Yesterday evening, laying in the Leeds General Infirmary (LGI) bed which’d been my residence since a cardiac arrest last Friday morning, thoughts turned to how much I’d missed casa Strachan during this unscheduled tenancy.

A quartet of dusks/dawns where I’d been deprived of numerous sensory comfort blankets. Simple experiences such as witnessing it’s decorative contemporary canvases and prints of European cities, offset against their easy on the eye ivory coloured living room walls.

Time bereft of bookcase containing vinyl and literary timestamps of a life odyssey which, had I taken the wrong decision and not gone to A&E in the early hours of Friday morning, may’ve been prematurely curtailed.

Gazing out onto the illuminated Leeds skyline, I concluded I’d even missed the slightly off kilter piece of dado rail adjacent to the lounge window frame. A self-made decorating anomaly which ordinarily taunts my OCD – Although never quite enough to make me want to rectify the bloody thing.

See the source image
There’s no place like it!

Aimlessly gawped at the dark West Yorkshire sky outside, thoughts turned to the medical procedure I’d undergone that very morning. An operation undertaken by a medical team who implanted stents into coronary arteries made accessible via my right radial artery.

An astonishing piece of surgery requiring incredible skill and forensic accuracy. A procedure that plays out in front of medics and patient on a large screen adjacent to the operating table.

That being said, I declined to view pictures of my own surgical procedure as it unfolded; deciding instead to watch them on Catch Up TV when I got home.

Despite electing not to watch the live action, I listened attentively as the consultant cardiologist led operating team undertook their work. Even though I didn’t have a clue what the heck they were alluding to for most of the procedure, I felt sure my medical wellbeing was in good hands.

A surety that would’ve only been shaken if they’d have planted seeds of doubt as to their medical acumen by accompanying their work with the refrain ‘Dem Bones’ – Which mercifully (and quite obviously) they didn’t….. Altogether now-

The finger bone’s connected to the hand bone,
The hand bone’s connected to the arm bone,
The arm bone’s connected to the shoulder bone,
Now shake dem skeleton bones! ……..

Their cutting edge remedying of my arterial narrowing hopefully providing me with significantly longer time on this planet…… Or at the very least until I’ve finished watching footage of their handiwork on Catch Up TV back home.

Back in the ward following the procedure, my blood pressure (BP) was low when first recorded by the nurse. Something she re-assured me
was normal under post-op conditions; adding further this would be remedied by drink lots of water.

At was at this point it struck me being anxious about exhibiting BP that was too low exposed me to a risk of blood pressure that would be too high. Consequently, I stopped my post-op worrying and thoughts turned to lunch, which I concluded must be a better sign.

After being discharged earlier this afternoon, I’m writing this narrative from my bed at home. It’s great to be back in my domestic sanctuary, which’ll hopefully provide me with the peace and serenity I need at the commencement of my recuperation.

The last few days have been a figuratively and quite literally a massive shock to my system. In a misguided and rare fit of optimism, at the turn of the year I’d hoped my brood would get a brief hiatus from the seemingly endless existential detritus we’re prone to attract. Sadly, though, that turned out to be an aspiration too far for karma and his spiteful friends……. Oh, the follysome thoughts of a creative mind.

Right, where’s that remote control for Catch Up TV?!