Some little punk in a rocket…

I was on top of the world
it was right in my pocket
I was living the life
things were just the way they should be
When from out of the sky like a bomb comes some little punk in a rocket
now all of a sudden some strange things are happening to me….
Looks like it wasn’t a virus.
Or it might have been – and that might have been the precipitate. That, or some lousy manky allergen.
Anyway. The asthma I have only ever paid lip service to, decided to roar – or wheeze and cough and nearly kill me.
I have had too many folk – who should know better – telling me that I should be thankful to it.
Because I now also have louping arrythmias and tachycardia and a thickened heart muscle (hypertrophic cardiomyopathy) at least identified (and just waiting for sufficient lung recovery to be tested into a certain diagnosis or a specific degree of hellish-ness).
It could be (and this makes perfect sense to me in terms of diagnosis given every other condition or illness I currently have – and have ever had) Churg Strauss Syndrome (the very nasty vasculitis both respiratory and cardiology are considering it might be).
It could be (and this is what I am hoping for) bog standard heart disease and bog standard asthma.
Anyway. Forgive me for not feeling the glowing warmth of gratefulness just quite yet…
In fact, I don’t feel remotely thankful.
I feel fucking furious.
And I feel afraid.

6 thoughts on “Some little punk in a rocket…

  1. Well I’ grateful a billion pound of NHS resources have almost discovered what ‘it’ might be.
    This narrows it all down to a handful of positive possibilities and not just a line of maybe ones.
    I suspect however hospital life might be more aggravating than anything else, the routine is a complete change for us all.
    Being angry is understandable but will not cure anything, instead find a hospital administrator and bite them, everybody would enjoy that.

    I will remind Jesus about you, he had a good laugh last time I mentioned you.

    • Yeah. I’m home. Actually starting to feel ok-ish. Though predictably full ‘ok’ isn’t happening quick enough 😀
      I want to be doing and working. So I’ve started walking to the village to the river and back up the hill. I’ve progressed in 3 days from an 90 yr old stooped crawl to a passable 60 yr old one 😀
      The truth? It is all starting to feel a bit unreal – as though it is and did happen to someone else.
      My breathing is still weirdly gurgly but that is genuinely nothing. I think my lungs should be up for the heart stress tests soon – so I’ll begin to understand the degree/type of damage.
      I am getting to sanguine again.
      Anyway fucking life is constantly distracting me!!! The fucking Volvo (a pig in the poke pretendy fucking car and worst I have had the misfortune to own…it has a Citroen engine ffs – is that not a total misrepresentation of what you think a Volvo is???) having cost us £1300 3 weeks ago is now needing a new gearbox (min £1500 for reconditioned plus fitting). Life clearly knows I enjoy nothing better than fretting my way to a costly car solution… and yip we need a car…this is backwardville Scotland and we both travel a lot for work…

      • From what I remember of the entire UK north of London I wouldn’t try it without a car and I hate cars. Hyundais have never let me or mine down.

      • Weird – middle child just bought a Hyundai i30 – and loves it, so it was either going to be a Hyundai i40 or a Volkswagen Passat Estate for us. In the end it ended up being the Volkswagen – simply because it was there, in the forecourt and ready for buying… (9 mons old – 12k on the clock – so we’ll likely hold onto it until it dies on us).

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s