There is no sex in this story. It is about the breakdown of a marriage due to an unknown cause. Even when the cause is discovered the hurt, on both sides, is too much to contemplate any reconciliation. Can time heal them?
I felt like shit! No, that would be an improvement. My head was about to explode. YET AGAIN! My throat was dry. It took great willpower not to throw up. I knew I wouldn't make it to my office. I was close to home so I turned the car towards there. I vaguely remember drawing up on my drive and getting out. I left my belongings in the car.
I felt a lot of pressure on my chest. I could feel my stomach really begin to churn. The sweat was beginning to drip off my brow. The headaches had been building for months but I had never suffered this sweating or sick feeling before. They always built up and plateaued for five, ten minutes or so before waning. Whatever was happening, I hoped it wouldn't last long.
I staggered through the front door and almost fell. I was having a problem co-ordinating my legs. My vision was blurring. I was struggling to breathe, gulping air, trying to keep my stomach contents in place.
I saw a vision of an angel. It was my wife Pamela. She was all dolled up, war paint on, fuck me heels and a dress which said, "I'm out to fuck you!" I couldn't remember her ever wearing a dress that exposed so much flesh before.
She was surprised to see me, that I recognised. I managed a few choice words, "Who the fuck's that for?" before stumbling hurriedly to the downstairs toilet where I was violently sick. I don't know how long I embraced the porcelain but I wretched and wretched until I thought I was going to turn inside out.
When I managed to leave the toilet; Pamela wasn't there.
My watch was bleeping at me. I felt like someone was crushing my chest and stabbing me in the back. My jaw ached. I managed to call 999 for an ambulance.
I don't recall anything after that for almost two days.
I came too in the ICU. I had tubes attached to my throat and out my chest. I felt like I had been run over by a tank. My brain didn't function well. I lapsed in and out of consciousness. It was the second day before I stayed alert in any sense for more than just a few minutes. The nurse would lightly wet my mouth. I recognised the thing in my throat was no longer there. My voice was hoarse.
"Where am I? What's happened?" I asked quietly. That effort drained me.
She smiled, "You're in the ICU. You had us worried a few times. The doctor will come and explain everything shortly. Do you have someone we can contact for you?"
For some reason I knew there was no one to contact but I couldn't recall why. I knew Pamela wouldn't be at home. My parents and I weren't talking.
I answered, "There's no one. I've driven everyone away!" Those words shocked me. I didn't know where they came from.
The doctor came. What she said scared the shit out of me.
"Mr Deans, the paramedics found you within your home having a heart attack. You had to be resuscitated enroute here and again on the operating table. You're very lucky. You're not out of the woods yet. I'll explain more when you are able to understand more. Do you have a family history of heart disease?"
I was shocked by what she said. Resuscitated - probably explained my bloody sore chest.
"No. My dad's very fit, walks everywhere, hill walks fifteen to twenty miles without getting out of breath. Mum is seldom ill."
"Do you know your dad's blood group?"
"He's O negative."
The doctor looked worried, "Em! Is he your stepfather?"
"No. What's wrong?"
"I'm sorry to say, he can't be your biological father. Your blood type is A positive. The reason I asked was because of how your heart presented. It has a genetic look to it. Any siblings may have the same potential problem. I'll let the Cardiac surgeons tell you more."
I asked, "What is my prognosis?"
She smiled, "You'll have to take things easy for a while, build your body back up but you should be fine. We'll only know the extent of any long-lasting damage to your heart when we do further tests. You won't be running a marathon this year. Get all the rest you can. Tomorrow if everything remains stable, we'll transfer you to the HDU. There you'll begin a careful mobilisation."
After she left my head began pounding. Whenever I felt stressed, it would pound. It was getting worse. I was thinking I would have to try and get an appointment with my GP's practice to get some help with it. Somewhere in my mind, I recognised I became vile when the head screamed at me.
The nurse came back and checked me out. My blood pressure was up.
"What's wrong?" she asked.
"Just another massive bloody headache. I've been having them for months but they are getting worse. I apologise now for I can say some vile things when the rock drill is going off in my head. That's why I've driven everyone away."
She noted what I said and I saw her speaking to the doctor. The doctor came back.
"I said you had a genetic look to your heart attack. These headaches may well be connected. When you are fit enough, we'll do a Cerebral Arteriogram to establish if this is linked. It may be a week or more before you are able. I'll prescribe something to reduce your blood pressure in the meantime."
The following day, I was transferred to the HDU where I spent a further two days. The highlight -- not -- was getting the two chest drains out and stitched. They ensured I got out of bed and took a few steps. Just a few steps took all my concentration and energy. I never thought a man in support stockings was sexy. I certainly didn't turn myself on. I felt wiped out.
When I went to the ward, the physiotherapists took me for walks, all off about fifty metres and back. I think a marathon wouldn't have tired me out so much. (I've never been serious about running one so thankfully I'll never find out)
I was surprised by the lack of pain until a doctor said, "Pain doesn't aid healing."
I won't bore you with toilet and showering where I needed help.
Eight days after my collapse, I felt quite well in comparison to the way I had been feeling before. I had more energy, short term variety but I could see my complexion wasn't so grey looking. I still felt like death warmed up. The feeling was more like I'd been hit by a van rather than a tank.
The Cardiac Surgeon explained everything to me. There was also a Vascular Surgeon there as well.
"Mr Deans, you tried to give me a heart attack while you were on the table. Your condition was so serious we had to operate immediately so we went in fairly blind. We knew from the ECG you had blocked arteries but we came across an Arteriovenous Malformation which had infiltrated the arteries around and in your heart. We had to clip or remove them. We used a vein from your leg to graft five new arteries bypassing blocked or damaged areas.
"You told us about the headaches and how they are getting worse. AVM can often occur in the brain as well. We'll get a scan in the next couple of days to see the extent of any. From what you describe I believe we will need to operate or rather my colleague here who's the expert on them."
His colleague explained. It didn't sound good, but the choice wasn't good either. Do nothing the headaches keep getting worse until they rupture and I'm gone at best (my view) or severely impaired.
I had to tell him, I believed I had blacked out on a few occasions but had told no one. My mood changed so much. I knew I became an extremely vile person, a monster but I couldn't tell you what I did. I had no recollection.
He wasn't surprised. He thought he knew why but the scan would confirm. The operation would restore me but I would need counselling due to the way I acted and how I felt about myself.
I spent another four days on the ward before the scan. No minimalistic invasive surgery for me. I needed my head opened and examined. Many had said I needed my head examined! At least, I thought I would be able to confound all those I had totally pissed off by having concrete proof with witnesses that I had a heart and a brain.
The time I spent lying on my bed, I ran through everything I could remember about Pamela and me. There were big blanks. I knew somehow I couldn't blame her for wanting someone nice in her life the way I treated her. I was very sad. I still loved her but I was a monster.
Hospital provided pyjamas aren't the best, very much a hit or a miss. A nurse persuaded me to allow her to call my home and see if Pamela was there and ask her to bring some clothing and other toiletries in for me. There was no reply as I suspected would be the case. I knew there was a little clothing outlet in the hospital and a small M&S food shop. I could buy some stuff there. I had been wearing my jacket so my wallet was in my belongings. A porter took me along and helped me.
Fourteen days after my cardiac surgery I underwent the AVM surgery. I'd had no scars worthy of any note before but now I had an eight-inch mid chest and two half inch drain scars, twenty-nine-inch map of a long-lost river on my left leg and now what turned out to be five-inch round on my scalp. I was glad I wasn't bald like dad as I hoped my hair would cover it. The Cardiac guy used dissolving stitches which in my view are better than staples for coming out.
To say I felt lightheaded and shaky afterwards would be an understatement. It was four days before I could turn my head without feeling sick.
It was another ten days before I was released from hospital. Arrangements had been made for home carers to assist me for the first week and possibly beyond.
At home, I could sense no one had been there for some time. I was glad whoever had been had cleaned the bathroom. I couldn't manage the stairs but was happy sleeping on the sofa bed and using the downstairs facilities. I ordered a food delivery. The carer left me a flask of hot water for coffee. I was able to microwave ready meals for ease.
