Have started reading my journal that they foolishly keep in a pocket at the foot of the bed, googling whatever I don't understand. At morning rounds I ask the docs some questions, he seems to be quietly debating with himself whether or not I'll be a problem.
The doctor explains that the "idiopathic" part of the diagnosis just means "we have no clue why it happens". The rest of the fancy words are serious. If this happens again and I don't get help, it could kill me. That doesn't sound silly at all.
More tests are needed, so they ship me off to the ECG department to do a heart stress test, the ultrasound department to do an echocardiogram and then I do an MRI scan for an hour and a half.
Have to sit in a wheel chair and be pushed to and from each test, one of which involves me pelting it on a treadmill, but no one seems in a mood to see the irony. I fall asleep in the MRI machine. Club VT are all fixed, patched and discharged, they promise to think of me while having a pint. B@stards...
The nurses instantly detect the shift in power, feel safe in their majority and order me back to bed and wired up.
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