2016 has been a grim old year and last week it nearly claimed yours truly. To come straight to the point, last Wednesday I got struck down with a heart attack. Luck and prompt action by folk who know what they are doing saved me.
On Tuesday 20th I had searing pain in the left shoulder, leaving me totally unable to rest in any position, let alone sleep. I’d been visiting wonderful Wales and had been out on the Liverpool ferry, so was inclined to put it down to the cold cutting to the bone. I managed to get about three hours sleep on Wednesday, only to be woken around 5am by tight chest pains, which got more agonizing by the hour. I had to go out that morning, sending out last minute Christmas cards and picking stuff up from the local shops. Of course, there were queues everywhere, and I was shuffling around very slowly, then standing, only able to take short, shallow breaths, each accompanied with sharp pain. Unable to rest, I told my dad that “I’m dying here”, I rang my medical centre, Spinney, St Helens, who advised me to take a taxi in and they would look at me. I got there. “At least I may live now” I (half) joked with the taxi driver as I paid the fare. I waited a little while. It turns out that I was so cool that it wasn’t that clear how severe the problem was. I sat talking very calmly with the doctor for a minute or so, and she later told me that my “grace under pressure” demeanour almost totally fooled her. But only almost. She quickly realised I was suffering a heart attack, kicked into action, aspirin, spray under the tongue, got me lying on the couch and called the ambulance. In no time, I was being stretchered out though reception and the car park before being put in the ambulance and set on the way to Liverpool, sirens wailing. Still no panic and no worry. I was in good hands. Just stay alert and follow instructions and respond to questions. I ended up in the Liverpool Heart and Chest Hospital, Broadgreen.
Well, I got my Christmas in Liverpool. And I was lucky to be taken to this place.
“Merseyside specialist hospital first to be rated 'outstanding'”.
"This rating pays testament to the dedication and professionalism of the team.”
The trust runs the largest single-site specialist heart and chest hospital in England, based in Broadgreen, Liverpool. 'Leading in its field'. Prof Sir Mike Richards, chief inspector of hospitals, said: "This is a trust that clearly has patient-centred care as a priority, evidenced by consistent positive feedback. "All of this demonstrates that this is one of the best trusts in England and I commend them on their outstanding rating," Sir Mike added. The report described how there was "a very positive culture throughout the trust" and "staff were proud of the services they delivered".
I saw the these words being proven in practice.
I was in intensive care for a few days, 24 hour care, tested on the hour every hour. I’ve got several holes in every finger and up and down both arms, stomach, you name it, I’ve been prodded and poked all over. Now the nurses did praise me for my “bright and cheerful nature” and for making their job easier. It can’t be nice to keep disturbing patients, waking them if and when they finally sleep, in order to push needles into places that have been pricked many times before. So thanks Liz, Dawa, Smithy etc so many names for paying me the little tribute to the fact that I bore it all with a smile. And I did too! That was until I started to feel better. And, boy, am I not a nice patient when life ever-resurgent starts to resurge! I’m still a bundle of energy, not easy to contain, not used to following instructions. And so, as soon as I started to find my feet, I was itching to race through the door. Dressed or otherwise. I’ll have to admit to having lively exchanges with the nurses who were doing the right thing and remaining on the side of caution. I suffer noise stress, have sensitive hearing, like to be active – I wanted away. So I’ll hold my hands up and say that I was a bit of a handful those last couple of days. I did it with my customary sense of humour. But I appreciate how difficult it must be to do those jobs, and especially over Christmas. And I do argue a bit.
As for Christmas. Last year, with my expert planning and eye for detail, I managed to spend Christmas Day all alone. This year, I took no chances. You should see my lovely tree, new decorations, lights, a nativity scene that we had back in the early seventies, the last one in existence, I’m sure, the house all cleaned and tidied up, the works. There’s enough Guinness here to keep an Irish pub going for a month. I had a great Christmas planned. I missed that one. But got another. I can’t romanticise it. I was all hooked up in hospital, insulin, anti-biotics and who knows what, the pain, the uncertainty, the unfamiliarity, not liking being told I wasn’t well, insisting I was (knowing I wasn’t – poor nurses). But it was a Christmas that, in its trials and tribulations, in showing the sheer miracle of being alive, and in sharpening the appreciation of the aliveneness of life, had a real value, and a greatness that is lived and loved and earned. A Christmas that, for all its flaws and pains, was one that was real. Good bits, bad bits, such is life. And it feels good to be alive. Sweet delight, in the fine phrase of William Blake.
So it was a good Christmas. The Christmas songs I’ve heard many times before sounded much sweeter this time, like old friends singing to me, I got visits from some cheery souls who visit the wards making sure folk are feeling fine, (and some nicely wrapped presents from them too!) I had my own little mass in my room, my own priest (hey!), a traditional brass band like we used to get down our road, (I did my best to applaud, with the left arm manacled to some contraption, but waved the right arm as best I could), cups of tea – you learn to appreciate the simple things that count in making a big life.
The margins are fine. A little time lost here, a wrong decision there, and in all probability I wouldn’t be here today. I always have given thanks for the fact of being alive. I’ve never taken it for granted, not since Hillsborough. I’ll continue to give thanks (but have to restrain the enthusiasm and refocus energies now). Life is a breath, so precious, and our hold on it is so fragile. Thank my old-fashioned metaphysics, but I think life has a purpose, something a bit more than fitting oneself to a load of transitory institutional, bureaucratic and economic imperatives of the prevailing social order. But, hey, good institutions and their functioning are all integral parts of a viable social order. And in the LHCH I found an institution that works well. But the value of the institution is the value of the flesh and blood parts - working well is down to the commitment, the care, the experience, the expertise, the dedication and the capability of so many people, the various professionals, the doctors, the nurses, the catering staff who kept me supplied in tea and good cheer, and who tempted me with the traditional English trifles – I rather enjoyed the menus and being waited on, nice soup too, although, proving an iron will, I resisted the trifles. I sat looking at this delicious looking trifle for hours. In my imagination I ate it a dozen times or more. This really was the perfect trifle. But I resisted it, and finally it was taken away. This Christmas was the Christmas of the trifle that got away.
And in the end, I got away too. My dad picked me up in a taxi, and home I went. Gee, as he came onto the ward, at the age of 79, he looked fitter than all of us. Of course, he’d forgotten the way in already, so we did our best to follow simple instructions and find our way out of the building (only one wrong turning, not bad).
Strange old life, who knows how it goes, savour it as best you can, and help folk along the way.
And here’s my favourite Christmas song – based on a story told by Tolstoy.
‘of all the gifts, love is the best
I was honoured to be
Your Christmas guest.’
and the story behind it
http://flyanglersonline.com/lighterside/poetscreek/part152.php
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Where_Love_Is,_God_Is
LHCH Charity
http://www.lhchcharity.org.uk/
Something of a theme song ... 'because you were there for me, and you set me free ... heart as big as the city, heart as big as Liverpool.'
And Pete's long promised new album should be out some time this coming year - and I shall be doing my level best to be here to hear it - Pete Sounds! - and Pete is sound.
My big heart is still going, and Pete Sounds will carry on singing.
Additional - I'm just reading my last Facebook post before the above adventures, and the warning signs were there on 5th December:
"I've been getting a lot of messages, requests, invitations for all manner of initiatives and projects, and wonderful they sound too. Worldchanging for the better is underway. I've lost track over the past few months, so, to the people I've missed, apologies and all the best. My time is completely taken up at the moment (seemingly always has been, worn out). I'm also having one or two health problems, somewhat exhausted, I'm busy with medical tests. There's plenty of text in the posts and comments below, on Alasdair MacIntyre (whom I heartily recommend, critically), Martha Nussbaum, bit of Aristotle, William Blake. (May be worth a read).
In the meantime …
In my little Church at the weekend, St Thomas', St Helens, there was a prayer for “all those working for the ecological health of the world.” Indeed. Creation Care. Get the relationships to each and all and to the world around us and to our true native land right, and we’ll work the rest out in practice.
We finished with this. And then went home. To get on with what we do. It's a busy little community. Take care of the ‘little things’, united by the greater Love. It carries us on. We fall forwards into an uncertain future. But we don't fall down. There is a greater Love that carries us ... And it makes for a big life. And for peace with justice. 'Close the path to misery. Bind in one the hearts of all mankind, O bid our sad divisions cease'.Not much more I can add.Peace on Earth.
Night night"