Yesterday, my heart was only slightly tachy (93bpm), and stable, for once, not throwing PVCs** as if they were going out of fashion, with no chest pain. So I went to the pub.
**Premature ventricular contractions.
Yes, I know that I shouldn’t drink, but if I didn’t go to the pub, I wouldn’t go anywhere – as it is I’m stuck in here 6 days out of 7, and drinking fits in with my abilities in that I can do it sitting down. There is, however, no longer any doubt that drinking is making me worse – much worse.
Despite the fact that I drank much less than usual yesterday, I was still absurdly drunk (though given the amount I shouldn’t have been), and feel appalling today. Tachy again (103), occasional PVCs, and O2 sats 92% (been steady at 95% for a while). And the chest pain’s back.
Since going to the pub and having soft drinks isn’t an option (they’re crap, and have you seen what they charge for the buggers?), I’m at something of a loss.
Meanwhile, back in the medical world, I’ve just had a letter from my GP asking me to attend for a Healthy Heart check.** I’m not sure whether that’s ironic or simply, in the circumstances, an obscenity, given that I’m still waiting to see a consultant cardiologist – and it’s becoming increasingly clear that I’m not going to get an appointment. I was too ill to keep my appointment on September 26 – which really should have rung alarm bells, given that I have a potentially fatal condition – and the promised substitute appointment has failed to materialise.
**I’m also asked to get blood tests done a couple of weeks prior to the check. Since they only take blood for a couple of hours on a Friday morning, ending at 10.30, the chances of my having a good spell that coincides with it (even if I stay out of the pub on a Thursday), are vanishingly small, especially as it takes me until at least 11.30 to get ready.
Finally, earlier in the year I said that I wasn’t convinced I’d make it through to Christmas. Given how extremely ill I’ve felt of late, how much I’ve deteriorated (too weak, now, to use my manual chair), and the continuing fuckuppery from Arrowe Park Hospital, all compounded by profound depression (hardly surprising!), I’m still not convinced.
I know one thing for sure, though – whatever happens, as long as I’m in any condition to refuse, I’m sure as hell not going into Arrowe Park Hospital, given their propensity for screw-ups, like plugging me in to 2 litres of i-v saline, in my sleep, when my lungs were already full of fluid. Luckily I woke and put a stop to it but, had I not, I have little doubt that I would have died that night (as it was my breathing was seriously further impaired). And I doubt that gross stupidity would have appeared on my death certificate.
Yesterday, my heart was only slightly tachy (93bpm), and stable, for once, not throwing PVCs** as if they were going out of fashion, with no chest pain. So I went to the pub.
**Premature ventricular contractions.
Yes, I know that I shouldn’t drink, but if I didn’t go to the pub, I wouldn’t go anywhere – as it is I’m stuck in here 6 days out of 7, and drinking fits in with my abilities in that I can do it sitting down. There is, however, no longer any doubt that drinking is making me worse – much worse.
Despite the fact that I drank much less than usual yesterday, I was still absurdly drunk (though given the amount I shouldn’t have been), and feel appalling today. Tachy again (103), occasional PVCs, and O2 sats 92% (been steady at 95% for a while). And the chest pain’s back.
Since going to the pub and having soft drinks isn’t an option (they’re crap, and have you seen what they charge for the buggers?), I’m at something of a loss.
Meanwhile, back in the medical world, I’ve just had a letter from my GP asking me to attend for a Healthy Heart check.** I’m not sure whether that’s ironic or simply, in the circumstances, an obscenity, given that I’m still waiting to see a consultant cardiologist – and it’s becoming increasingly clear that I’m not going to get an appointment. I was too ill to keep my appointment on September 26 – which really should have rung alarm bells, given that I have a potentially fatal condition – and the promised substitute appointment has failed to materialise.
**I’m also asked to get blood tests done a couple of weeks prior to the check. Since they only take blood for a couple of hours on a Friday morning, ending at 10.30, the chances of my having a good spell that coincides with it (even if I stay out of the pub on a Thursday), are vanishingly small, especially as it takes me until at least 11.30 to get ready.
Finally, earlier in the year I said that I wasn’t convinced I’d make it through to Christmas. Given how extremely ill I’ve felt of late, how much I’ve deteriorated (too weak, now, to use my manual chair), and the continuing fuckuppery from Arrowe Park Hospital, all compounded by profound depression (hardly surprising!), I’m still not convinced.
I know one thing for sure, though – whatever happens, as long as I’m in any condition to refuse, I’m sure as hell not going into Arrowe Park Hospital, given their propensity for screw-ups, like plugging me in to 2 litres of i-v saline, in my sleep, when my lungs were already full of fluid. Luckily I woke and put a stop to it but, had I not, I have little doubt that I would have died that night (as it was my breathing was seriously further impaired). And I doubt that gross stupidity would have appeared on my death certificate.