I should start by saying thanks to well-wishers who have gotten in touch over the past week. While my intention wasn't entirely to draw a spotlight to my health, it's always good to know there are people out there who think well of you.
The latest news is that after a few more trips to the hospital seeking attention I did finally get someone to prescribe a little medication, and it's making all the difference in the world to my piece of mind. There's something slightly frightening being told that you're at risk of a stroke at 34, and a drug that soothes the heart is all good.
Worse still, I'm told that I can't really consume alcohol for the duration of the prescription. But I guess one beer while you're blogging can't be all bad, aeh?
The heart issue is this erratic and speedy heartbeat that had every doctor asking me, "do you take recreational drugs?" I can only assume they mean BZP. One registrar went as far as to ask for a full drug history, and then looked a little shocked at the end of my sorry list. Hopefully it's because she's done even crazier things than I have.
Those of you who've experienced the feeling of helplessness that accompanies this type of trouble will understand what a relief getting on the drugs really is. To use an analogy, it's a bit like having a tiny ADHD kid strapped to the inside of your ribcage. The jumpy bugger won't stay still till you feed him something that's probably not doing him all that much good.
Then it's a bit like having a stoned ADHD kid strapped in there. He kind of wants to go, "AAAAARRRRGGGGGHHHH!!!!" but only gets to "AAA... craaap... I'm stoned again aren't I?"
I'm listening to a little Nick Drake to calm him down.
He main thing that people seem to wonder about is the issue of "CONFRONTING DEATH". You kind of have to capitalise it, BECAUSE IT'S A TRULY FRIGHTENING AND ENLIGHTENING EXPERIENCE.
The truth of the matter is that the whole DEATH-CONFRONTING thing was done the first time this heart trouble popped up about ten years ago. An over-enthusiastic GP jumped to the very wrong conclusion that I had a particular, and possibly very nasty hereditary disease. I say nasty because one probable cause of DEATH was your aorta separating from your heart.
That one freaked me out a little.
A man takes stock of his life in that situation, and wonders, "what in the hell have I been doing all this time?" When the answer is, "nothing to make this threat to me any less", it's very enlightening. Not as 'enlightening' as "whhhooooooa... all the stars look like light glowing through pores in the skin of the sky", but one has to make sacrifices.
On the upside, none of this has anything to do with poor diet or lifestyle. Which means I can eat all the BBQ Duck I want to. I'm doing my best to prevent bird flu in New Zealand by eating as many of the little bastards as possible.
The plan at present is to perhaps to a tour of Wellington noodle houses, much the same as Well Urban is doing to Wellington bars. I figure that I can probably stay with three common dishes, BBQ duck on noodle soup, curry laksa or wonton noodles, and pretty much cover every noodle shop in town. I've already got Basin Noodles and Tans BBQ duck lined up for the next week.
We shall see. Although, even as I type this I can feel Tze Ming sending me an email demanding that I try eating something a big cracker like me probably wouldn't be comfortable with.
Tze Ming love, it'll be honky-dory. Be nice to me, bad heart, remember?