Today an excellent consultant told me on official terms that my funky heart is definitely properly working once more, and it’s not about to make a break for freedom out of my chest anytime soon as I once, for a short period of time, feared it might.
So I bought myself a frappe latte to celebrate (OFF THE RAILS PEOPLE) and then I went to London Fields, a park which makes me feel very lucky to live where I live. I sat in the blazing sunshine and felt very calm, but also very hot, because although my heart is in full working order, my English skin will never be able to handle the sun.
I thought about how my extra bit of heart, now lasered away to a better place, was No Big Deal really, but No Big Deal only because someone decided to devote their life to figuring out how to make it No Big Deal, and as such I was able to easily have a medical procedure that made the problem go away as quickly as it arrived. It’s now nothing more than a surreal, fading and oddly entertaining memory.
Life now continues as if it never happened, except that I’ve never been more acutely aware of just how lucky we are for medical advancement and selfless people who choose to become nurses or consultants or surgeons or scientists. And for the NHS which saw me looked after by at least 20 staff, in various guises and capacities, over the course of a few months. And it’s thanks to these funky little experiences I seem so adept at ‘collecting’ that I’m taking a moment to acknowledge all this, sitting pensively in the sun with my little ticker beating away merrily in my chest, with the luxury of being able to remove the term ‘super ventricular tachycardia’ from my lexicon if I so choose. And that in the midst of all the crap and destruction and horror that is unfolding before us at the moment, that there will always be brilliant people in the world that fix you up without a second thought because it’s just what they choose to do. Every day. Like it’s No Big Deal.