole way through my recovery. Having covered up what was wrong for over 6 months, I feel awful about what I put my family through. My wife and kids watched me pass out in the airport before we went on holiday, as the palpitations hit and that makes me feel horrible about myself. My daughter has watched me like a hawk ever since and it’s been a balancing act dealing with the guilt as well as stopping myself becoming irritable as she’s asked again and again if I’m alright.

But the guilt hasn’t stopped with my immediate family. I know that my mam and dad have worried too, as well as my sister. Come to think of it, I’ve probably had my most in depth conversations ever with my dad across the time of my recovery as he’s opened up a bit and made it clear that he was worried about me. Believe me, us northern men aren’t always so forthcoming when it comes to our feelings, particularly when we’re of my dad’s vintage!

I’ve struggled with similar feelings where friends are concerned. Nobody knew a thing and I’m not sure what people must think of me for not at least confiding in one of them! Friends from work have had to cover my classes, set my work and even learn to adjust to life without the kind of ridiculously inane emails that I send on a daily basis. I really can’t thank them enough. Knowing that my other kids – my classes – are in their safe hands has eased that particular side of my guilt, but it’s felt like a real struggle. I know people would tell me to not feel guilty, but it’s been hard to avoid.

In all, like the tweet said, recovering has not been as simple as just resting. In truth, it’s been the most difficult time of my life and I’ve had to adjust from being someone who genuinely felt a bit invincible to being someone who has had to face up to just how vulnerable he actually is. It’s not a process I’ve liked and not one I really want to accept, which means that while I head back to work very soon, I’ll have to continue to work hard at my fitness and any mental blocks that might just be lingering.

For now though, returning to work will bring a sense of normality, but definitely not an end to my recovery or any sense of being healed. If you see me at work and ask how I am, I’ll more than likely say ‘good’ or ‘better’. What I mean to say but can’t, is that I feel sh*t scared, utterly terrified, panic stricken at the thought of doing any of this again, as well as riddled with guilt because of what I feel like I’ve put family and friends through. But, to paraphrase the tweet that inspired this, I’ll continue exercising, falling down, fearing, going deep into pain and fighting my way back.

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.

Poetry Blog: ‘Every day, a walk’

I wrote this poem because I’ve become a little bit obsessed with walking. If you don’t know, I had a pacemaker fitted in November and as a result, I’m trying to work my way back to fitness and some kind of normality.

At the time of writing the poem, I was walking every day, like the title suggests. I couldn’t run, because the pacemaker was too uncomfortable and I just wasn’t well enough, so I settled for walking. However, Christmas got in the way of that, so now that my recovery is quieter again and my kids have gone back to school, I walk…every day. I’m building up to running again.

I got so obsessed with walking in the lead up to Christmas that I would get quite grumpy – or more accurately, more grumpy than usual – if I wasn’t able to get out. And I would be out whatever the weather too, because I came to depend on the routine of it all and it was proving a more than adequate substitute for long runs. Furthermore, it gave me time to think about what was going on in my life.

Anyway, it was only a matter of time until I wrote a poem about it. When something takes up such a big space in my life, I tend to write about it. As you’ll see with my next poem, ‘Taking Out The Bins’. Just kidding…

Every day, a walk.

Every day, a walk.
Some days you feel like you're fighting back,
others, like death warmed up.
Almost all, you're glad to be alive.
Whether breathless
or jelly legged,
alone with your thoughts
or in company and chattering away
about anything and everything,
swaddled like a newborn against the biting cold
in your big coat
that she zips up for you, because you cannot,
dazed by the noise or the light,
or the breeze,
bruised but not battered,
tweaked but not torn,
smiling, but not quite as happy as you'd like to be
and always, always tired.
Every day, a walk.

My first walk after surgery came two days after getting home from hospital. Down one street and back up another. I was utterly shattered when I got home.

At that time, I couldn’t dress myself properly, such was the restriction on my movement from the scarring and bruising around the site of my pacemaker. So not only did my wife have to zip up my coat, she had to put my hat on and do my laces too! Then she reversed the process when we got back home. Her reward was to watch me fall asleep on the settee!

I’ve gradually got stronger since then. Some walks feel great, while others are an absolute grind! Today’s, for instance, felt horrendous and I was out of breath and staggering a little having not gone far at all. There are good days and bad days though and hopefully tomorrow’s a bit better!

The final thing on this particular poem is just to mention that it came out of thinking the title out loud. I said it as I walked through the door from a walk one morning and liked it, so I quickly scribbled some ideas down and out of that came a poem! Funny, how inspiration can strike!

As ever, I hope you enjoyed the poem and always appreciate any comments, so feel free to leave one.