Hospital – Middle Age Fanclub

Fighting fit; an occasional diary.

Last time I wrote one of these diary entry style posts I was getting fitter and stronger as I was able to get out walking every day. Not far, but enough to keep myself ticking over and gaining in fitness. I’d also grown a beard, simply because my circumstances meant that I couldn’t shave and finally, I was having trouble sleeping. So, in short, I was writing a diary entry about how mind-numbingly boring life was in recovering from an operation!

Well, I’m not sure it’s got anymore exciting.

A couple of weeks ago I had a little bit of a set back, albeit in terms of the rough plan I had in my head. With only a week to go of my sick note from work I rang them and tentatively agreed that I’d be back teaching at the start of January. It was more my call than theirs, to be fair. Sadly though, only a few days later, having spoken to my doctor, I was forced to call them back and let them know that I’d had to arrange another month long sick note. I had a really rough weekend, feeling tired all of the time, sick and still in quite a bit of pain from my scarring. It simply dawned on me that I was rushing things far too much. I spoke to some friends, family and people who’d had similar procedures and they reminded me of just how much I’d been through and that it wasn’t just a case of getting fit enough to go out for a walk that would get me back to normal life. My doctor agreed and was more than happy to renew my sick note and so, I bowed to the greater knowledge before me and made probably the best decision I’d made in years. I’m not very good at just resting, but I’ve realised that I need to stop rushing things too. I’m discovering that patience is key in this recovery business!

Since then, there’s been a real disruption to my safe little routine by way of Christmas and all that comes with preparing for big day. I’ve not been able to do a great deal in terms of decorating the house or going out on shopping trips to get what Santa’s elves can’t make, but I’ve been able to join in with some of the wrapping, despite my very limited wrapping skills. Truth is, I wrap presents like a moody child in a hurry to do anything but wrap presents, but needs must I suppose.

I also managed to fit in two hospital visits, both of which threw my routine out , but more of that later.

All of this has meant that my daily walks have stopped. In fact, before today, my last walk was on 15th December, meaning that some of the fitness that I’d built up has probably been lost.

However, before that I’d been managing to get out for a walk every day and for the last week of doing so we’d had some lovely weather too. For a couple of those days I ventured up to one of our local parks simply because it would mean walking a little bit further than I’d been managing and also as I knew it would look lovely in the sun, as you can see below. Being in the park felt lovely though; a great deal better than just sticking to the streets close to where I live. So, even though I was really tired out just getting there, it was well worth it…even if when I walked there for the second day in succession my legs felt like jelly and I had to have a sit down on a park bench for a short while just to make sure that I’d get home in one piece!

The plan now that Christmas is out of the way though, is to start getting back out there and making the most of the fresh air. I found some new sculptures of animals (pictured below) on one of my park visits and am assured that there are more, so I’m definitely going to head up and explore again, all in the name of fitness!

The final major thing that’s happened over the last few weeks is the hospital visits. My first was a pacemaker clinic just over a week before Christmas. It only took around 30 minutes, but in that time the specialist was able to let me know that there had been no drama since I’d left hospital. She adjusted my pacemaker a little bit in order to help with my breathlessness and told me a little bit about its battery life and function and I left feeling pretty good about it all. It’s fascinating stuff when you see that they just drape a wand-like piece of machinery over your shoulder which then reads the data off your pacemaker. The kind of technology that makes me feel even older!

Then, almost a week later and a few days before Christmas, I went in for an appointment with a cardiologist. It turned out that this was actually to do with a previous problem, but when he saw my notes and learned of my procedure, he was able to talk me through quite a bit about what was going on, which was great.

It was quite the good news day. Firstly, he told me that there was no damage to my heart. Apparently my problem is merely ‘electrical’ in that my pacemaker cells haven’t been controlling the rhythm of my heart very well at all. Hence, the need for my pacemaker. Although I’d been told this in hospital it was still comforting to know as I’d had some of the symptoms of a heart attack on more than one occasion leading up to my time in hospital. But, it seems I’m made of stronger stuff than I’d thought!

The other bit of good news was that I was told to work my way off my beta blockers, which have been fairly responsible for me feeling so rough and tired all of the time. So for now, I have a half a tablet per day, but soon I’ll leave them behind altogether. In turn, this means that I’ll be able to go out running fairly soon, although I’m happy to force myself to wait until I feel as right as possible until I actually do it. If I’ve learnt one thing in all of this it’s that I need to start listening to my body more and to stop being so eager to be on the move all of the time. That said though, I cannot wait to get out and run again. My last run was on October 14th. After that, everything started to go downhill and within a month I was in hospital.

It’s been 50 days since I was admitted to hospital. I went in thinking I’d be back to full fitness within a few days, only to be brought crashing down to Earth by the news of a pacemaker. Fingers crossed that I’m closing in on getting back to normal.

Ward Wisdom – Stuff I learnt in hospital

As anyone who reads my particular brand of nonsense will know, I’ve spent a little bit of time in hospital recently. And it was quite a serious situation. However, if you’ve ever spent any time on a hospital ward you’ll possibly agree with me when I say that there’s often lots to smile about.

While I was in hospital I got my wife to bring a notebook in, as you never know when inspiration might strike and I spend enough time scrawling things down on the backs of envelopes and scraps of paper. I thought it best to have somewhere where things would get written and not lost.

As well as notes on more serious articles and bits of poetry, I was able to write down the stuff that I learnt and that made me smile, knowing that as long as I could find it again there’d be something I could do with it. So, here you go; some ward wisdom for you!

The worst pain is found via the canula. After a number of heart operations, I know what it’s like to be opened up and it’s uncomfortable to say the least. It hurts while the scars and bruising are healing too. However, without doubt the worst bit accompanies the canula. This time, my canula was placed in the top of my right hand early on Monday afternoon. I thought it would be out on Monday night after they’d discharged me with some tablets. They finally took it out on Thursday afternoon about an hour before I went home! By that point my hand was bruised and every movement that my hand made caused me pain. The worst of it was when they pumped antibiotics through the canula. The nurse told me that it wouldn’t be bad. However, just before my operation and I had to really clench my teeth to try and disguise the horrible pain as the fluid went in. I’ve never faked a smile like it!

You never know what to expect on a ward at night. My first night was alright really. Quiet, apart from the bloke in the next bed who snored and talked in his sleep. Hearing him groan the words “Come on, I won’t take long” will perhaps haunt me forever and I truly hope he wasn’t having the dream that it could sound like if you use even the tiniest bit of imagination. Mid-way through the second day of my stay I remember thinking that things would be alright. My ward mates were all quiet and that would mean I could read, write or just relax without interruption. And then the bloke opposite was sent home… Cue a certain level of mayhem. I was awoken not long after midnight that night by a man with a foreign accent shouting, laughing and crying in equal measure. He was from various Eastern European countries until he finally decided that he was actually from Slovakia. And even then, he was claiming to be Romanian a couple of days later! He was unhinged for the rest of my stay on the ward, sometimes nice, friendly and polite, other times ranting and raving and even deciding to put his shoes on with his hospital issue pyjamas on a few occasions to leave the place entirely! He even befriended me a little bit and at one point claimed that the other two men on the ward got preferential treatment because they were both ‘the big boss’, while intimating that me and him were just common or garden scumbags! We’ll hear more from him later.

Medical science is incredible. My pace maker is about two inches long, stores data about my heart and while I was on the ward managed to solve my heart palpitations wirelessly! When my post op heartbeat was over 200bpm a technician appeared and told me he was just going to have a chat to my pacemaker. He did it via a laptop that looked a bit like a child’s toy. Within minutes my heart was beating normally and I was having a well deserved nap. If that doesn’t make you smile, then nothing will.

NHS staff are wonderful. When I was growing up, if anyone asked my mother what she did, she’d tell them bluntly, “I wipe people’s arses.” Why, I’ll never know. She was a dentist, after all. I’m joking. She was an auxiliary nurse and this was indeed part of her job. But it was far from what her job amounted to. Nurses wiping other people’s arses happened regularly on my ward. Not to me, I hasten to add. And it wasn’t being done by my mother either. But nurses cleaned up anything and everything that leaked out of their patients! They also lifted us, helped us walk places, provided endless cups of tea and coffee, plumped up pillows, laughed at our attempts at humour, came running every time a monitor went off (usually every ten minutes or so and usually mine!) and were relentlessly nice and caring, regardless of what they were faced with. If you live in Britain and don’t realise how amazing NHS staff are, why not?

You cannot treat a stomach ulcer with pop. This came courtesy of watching my Slovakian ward mate. When he wasn’t sleeping he was calling out. This usually took the form of moaning and sounding like he was pretending to be in a lot of pain. Then he’d beg the nurses for tablets, often asking for stuff he’d heard other patients talking about taking hours before, which given that we shared our ward with two gentlemen in their 80s, was a wide range of tablets. However, when he didn’t just get given tablets other than those already prescribed he’d throw his shoes on and leave the ward, against the nurse’s advice, returning later with several two litre bottles of bright green limeade and what looked like a bag of oranges. He’d then spend the next part of his day guzzling the limeade while demolishing the oranges. Shortly after this, he’d inevitably lie there clutching his stomach, squirming around on the bed complaining even more loudly about the amount of pain he was in. It turned out that as well as his heart trouble, he also had a stomach ulcer. And guess what? Carbonated drinks and citrus fruit are not an effective way to treat a stomach ulcer. Oh, and it also turned out that he was smuggling in paracetamol to take with all of this too! None of it worked!

Being in hospital wasn’t any fun. It was frightening, it was painful and it was mind-numbingly dull at times too. But, it’s always important to try and find something to smile about! I hope you enjoyed reading.

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.

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…