So what?
I dropped down to see Doc yesterday.
There were a few things I needed to have sorted. There was a certificate I needed to have witnessed by him to say I was still alive [so my pension can continue]. There was a twinge of humour in that. I also needed a letter to say I was fit to drive as apparently car insurance is nullified after a heart attack and can only be reinstated once I have that letter. Just as well I didn’t run over someone during the week?
So he gave me the full once-over and could find nothing wrong with me. I have that same kind of feeling myself and the whole escapade seems like a bad dream, or even that it never happened at all and is all in my imagination. In fact the only proof I have is all the puncture wounds on my arms, the fantastic coloured effects [brown, blue, purple, red] on my right arm from wrist to elbow from the stent insertion and the continued discovery of electrode patches on various parts of my body.
We discussed what might have caused the “incident” and he confessed to being at a loss. He rattled off a huge list of possible caused from genes, through stress, diet and a load of others. He did mention smoking as an afterthought but was adamant that it could have been anything up to and including just sheer bad luck. He frankly admitted that I was the very last person he would have expected to have a heart attack
Another after effect he did mention [and which I was already fully aware of] was that if I cut myself I will bleed profusely and he suggested that if I were doing gardening I should have loads of rolls of kitchen paper handy and a good supply of plasters on standby. It’s a good excuse to let the estate grow wild.
One more strange after effect is that frankly I don’t give a shit about anything any more. I have a “so what” attitude to everything, and reading about Brexit or Trump or Climate has zero effect on me. I couldn’t give a flying fuck what the gubmint is up to or even pass comment on the latest crazy idea the Anti-Smokers have come up with.
I don’t even feel the need to scribble.
For a while anyway.
Take your time and smell the coffee (if you’re still allowed that). If the new you doesn’t feel like scribbling so often then embrace the change.
I guess nearly dying completely changes priorities? "So what?" seems a perfectly understandable notion imho. 😉
I think it's due to you being tall-ish. Your heart just got sick and tired of pumping blood from your head all the way down to the bottom of your feet and back up again–over and over and over…
So it couldn't possibly be the stress you've been undergoing of late or all the physical work you had to do with turning the "office" into a downstairs bedroom for Herself or dealing with every little thing involved with caring for her or not getting enough sleep or…
Still, perhaps it's a good thing that you now have a "so what" attitude about certain things. Like the government? After all, it's going to be there long after you're gone so–so what?
Plantain leaves crushed and held on the bleeding bit will stop it pretty damn quick. I know from personal experience when walking along a rarely used railway line a bastard bramble leapt out and tripped me up. I was face down in some of its mates before I knew what had happened.
Being three miles from home and no bugger about to laugh at me, there is a god, possibly, I remembered reading about the Plantain and lo they appeared a little further along the track so I plucked and crushed and said a quiet "thankyou" to whatever was listening and applied the leaves to the bleeding forehead of multiple scratches. Within half a mile or so of walking towards home all of the scratches had stopped bleeding.
I feel sure there will be some ligging about the grounds of the manor. Would certainly freak herself out to see you with green leaf clutched to a bleed.
Enduring one of Life's many scratches is not fun, but at least you came out alive, thank God. Hope you keep on with everything you do so well. Good luck, and be happy.
I agree with the ‘ so what ‘ attitude. Having been declared clinically dead, twice, I find my priorities somewhat revised.
I’ve also had stents but none of the multi coloured aftermath. Having said that it was done by an exceptional surgeon in one of the premier medical centers in France…
Losing one's fear of death is quite a liberating experience. Sometimes it's only the existence of close friends and family that oblige us to live any longer than we need to.
It's your own fault for not being a boring old bastard that necessitates your prolonged existence.
Glad you are still with us in the land of the living 🙂