I’d had an MRI last Monday, where they induced all the sensations of a panic attack, shoved me into a giant doughnut, and asked me to hold my breath for ten minutes.

It’s an experience I can tick off and hopefully won’t need to repeat.

Today was the rest of the tests.

I walked to the hospital on a beautiful, crisp, autumn day. Within ten minutes I was overheating: it’s that time of year where you just do not know what to wear. You’re either baking hot or freezing cold. Sometimes within a short time of each other.

I arrived early and had a coffee, while I messaged friends. Then it was off for the blood tests at 09:45.

I checked in and then re-read the rest of the morning’s itinerary:

09:45 – blood tests

09:30 – x-ray

10:15 – pulmonary function test

10:00 – ECG

Some time later in the day is the cardiac surgeon consultation. No time is specified for that.

Nine-thirty x-ray!?

What the fuck? What kind of moron does not sort appointments chronologically?!

Was this some kind of sadistic IQ test disguised as healthcare scheduling?

Fortunately, the x-ray department was on the same level and not too far from where the blood test was to be taken.

The x-ray took two seconds

Then I dashed back to phlebology for the blood test and was called almost the moment I arrived.

Four vials of blood were taken. Funny that I cannot look at the needle going in – it seems to hurt more if I watch. If I don’t watch, I mightn’t even be aware that it’s gone in.

So where did I need to be next? What’s the paper with the times and locations on?

Lost.

Fuuuuuuuck!

This hospital is working to give me another heart attack!

I check where I’d had the blood tests: not there.

I dash back to x-ray – nothing in the waiting area, can’t barge into the room, can only hover like a lost courier until someone emerges. Another patient suggests that I go to reception. Duh! Obvious. And it’s there!

The next tests and the consultation are all in the same place, so I can relax a bit now.

Before the ECG, I had some standard tests done, including my blood pressure. The nurse was visibly alarmed: 82/60. Normal is usually said to be 120/80.

“Do you feel alright?” She asked.

“A little lightheaded,” I answered.

She directed me to a water fountain to hydrate.

The ECG was a quick in and out. I’ve had loads of those now.

Before the pulmonary function test, the nurse re-did my blood pressure. This time it was a more normal 111/68. Only a little low. I ate a flapjack anyway.

For the pulmonary function test (ie lung test), I had to inhale through a machine and then exhale as forcefully and completely as I could. I did that three times.

Aside from the blood pressure, I have no idea how I performed in any of these tests … it’s quite exciting to find out what the surgeon says!

I didn’t have to wait long.

The surgeon called me into his room, warmly shook my hand, and offered me a seat.

He showed me the images from the angiogram taken during my heart attack; it was clear that there was a blockage and that a section of my heart wasn’t getting any blood.

I do have heart disease, but it’s not too severe at the moment and isn’t causing me any problems. The heart attack has reduced my ejection factor, which is now 44% – a healthy heart is between 50 and 60%.

The upshot is that I am currently asymptomatic – blood flow isn’t too impaired, I’m not getting chest pains, nor am I ever unintentionally out of breath, so there is currently nothing to be gained by surgery yet.

For the moment, my adventures in heart attack land are over and I can resume what passes for me as normal living.

Here’s the weird thing … I feel a disappointed that I’m not going to have an operation! 😉