Right, let me cut to the chase before I go off on my rambling post. I have the unpleasant duty to report that Robert, my father (otherwise known as Daddykins on this website) suffered a heart attack on Thursday Morning.
I am happy to report, however, that he is recovering well.
You will have to realise that typing this is probably one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do. If I word things incorrectly or inappropriately, I apologise. If I use my own style of ‘humorous content’ , again, this is my way of dealing with it. No amount of years ‘blogging’ could have prepared me for what I’m about to say. It will be rambling, it will be from my point of view.
So, at 3AM on Thursday, I was at work, just came back back from lunch. My mobile goes off, with “Dad” appearing on the screen”. This is not a good time for my dad to ring me, so I instantly knew something was wrong.
I answer.
“Jamie, get a taxi to Accident and Emergency… I’ve got something wrong with my ticker”
“Oh fuck”, I reply, unable to calculate the severity of the situation.
Something else was said. I didn’t take it in. The next thing was the sound of rustling, no response from Dad.
At this point, voices can be heard, alongside frantic activity. “Pulse… no pulse… anyone find a pulse”…
The phone hung up, or I hung up at this point. I can’t remember. I knew it was bad. I was beside myself, literally hysterical. Anyone else who happened to be on other people’s phone at the time would have thought that someone had died, and they’d be entirely right. My dad was “dead” at this point.
Separate from this, something just fell over on my desk just as I typed that last sentence. I’m not a one that believes in ghosts and shit like that, but that was weird
Either I received a call, or I managed to get through to someone who answered by dad’s mobile. The nurse acknowledged that my dad had a heart attack, he was critical, and I should get myself there as quickly as possible.
I was offered a lift by Paul, which I was in no position to refuse. My first priority was to get in touch with someone. I rang Chris. I have no recollection of the conversation except the fact that I’d somehow arranged with Paul to pick him up on the way to the hospital. How I got across to him where Chris actually lived remains a mystery.
The journey from work to Chris’s, then the hospital, was the worst time of my life. Not knowing exactly what was going on, a few brain-garbled sentences to go by, I didn’t know what was going to happen as I went through the door. A nurse was already waiting for me. I expected the worst.
I was taken to a little room. I’m not a big fan of TV Shows such as Casualty, but I recognised this room. It’s where you’re going to be told the worst. Blue carpet, orangey-peach wallpaper, plastic covered chairs alternating between turquoise and orange. Seconds later, one of the nurses who was treating my dad came out.
“We’re doing all we can to revive him”. I can’t remember what I asked, but the resulting answer was something like “until we all agree there’s no more we can do”.
I clung onto Chris. I felt pain like I have never felt before. I have heard the word “crushed” mentioned as an emotion before, but have never felt its true force until that moment.
At some point, I had tried to phone his fiancee, who I shall refer to from now on (for the sake of anonymity) as L. I wasn’t able to reach her. Nothing. Just a voicemail. I left a message which was probably indecipherable.
The next memory is a confused one. I remember being asked if I wanted to see him. At this point, I don’t think he was back round. Maybe he’d came around by then. I don’t know. I do remember someone saying that it may be more distressing for me to see him in this way. You can guarantee this wouldn’t be the case. Either way, I know he was back alive. The nurse advised me to look past the wires and the pipes. this, as a “geek” was easy, but obviously, everyone sees things differently. I saw my dad lying there. This was my first glimpse of him in this state. I took a look around. There were about 10 or 11 people stood around looking relaxed. I noticed he had his “funny trainers” on.
“Hiya Jame”, he uttered though his oxygen mask. He never calls me Jamie unless I’ve been naughty.
Choked with emotion, I just stuck a thumb up. Obviously, the relaxed people had a job to do, and I was directed to an office where I could gather my thoughts and at least begin to take stock of what just happened.
I was visited by certain members of the ‘crew’ for want of a better word. The main surgeon came in, and explained everything. I asked what the chances were. “50/50″ was his response. I think I laughed out loud at this point, as an image of Homer Simpson popped into my head saying “Oooh, I like those odds!” Funny how the brain works sometime.
Everything at this point was just a mush. I can’t put times to anything. I received a call on my mobile…
It was a bloke. “I don’t know who you are, but I think you’ve got the wrong number”… yup, the voicemail I’d left for L had fallen on “deaf” ears, thankfully. Any information given in that recording would be null and void anyway. It turned out, obviously, that the list of numbers I have for people was seriously out of date
I asked the nurse if I could have my dad’s mobile, which was duly given to me. Dad remained totally on form. Through his mask, he said “Sorry, I’m gonna pump”… *phhhrp*. I laughed hard, it was the first genuine light relief since this whole incident began. Or, in my dad’s case, it was “shite relief”.
He was to be transferred over to James (Jimmy) Cooks hospital in Middlesbrough. A few more staff came over and told me the procedure. about going in through his groin and opening up whatever needed to be opened. However, now that he was stabilized, it was a case of waiting for the ambulance to come and take him over there. I phoned ‘Tiggy’, one of my dad’s closest friends. I was hoping he would have a home number for L as the number I had turned out to be useless. He didn’t have a landline number, but he did have a different mobile number which was the same one in my dad’s phone. Tiggy took it upon himself to contact as many people as he could on my behalf to let them know the situation. Words can’t express how thankful I was for him doing that.
After trying to drown out the sound of someone being violently sick in one of the recovery bays, the ambulance arrived from Middlesbrough. He was more alert by this point, yet still totally dazed. He was more concerned about his car keys, and the fact his car was left in the ambulance bay. For you see, when he started feeling ill, he got in the CAR and DROVE to the hospital. No, really. There’s no doubt that this action saved his life. A minute after he’d got out of the car, he was on the trolley and technically dead.
The ambulance arrived, and he was wheeled quickly into the back of it. I couldn’t go with him for obvious resons. Ambulances aren’t exactly designed to carry passengers, and me being there would have been pointless anyway. Dad disappeared in the ambulance, with its blue lights blaring.
After tearfully thanking the staff for everything they’ve done, I begin to walk home with Chris. I have never felt so lonely in my life. I know I have used the word “lonely” a lot over the past few years. I realise now that it was without its true meaning. It was about 4:30 AM by this point. Can’t really remember the time. We left the hospital grounds and I froze on Holdforth Road. Not one other sole apart from us two were around. There was silence. Absolute, complete and utter silence. Apart from Chris, I was truly on my own, with not a clue what was going to happen.
I didn’t want to return home. It took me at least 30 minutes to walk home. For those who know the location of (sigh) “Mercuryvapour Towers”, you’ll know that this is a long time. I couldn’t go into the house. Obviously, I had no idea what I would expect, or how I would feel.
The house didn’t feel the same. It felt cold.
Chris stayed with me in this time. Everything upset me. Stupid things. Dad had brought me back a keyring from Scotland a year or two ago, and the faceplate had become unstuck. No less than 24 hours earlier, he said “Remind me on, I’ll glue that back on for you”. The keys, keyring and faceplace were laid out on the table, unstuck. He’d also opened some biscuits I had in the fridge, and had a couple of packets of crisps which I said he could have.
The next 2 hours or so was just a complete blur. I had to give it at least 2 hours before I called up Jimmy Cooks and checked how my dad was doing. This was when I closed on the website. It really wasn’t relevant any more, especially after the post I’d made previously. You may remember it. I’d whinged at how there’d been no holidays booked this year. If we’d have gone ahead with the holidays this year on the same date, look what would have happened. It became apparent that anything I’d written on the blog no longer had any relevance.
I eventually plucked up the courage to ring Jimmy Cooks. By the time I’d rang, he was just coming out of the operation, and was asked to give it another hour or so, just so he can be assessed.
Again, there was another hour of sitting around. Nothing much that could be done. It was just another hour of my life that will remain permanently blank. I went through my dad’s phone and contacted who I thought would be relevant. Most of them I woke up, but unfortunately it had to be done.
I rang Jimmy Cooks up, and they had news that things went well and he was recovering. There was still a 12 hour “critical” period, but he was recovering well, and they would accept visitors at any time. I cried again, hugging Chris to within an inch of his life.
Plans were arranged for Chris’s dad to pick up the car from outside the hospital. After this was done, Chris went home for a couple of hours and I was left truly on my own. I didn’t actually want to be in the house on my own. I wandered around outside, inspecting every inch of the front garden. As a neighbour left the house, I’d let them know what happened, that my dad had a heart attack, and giving them as much information as I could. All were shocked, and offered any help that they could. The times I did enter the house, I walked through the living room, to the kitchen and back again, repeating the process.
Chris came back up after a small amount of sleep, and found me doing the afore mentioned routine. I’d even switched the telly and the sky box on, yet had left it in the “main menu”, clearly taking no notice on what was happening on screen. He’s asked me how long it had been like that. I couldn’t give him an answer.
I was torn, and not good for anything, and this was clear. I didn’t know what the fuck to do. He arranged a taxi to pick us up and take us to Jimmy Cooks. It felt like the longest taxi ride in my entire life. It probably was.
After negotiating (badly) the maze of corridors and entrances, we eventually found the CCU (coronary care unit). Apparently, we’d walked right past it. The doctors were seeing my dad at the time, so we were shown to the “quiet room”. I think I called more people at this point just to give them an update.
We were shown into see my dad. From what had happened about 8 hours ago, the recovery was incredible. I believe it was still classed as “intensive care”, but he was fully awake, talking and cracking jokes with the nurses. He had to lay flat, due to the fact they had to insert a camera through his groin, and that obviously would take time to heal. Oh, and the presence of a drip which he kept setting off the alarm for by raising his left arm to do anything. He was also on oxygen via a nose pipe, though I guess this is normal.
They obviously kept having to do things to him, so Chris and I left for a quick trip into Middlesbrough itself in order to get a couple of things he might need such as a dressing gown, it simply became apparent that Middlesbrough somehow didn’t cater for the erm… “larger man”, unless I was just looking in the wrong place. He did, however, appreciate the grapes and bananas I bought him.
L was there by the time I’d got there, and all three of us had to put up with my dad’s sense of humour for a period of time. Normally, at this point, I’d say “Joy” sarcastically, but this time I really mean “joy”.
Day 1 ended at this point. L left a short while before me and Chris, yet, thanks to the bus having to be diverted, she probably got home long before us.
As soon as we got back to mine, there was just enough time to have a bath and change of clothes before we headed off to the club, with the main aim of giving everyone a verbal interpretation of what I’ve typed in the previous 2,222 words.
Chris returned to mine, and after a short time, I walked with him back to his house. The walk back from there, however, was awful, as the memories of the previous day came flooding back. At one point, I had to hold on to some nearby railings as I felt that my legs couldn’t hold the weight. This was probably exhausion, as I’d been awake at least 31 hours by that point.
Eventually, I made it home, by this point, it was 2AM and after failing to “get my shit together”, fell asleep on the couch. I’d set my alarm for 9.
11AM came, with my phone ringing. I’d totally slept through the alarm. Obviously, the ringtone is more important, seeing as it could have been the hospital phoning. Thankfully, it wasn’t. It was just someone wanting to find out the visiting hours.
The rain had been constant all night. IT was the heaviest constant rain I’ve seen for many years. This was no normal rain shower. I’d collected some belongings my dad wanted, such as his reading glasses and some tracksuit bottoms, seeing as my pyjama hunt has proved fruitless.
I made my way to the hospital alone, as Chris had done more than enough over the previous 38 hours. I did text him and tell him that the road was reopened, so my bus journey was a lot shorter than the one we’d taken the previous day.
I was lucky enough to get off one bus and straight onto another which would complete the journey to Jimmy Cooks. Unfortunately, I got off a stop too late, and ended up walking in the wrong direction, despite saying to myself “You know, I’m sure that’s the hospital back there…”
It was indeed, and this rain did not let up. I arrived at the CCU, soaked to the skin. I looked into the intensive care bay my dad was in yesterday, only to find it unoccupied. They had moved him out of the bay into a small ward. Obviously, this was a good sign.
Unfortunately, for my dad, where they had pummeled his chest in order to get his heart going again, they’d left a hell of a lot of bruising around that whole area, as you’d expect, and that the bruising was now starting to come through. This meant that although he was on the mend internally, the external pain was excruciating for him. Any slight movement, including beep breaths, had him wincing uncontrollably in pain. I had to keep thinking to myself “it’s better than him NOT having his chest compressed”. He was obviously given painkillers for it, but these didn’t help.
Despite the fact he’d only been in that ward a few hours, he was moved again to another ward in between receiving an x-ray to check to see if they’d cracked any ribs. His ribs were fine, they were just bruised. Apparently, the “little tablets” helped.
A doctor, who bore an absolutely stunning resemblance to Andy Bell out of Erasure, delivered the worst possible news to me. Daddykins has to eat more fish. And with him out of action, I’ll probably have to cook the fucker! And yes, chippy fish is totally, totally out of the question.
When the curtain was pulled back, Dad had visitors from two good friends, who also offered to give me a lift home. Unfortunately, thanks to the flooding on the A19, the diversion of dropping me off must have added at least half an hour to their journey
If you’ve made it this far without photographs, or skipping anything, I can only thank you. It is unlikely that I’ll update this with any further information in the very near future, as the “serious” part is over, and I’ll be cutting my computer time to the absolute bare minimum. I will still check my emails at webmaster[at]mercuryvapour.co.uk and reply to where relevant.
