My wake up call wasn’t my usual beep-beep of my phone alarm telling me to get ready for the day.
Instead the beep beep of the heart monitor, the drip-drip ticking of the IV, the hussling noise of the A&E department and chatter of all of the amazing medical staff, the crisp white sheets covering the hospital bed.
This was my alarm – this was my wake up call.
Lots have asked me what happened, why I was rushed to hospital, and I’ve shared with a few but it’s almost embarrassing to share when all around me people are far worse off, much poorlier, much sicker than I am.
The pain was more than I could bear.
After having had two drug-free homebirths and once working for three days with a broken arm, and another time returning to work 4 days after a major op (stupidly,) those that know me know I’ve a very high pain threshold – but this was different.
Morphine is strong. It gives trippy visions and floaty dreams and brought instant relief to the pain. Of course at first I’d refused. ‘Ive a high pain threshold!’ I told him. The doctor reassured me it was all OK. He could see I was in pain. And so I agreed – and the relief I felt was incredible.
I slumped on the bed. Sank into the sheets. Drifted away.
I’m home now after time in hospital. The drama is over and the diagnosis is a worry but it’s a warning sign to slow down.
I thought I had a chest infection. What I actually have is an infection that has caused my Kidneys and lungs to swell hence the pain! (I didn’t even know they could do that. I certainly didn’t know it would cause pain worse than labour contractions!)
My ECG also showed I’d had a recent very mild heart attack. Like most people, I associate heart attacks with high drama like you see in an episode of Casualty! You know the scenes I mean – the clutching of the chest in awful pain while collapsing to the floor?
I was shocked. I’m still shocked. And I have to say, I’m scared.
The consultant was brilliant. He knew I wanted to know everything in detail.
He sat next to me and went through every single test – showing me each line on my ECG, each and every test is had and what it meant.
What an utterly brilliant man with a wonderful bedside manner.
Then he told me I’d need to rest. And not my idea of rest, he warned – but properly resting and taking medication until my body forgave me for burning it out or I’d be back in that hospital bed again.
I’m going to be referred to a cardiologist too but in the meantime I’m resting. Resting and bored.
I’m bored.
I’m so bored that I’m writing this post on what happened to me, (and no Lizzie and Sian – it’s not actual ‘work’ before you tell me off!)
This isn’t my usual style of writing at all! Those ‘poor me’ posts are incredibly unappealing and yet I wanted to put this into words.
I’ve skipped the gory details, I’ve not included the photos of IV drips and heart monitors, I’ve even missed the photo of the huge pair of my Nan’s pants, the going out jumpsuit and the Mickey Mouse sweater that my husband packed me in a hurry for my stay in hospital. (I’m not a granny pant hoarder by the way – I looked after my nan when she had a bad fall last year and a pair of her pants were in my knicker draw!)
This post is for me.
I wanted it on record for myself more than anyone else – so I could come back to it and remind myself that I’m human if I start to take on too much again.
I’m not a robot.
I can’t answer ALL of the 250 parenting emails each week and work from home and look after my family and run the house and travel all over the country for book signings and appointments. It’s not physically possible to do everything. And it doesn’t mean I’m failing if I can’t do it all. (I’ve been telling myself this all week and it’s starting to sink in!)
My wake up call wasn’t my usual beep beep of my phone alarm telling me to get ready for the day.
It was telling me to slow down.
July 2, 2014
Louise Taylor
Bless you ! Now slow down xxx