I have just spent a couple of days on the heart ward in my local hospital after my dicky ticker decided to throw a wobbler, scare the living daylights out of me and my sister a couple of paramedics and my friends.
After my dads passing and his funeral on the 3rd December I decided to make a full Sunday lunch and invite sister and friends (who are practically family) as a more private send off when we could remember dad and have a good laugh at what he used to get up to (he always loved to have fun).
Well the lunch of Roat Beef, Yorkshire Pudding and all the trimmings went well and everybody was laughing and having fun remembering what dad or, for the Polish extended family contingent, "Opa" or "My English Grandpa" would get up to, especialy late at night and we were all making a little too much noise!
Well... aparantly I went still, drip white, clutched my chest and everything went not well! I hadn't had pain like that for a long time and not even my glycerin spray helped so it was blue lights and a hospital for a couple of days.
As it turned out, after X-rays, CT scan, other scans, tests, ultrasound thingies poked, prodded and a nasty incident in the ward shower which I will never get out of my head the "Man in the Know" had the results.
It seems that because my dicky ticker has been stable for so long under the medication regime (I stick to it like a religion) the cause must be the stress caused my dads passing and having to deal with the aftermath. We were very much aware that despite dad's insistance he was not well but being the no fuss or nonsense Yorkshireman he was wouldn't tell us things were not going as planned and constantly ignored doctors orders. I think he had had enough and wanted to go and join my mum.
I then decided to push some buttons. My sister has always said that I have no filters fitted and remarked that maybe it was the wild frantic constant sex that caused it.
The consultant, who knows me quite well having treated me for just over 10 years now and is the best in the country stared at me and then cracked up laughing. His retort of sex is good exersise, however I would cut out the wild and frantic stuff and go for long distance performance.
Marathon stuff then, doc?
No more activity from the other side.
Knew I was getting something wrong!
Well, the upshot is that I am back home with orders (which must be obayed at all times) to cut down somehow on the stress and to spend more time at the bench as this seems to help.
My humour seemed to be welcomed by the ward staff as they don't get much of it and to get a patient who uses this as a way of dealing with not being well is like a breath of fresh air!
Remember folks. Laughter is truly the best medicine for all!
James