Admitted to hospital, so clearly a bit of a negative, but I consider it progress that they got my heart down from 230 bpm.
Collapsed at the nursery while picking up my boy, must have traumatised children, staff and parents alike.
Felt silly when they called the ambulance, but by the time they arrived I could barely say my own name. Was aware of my son crying in a corner and unable to go to him, so that was pretty sucky.
Had my top cut off in the ambulance in case they had to shock me, I realised then that this was serious. It's weird what detail will drive something home. Collapsing, seeing my heart rate at 230, being wheeled into an ambulance and driven off with blue lights and sirens, and I still felt vaguely embarrassed. As if I was wasting everyone's time. But a medic cutting my top open makes me think "oh my God, it's serious! That was a nice top!"
At A&E they try various drips and medication, but end up putting me under and delivering a shock to get my heart down from the rafters.
I wake up declaring I feel great, then vomit.
Rich is there, smiling and looking terrified.
I am wheeled up to the cardiac ward, A7, and told I'll be there for at least a couple of days. That's about as much info as they think I can deal with the first night, so I say good night to Rich and try to get some sleep. With a drip in either arm, my blood pressure measured every hour, oxygen lines up my nose, 5 wires stuck to patches on my chest and a gizmo measuring my pulse stuck to my right hand, movement is complicated, sleeping proves an impossibility. An alarm goes off every time my breathing slows.
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