lifestyle – Page 6 – Middle Age Fanclub

Back on the grass: I’m coaching again!

Just over four months ago, I sat on a hospital bed, typing out a series of WhatsApp messages informing various people of what I wasn’t going to be able to do for a while. Impending heart surgery will do that for you. I was surprisingly practical, but at that point was trying to think of things to do to keep the panic at bay. So those texts became vital. I wouldn’t be able to work for a while, I wouldn’t be able to see friends and family, I would possibly be even more grumpy and I wouldn’t be able to coach football.

The last one felt particularly desperate. I hated the idea of missing work, but at least there were plenty of people to keep everything moving and in actual fact, I wouldn’t be missed that much. But football felt different. I have twenty 13 and 14 year old boys in my squad. They love playing football and I take my role in their lives – however big or small that might be – very seriously. I was really going to miss what I do and I felt like I was letting them down badly.

Thankfully, several people stepped up and the team kept rolling on. The Great British Winter played a wonderful and some would say inevitable part in having games called off too, meaning that I wasn’t missing anywhere near as many matches as I assumed I would.

Fast forward a few months and I was able to stand on the touchline at games again. At first, just as a dad and then when one week, when there was no one else able to take the team, I stepped back into my big coaching coat and took the team again, being very careful to keep movement to a minimum and to stay as calm as I could manage! Since then, there have been a few more games and a bit more of an active role. Grassroots football has that effect; as calm as you tell yourself to be and as still as you’d like to keep, becoming animated at the very least, is almost inevitable.

I didn’t dare to attempt an actual coaching session though. Training would involve a lot more physical activity and simply going out for my daily walk was enough to tire me out By 6pm, when we would start training, I was worn out and staying awake watching telly was a chore. So, despite feeling absolutely desperate to get back out there and work on the kind of things we needed to try out in games, I stayed well out of the way.

However, I told myself that once I got back to work and was finding that I could cope with that particular daily grind, then I would make the move to get back to training sessions. It still wasn’t straightforward though, as I had to cancel two sessions due to firstly my health and then the weather. And then, with nothing else to stand in my way, I was able to get back out onto the pitch amongst my team.

We train on a 3G pitch in winter, which means that the surface doesn’t need to be an issue. There’s no danger of ruining a pitch for weekend games. What there is though is an area that appears to have it’s own micro-climate. Training is literally a mile from my house, but it is almost always about 5 degrees (at least) colder and blowing a gale up there! My first session back was no different and we also had some driving rain too! It really didn’t feel too good to be back!

I made sure that I wrapped up warm, practically mummified in about four layers, but it was still freezing cold when we got out of the car. I felt a strange mixture of excitement and nerves; happy to be back, but terrified of the thought of getting knocked anywhere near my pacemaker. My cardiologist had assured me that while it would hurt, I’d be ok, but it was still at the forefront of my mind.

It made me smile that my team seemed surprised to see me as I arrived. Those that were there early were kicking a ball about on an adjacent pitch, seemingly unaware that I would be taking the session and of those that arrived a bit later, several of them headed over to train with our Under 13 coaches, who have been looking after them for the last few months!

And then it was time to set up. Dodging flying footballs is always a joy when you’re trying to get some cones down or mark out a drill, but tonight felt a bit different given my circumstances. The thought of a wayward football smacking into my chest made me wary to say the least and it felt a little like the start of Saving Private Ryan, but with size 4 footballs and no beach.

It turns out though, that training, like going back to a job you’ve done for a couple of decades, is a bit like riding a bike. It felt wonderfully familiar and it was great to back amongst my team, pointing things out, making little tweaks to the ways they did things and standing back and having a chat to our other coaches while the kids did the work. Unlike what I remember of riding a bike however, it was absolutely exhausting.

At one point I joined in with a drill as one of our players didn’t have a partner, but lasted about 2 minutes before asking another coach to take over. It felt like I’d just ran an 800 metres at full speed and I was completely out of breath. The legs were like jelly and I was just able to kind of stumble off to gather myself a bit. Ironically, when I checked my heart rate on my watch – force of habit these days – it seemed to be the only thing that wasn’t out of shape!

I’d decided to keep training simple for my first time back. Not too many drills, nothing complicated that would need to be explained time after time after time and not a great deal required of me. We’d do a couple of fitness drills, a passing drill and then focus on having a game where we’d have plenty of time to stop and start and point a few things out when needed.

I tried to stand back and just watch but it wasn’t long before I was on the pitch acting both as a ref and a coach and while I wasn’t really running around, it still took its toll. It seems even with the restrictions of a new pacemaker it’s difficult to fight my enthusiasm for football.

Before too long the next team to train were arriving and we were wrapping up the game and packing up kit. Other people were kind enough to carry the bags, but as we headed to the car I was suddenly aware of exactly how old and tired I felt! Even an ‘easy’ hour had practically wiped me out and so when I got home, soaked and freezing cold, I was quick to take off my layers and get into my now familiar, post pacemaker uniform of pyjamas and a hoodie. After that, the evening was just about trying to stay awake!

It’s great to be back involved with my team again. When I sent the initial WhatsApp messages, I told myself that it would only be a few weeks, but deep down I knew it was going to take me a good while longer to be able to have the strength to get back to coaching. At times, just a short walk or staying awake has been a challenge, so it tells me that I’ve made significant progress that I can set foot back on a football pitch again.

A few days later, I was still suffering. My back and legs ached and there was a real soreness around the scarring where they put my pacemaker in. My heart was still working perfectly well it seemed – albeit with a bit of help – and I was still smiling That’s what matters most at the moment.

Since then, there’s been a little bit of a bump in the road and I’ve had a rough week. I had to cancel the very next training session, due to a bug I’d caught which has not been pleasant at all. I’ve been back to being extremely lethargic and breathless too, so it’s been a timely reminder of the length of the road that I’m on, so to speak. Certainly, one training session does not mean I’m fit and strong again!

For now, there’s only a day until our next match, when once again I’ll battle my urge to get too involved in what’s going on on the pitch! I’ll undoubtedly have to take it easy and am sure that the eyes of my nearest and dearest will be watching me like hawks. Still though, I can’t wait for kick off!

Book Review: 20 Travel Tales in 200 Words.

‘20 Travel Tales in 200 Words’ kind of fell into my digital lap when one of the writers reached out and asked if I’d like to review it. What follows though is a completely honest review.

I don’t know about you, but I love to travel. And I’ve been lucky enough to visit quite a few places in my quest to see a bit more of the world. However, over the years life has gotten in the way of my travel ambitions – life and my natural impulse to err on the side of caution that is – and so in truth, I’ve not managed to visit anywhere near the amount of places that I’d have liked. And now, since another bout of heart surgery, my ambitions have been somewhat naturally curtailed. I mean, have you seen the amount of questions you have to answer in order to get travel insurance when you have certain medical conditions? I’m afraid I haven’t got the time or patience! So, I somewhat sate my desire to travel the corners of the earth with travel documentaries or in this case, travel books.

My latest read was ’20 Travel Tales in 200 Words’ and as the title suggests, it’s a book chock full of travel tales that are limited to exactly 200 words each. Quite the challenge, let me assure you. Two hundred words is usually the length of one of my rambling introductions, so I’m already in admiration at the idea of telling entertaining travel tales with such a self imposed restriction.

The writers are two full time broadcast media professionals who love to travel when time allows. They approach every trip as a potential ‘trip of a lifetime’ and this book documents some of their travels using the literary gimmick of a 200 word tale illustrated by some fantastic images for a bit of perspective.

Described as ‘snapshots of happenings on travels’, the book takes us on a bit of a trip around the world, taking in destinations such as Costa Rica, Santorini, the East of Canada and even the Galapagos Islands. Quite the pair of David Attenboroughs, these two! Each tale is accompanied by stunning photographs from their time in each destination, adding a splash of colour to the humour and drama of the anecdotes.

On minute they’re dicing with death, zip lining through the clouds in Costa Rica, the next they’re channeling their inner me and relaxing on sun loungers in Jamaica, reading and drinking daiquiris.

’20 Travel Tales in 200 Words’ is a book that will appeal to those with an adventurous nature, while allowing the more tame among us to dream, just a little bit and live the life of an explorer in some small way.

The tales are well written as well as being carefully chosen. No two tales are the same and all are told with a gentle humour and a genuine sense of love for the places visited as well as for travel itself. And in spite of the amazing images, it’s easy to get a decent flavour of the destinations here, as despite the limit on words, everything is described with the kind of vocabulary that helps ignite the imagination, so that even if it’s a place of which you know very little, it’s often brought to just enough life that it lets you in. So while ’20 Tales…’ isn’t a guide book, it does more than enough to whet the appetite for seeking out new destinations. As the book itself suggests, ‘there is always more to the story’.

’20 Travel Tales in 200 Words’ is an excellent read. A snapshot of the kind of adventures and misadventures that can come our way when we stretch our boundaries and give ourselves a chance to explore the planet, the book is sure to entertain you. Entertaining, at times heartwarming and of course concise, I’d certainly recommend that you give it a go, if like me, you find yourself regularly daydreaming of being somewhere else.

I’d give ’20 Travel Tales in 200 Words’

Buy the book as an e-book or a soft cover by visiting http://Travel Books | Trips of a Lifetime (makethemalltripsofalifetime.com)

You can find out more about the writers and their trips of a life time at http://www.makethemalltripsofalifetime.com

Always Look on the Bright Side: Five things that made me smile lately.

It’s been a while since I wrote one of these posts. The delay hasn’t been because I’ve not been smiling, but let’s just say that the last few months have been complicated! Regular readers will know why and at times there’s not been a great deal to smile about, try as I might.

I write these posts mainly to remind myself that life is pretty good at least most of the time. Of course things will test us and our ability to raise a smile and it’s easy to descend into a bit if a fug about it all. Work, kids, obsessions with sports teams, relationships, taxes, traffic…they’ll all test your patience. Every so often though, when I have time to reflect I’m able to realise that there’s plenty to smile about. And every time I write one of these, people let me know that it’s nice to be reminded of the simple things that let us know that it’s not all doom and gloom!

So here we go…what’s been making me smile lately?

I’m running again. Before the last few weeks I hadn’t been out running since the middle of October. I’d missed it desperately. However, a combination of knowing that I needed to be patient with my body (how frustrating!) and the fact that going running genuinely terrified me, had kept me in my slippers rather than my running trainers. Not even getting a fancy new pair of runners for Christmas could tempt me back. While I was poorly I made sure that I went out for a walk most days. I built this up slowly and by mid January was out every day for around an hour. It would wipe me out for the next few hours of the day, but it felt wonderful. As time went on I would go for a walk/run combination on a Saturday morning, but that would mean running probably less than a mile all told. It didn’t really feel like it counted. Then, on Valentine’s Day, with the weather looking wonderful I went out for what was supposed to be a tentative run. I wouldn’t be going far – a couple of miles at most. I even took my son out as a bit of mini support. We ended up doing a 5k in just over 32 minutes and I was beyond thrilled. And beyond exhausted! Since then I’ve done three more runs, gradually moving on in distance each time. My latest was last Wednesday when I managed to run 3.75 miles (just over 6km) in 32 minutes. I clocked my 5k time as 27.49, which I’d normally be disappointed with. But, for the last few months things have been far from normal. Being able to run again and feeling even a little bit of confidence doing it has felt absolutely wonderful.
An unusual location for a jingle. Part of my new running route takes me through a business park. Twice now I’ve found myself grinning from ear to ear as a pie truck has arrived at the park and sounded an ice cream van type jingle to let office workers know it’s ‘pie time’! For those of you who remember the show, it plays the Benny Hill theme tune, which makes me wonder if the boss runs out with all their workers following them in some kind of slapdash column to get their savoury treats!
A snow day! I’ve only been back at work for a few weeks and on a very partial timetable at that. However, when school was closed because of snow at the back end of last week, I couldn’t hide how thrilled I was at getting a free day off! It was a Friday too, meaning a 3 day weekend…unbeatable!
Care Home Movie Posters. Now not only is this a great name for a band, it made for an excellent story too. This was something I read about on the BBC website; the story of how residents at a care home in Bristol had been recreating posters of some of their favourite films. You can read about it – and view some of the images – on the link below, but basically, if you’re not smiling at the octogenarian Godfather or Jean, 92 as Maria Von Trapp from The Sound of Music, then you’re taking life far too seriously!

https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-england-bristol-64866813

I won’t spoil the story for you by putting the images up, but in looking for further information on the story I did find that they’re not the only care home to have had this idea. Below is a picture from another care home that did the same thing, but with different films. Again, if this version of Reservoir Dogs isn’t making you grin, then I genuinely feel for you!

5. Kids being kids. The final thing that has made me smile lately – that I’m writing about anyway; I’ve smiled more than 5 times lately – came on our snow day. In the afternoon I went for a walk in the snow with my wife and daughter and it made me smile a lot. Firstly, our town looked amazing blanketed in white, as did our view of Leeds. Secondly, watching my daughter attempting to navigate snow, ice and mud in trainers and a pale blue pair of joggers made me laugh a lot. Eventually, she tucked her joggers into her bright blue novelty socks, worn for warmth, not to be seen and slithered her way through the terrain like that. Unmissable.

Towards the end of our walk though, we cut across the bottom of a hill that runs around the edge of the estate where we live. Above us, on various positions around the hill were dozens of children and sometimes parents, sledging and throwing snowballs. It felt like a bit of a throwback to my own childhood with not a mobile phone in sight and instead, just kids being kids and enjoying throwing themselves around in the snow. We even came across my son, messing around with friends that he’s known in primary school, but had since lost touch with a little bit when they went their separate ways at high school. It seemed the snow was uniting us all and not just by imprisoning us in cars stuck in traffic jams for once. Even later on that afternoon, thinking about it made me smile.

I hope you enjoyed reading and that maybe my experiences made you smile a bit too. Whatever you’re doing over the next week or so, make sure that you try to find a moment to allow yourself a smile.

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!

Pacemaker Diary: First week back at work? Completed it, mate…

A couple of weeks ago, when I started back at work again it had been 108 days since I’d had a full day at work. On Monday 7th November, 2022 I’d become unwell in my classroom, suffering with heart palpitations and ending up in the Accident and Emergency department of the Leeds General Infirmary. Later that night, I was admitted to a ward. And so it began…

At that point, I thought I’d have to have a few days off work. That wasn’t to be. Even when I received the news that I would be having a pacemaker fitted though, I reckoned I’d be back in my classroom within a week or so. So, the 108 days ‘rest’ has been a tough one to swallow. It’s kind of exposed my lack of medical knowledge too!

My employer has been amazing about everything. While I was off I was regularly reassured that I just needed to take whatever amount of time was needed in order to get better and every time I said that I felt guilty for being away from work, I was told to stop it! Each time I submitted a new sick note they reassured me that it was no problem at all.

Then, when it came to the time to think about starting back, they put a plan for a phased return in place. It’s a flexible plan that just depends on how I’m feeling and it has eased me back in incredibly gently. This in turn makes me feel very guilty all over again, but I guess that’s just something I need to get over!

My first two days were treated as KIT (Keep In Touch) days, designed for me to just get used to being back in the building, really. So there was no teaching. In fact there wasn’t much at all. But, as I quickly found out, I needed to just get used to being around the place and the people.

On my first Monday, I was beyond nervous as I drove in. My hands were shaking and I felt physically sick, even though I’m always very comfortable at work. However, as I attended our morning briefing it was genuinely lovely to see so many friendly faces and speak to people who were pleased to see me back at work. Literally nobody knew I was ill at the time and so I think it had come as a bit of a shock to more people than I would ever have imagined. There were handshakes and pats on the back aplenty and it really helped to settle the nerves a bit. So thanks, if you were one of those people.

Those first two days were largely spent sat at a desk in our English office, clearing emails and reading through lessons, just to get back up to speed a bit. I tried to stay in there as much as I could get away with as I was finding being around larger groups of people a bit overwhelming. Having spent nearly 4 months being on my own a lot of the time, 900 kids and over 100 staff was a bit of a culture shock. A far cry from shuffling around the local park and muttering to myself about dog walkers!

On Wednesday I taught my first lesson. It was only Year 7 and only an hour, but it felt amazing. I surprised myself with how easily I slipped back into teacher mode and I thoroughly enjoyed myself, despite the presence of an Ofsted inspector in the room next door! I was assured that they wouldn’t be allowed to come into my lesson, but I still feared that they might just go rogue!

By the end of the hour I was exhausted. My mind was racing, but thankfully my heart wasn’t. My legs were like jelly and I felt like I’d done some kind of comprehensive workout. I’d taught a lesson which felt fantastic, but more importantly, I’d taught it in the room where I’d become ill on the day when I ended up in hospital. I was very concerned about being back in there, but it was OK. So far, a couple of weeks on, there have been no flashbacks either. It’s not that I thought there would be, but these kind of things happen all of the time on the telly, so you never know! Maybe I’ll add the flashbacks in when the inevitable call comes in to make the film of my dramatic pacemaker journey!

I was supposed to teach another Year 7 lesson immediately after the first one, but I knew part way through the first that I wouldn’t be able to do it. Luckily there was already a cover teacher in place; another example of how work are looking after me.

I left work every day that week at around 11.30am to go home. I can’t thank them enough for that. I genuinely feel that I want to be looked after. But I also feel conflicted by this. I know that the phased return plan is for the best, but it’s still frustrating in a lot of ways. However, as I’ve been told time and time again, I have to listen to my body and at the moment it’s telling me that while I’m well enough to be back in work, progress is going to have to be made with baby steps. So as frustrated and guilty as I might feel, I’m going to have to swallow my pride and be a big boy about it all if I’m going to get myself back to normal.

I’m happy to report that I had a lovely first week back at work. The fact that Ofsted turned up to inspect the school just as I was coming back is very much typical of my luck, but even that didn’t spoil the experience at all. My colleagues made sure that I was shielded from all of the stress and from my point of view, it was nice to be able to act as the voice of experience and pass on some words of advice at stressful times over the two day visit. It made me feel ever so slightly important again; something I haven’t felt in a while.

It was great to be back and feeling like I had a purpose. Better still to know that my body is just about standing up to the strain, even if I did leave yawning every day! I even snuck in an after work run on the Thursday because there was no one at home to tell me not to and it was a lovely sunny day. It felt great, even if when combined with a morning at work, it wiped out my afternoon. It reassured me though, that hopefully, I’m going to be alright. I just have to take things one day at a time. and stumbling step by stumbling step until I get to the top of this particular mountain.

Thanks to everyone who’s helped me through these last few months. Some of you will know who you are, while others won’t realise just how much they’ve helped. Thank you from the very bottom of my overly scarred, but machine controlled heart. And sorry again for what I’ve put you through.

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.

Poetry Blog: Getting There

This is a poem I wrote about the early stages of my recovery from having pacemaker fitted. It happened in November – as you might know, if you read regularly – and especially in that first month or so, it was pretty much all I thought about. Still, three months on, it dominates my days.

It’s a simple enough poem, about the kinds of things I would find myself doing in those early days. Things like avoiding using my left hand side or getting used to the sight of another scar on my chest and just staring at it for long periods of time.

I didn’t see many people during that time; the fatigue and the pain and discomfort just made me want to hide away, but I did get a lot of messages from concerned friends. And when they’d ask me how I was I’d just tell them I was ‘getting there’ because I didn’t know what else to say and didn’t think they’d really want chapter and verse about how I really felt. It was also the kind of thing I told myself when I was feeling low or poorly – I must be getting there. Hence, the poem, written during any one of a huge number of sleepless nights, downstairs while every else in the house slept soundly above.

Getting There

Check your watch, swiping left three times,
lie awake, listening as your heart pounds,
strong but more vulnerable than ever now, you feel.
Trace the lumps in your scar all along its length, 
then follow the shape of a matchbox jutting out under your skin
and stare endlessly at these ugly changes in the bathroom mirror,
making sure that when you reach for something
it's on your right, never left.
This is the routine now.
Follow it like a child learning dance steps until it becomes second nature,
losing yourself for God knows how long
in a train of thought that feels like it might never switch off
and then remind yourself of them 
and however bad you feel, tell anyone who asks
that you're getting there.

So, since it all happened I’ve never been more aware of my heartbeat. At least nowadays it feels regular, unlike before. And then there’s the scar; a new one to go next to the one I’ve had for over 40 years now from open heart surgery. This new one is only about 3 inches long and at times looks fairly neat and tidy. However, sometimes it turns purple and has lumps in it due to the wires that come out of my pacemaker. Attractive, no?

On top of that there’s the actual pacemaker, which juts out of my chest – not literally – and is fairly visible under the skin. A friend recently explained that his grandad had one – which made me feel great, as you might imagine – and that it looked like someone had put a matchbox under his skin. So, that’s where that line came from.

The last part of the poem and the ‘them’ refers to my family. They’ve had to nurse me through this time, my wife and daughter especially. They were there when I passed out the first time as a result of palpitations and then it was my wife who took me to Accident and Emergency on the afternoon that I was admitted to hospital and her and my daughter who visited during the week I spent on the ward. It was especially difficult to watch how worried my daughter was; too young for all of this. So, when I would feel down about my health I always knew that I couldn’t let them see it and I had to just find a little bit more strength in order to get through the day.

As always, I hope you enjoyed reading the poem. Feel free to let me know what you thought in the comments.

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.

Always Look on the Bright Side: more stuff that made me smile.

It’s been a while since I wrote one of these posts. Over three months, I think. I suppose given the state of my health there have probably been less things that have made me smile, but having given things a bit of thought, I’ve been a lot less miserable than I imagined I’d be. And I like to write these posts to remind myself – and hopefully others – that there’s usually something to crack a smile about! So here’s a selection of things that have brought a smile to my face in the last month or so.

Walks in the park. If you happen to read my blog with any regularity or you follow me on any kind of social media, you’ll know about the park. Or parks, as we have a few good ones in my corner of Yorkshire and I don’t have to walk far to get to any of them, which is a relief, given the sorry state of my body for the last few months! I’ve been concentrating on one – Dartmouth Park – which was landscaped/built in the Victorian era and is just lovely. This week especially, while we’ve had bright blue skies, frost and crisp Winter temperatures, it’s just been brilliant to walk round. Such is my regularity there that I’m even on nodding/”Good Morning” terms with some of the older folk who go there too! Walking there this week has almost allowed me to forget the fatigue I feel and the irritation of having a little machine sat in my chest, working my heart for me!

The sun was just rising over the park when I walked through this morning. The light was amazing and the sun felt lovely and warm, despite the chill in the air.

Sammy Squirrel. We have a squirrel that visits our garden regularly. When our children were younger we christened him Sammy and to this day, we still refer to him as such. I realise, by the way, that it’s possibly more than one squirrel…I’m not an idiot. In fact, sometimes there are a few running about in our garden. They’re all Sammy. There’s no cause for discussion here. Earlier this week I filled up the bird feeders on our trees. The ground had frozen and although some would advise you not to feed the birds, I just felt sorry for them. About an hour after filling them, I was doing the dishes and some movement at the back of our garden caught my eye. Sammy. And thus, for the remainder of the week I’ve smiled daily at Sammy as he finds ingenious ways of positioning himself in order to raid my nuts (and yes, I did just intentionally make that very childish joke). As the week has progressed he’s got bolder and bolder, appearing at the side of the house, right by the kitchen window, perching on our shed, doing parkour all around the place and even sitting on our patio table to either eat or squirrel away his somewhat ill gotten gains. And yes, that’s another deliberate joke. As I type he has just removed the top from our largest feeder and is now gathering nuts before disappearing over the fence to hide them in the trees behind the house. This process has been going on for a good five minutes. I think he may be preparing for a party. It’s ever so slightly annoying, but I can’t deny that it’s made me smile. Good on you, Sammy!

Sammy, as bold as brass on our patio, chatting to a garden gnome about breaking my bird feeder, no doubt

I fitted a new light in our cupboard. Now this may not seem much of a thing to smile about, but if you had my light and didn’t smile as it comes on when you opened your cupboard door, I’d have to say that we couldn’t be friends anymore. It didn’t take any fitting; it literally sticks to the ceiling of the cupboard with a combination of sticky stuff (technical term there) and a magnet, which is good because my left arm doesn’t work as well anymore and I couldn’t have fitted anything difficult! However, it is very much a wonder. Now, when we open the door of our walk-in cupboard, where we keep our fridge and our big coats, it is lit up instantly like the Vegas strip! Sometimes, it really doesn’t take much to make me smile!

The prospect of snow. As much as I miss work, if it snows anytime soon, I will certainly not miss trying to drive through the snow to get there. I won’t miss doing an outdoor duty and having to scan the area like Action Man for fiendish snowballs being launched in my direction. I won’t miss the hideous feeling of slush soaking through my shoes. And I won’t miss trying to drive home in the snow as it freezes, adding potentially hours onto my journey. What I will do is sit in my front room and smile at the fact that I’m warm and dry, if still a bit poorly, in my house!

Ted Lasso. We recently got Apple TV free (I think) for 6 months. We’re three episodes into Ted Lasso and it’s superb. Biscuits with The Boss never fails to raise a grin! I think I actually want Ted to be my friend.

So, there we have it. Contrary to popular belief, I do smile. I hope you enjoyed reading about it!