Hello Hillingdon Hospital...

My love affair with the NHS continued this week and I can now add Hillingdon to my growing list of hospitals I have had the privilege to stay at. I was only there for three nights which doesn’t sound long but it felt like a lifetime, especially as it was a pretty grim place. It’s only up the road from Brunel which my mum thought was a plus when deciding which University I should go to but neither of us knew that I would be using the facilities within the first month.

It all started on Monday at an annual appointment I attend at the Ataxia clinic in London where they examine me and record how I have deteriorated over the year for the database. Before all the tests were done, the doctor decided to check my pulse and was slightly concerned that I had a quick heartbeat. He couldn’t have been that alarmed as he told me to visit my GP the following day. I went along to the Medical Centre after my lectures feeling fine so just expected to be given the once over and sent on my way. This was not the case. Her face changed to one of sheer panic when she listened to my heart. I was given a letter and sent immediately to A + E.

When I arrived, I was impressed that, unlike Watford, I didn’t have to wait around but perhaps that suggested this was quite serious. I had a few tests such as bloods and an ECG before they decided to move me into Resus. This was scary as I was hooked up to a monitor which was making loud beeps. It really was like an episode of Casualty but this was real and I was beginning to have rather dark thoughts, particularly when they gave me an Oxygen mask. The drugs they had given me were obviously working as my heart rate had gone down from 180 to 140 and as a result, I was transferred to a ward. Things were looking up.

I was wearing a monitor full time so doctors could see if my heart was improving. It was and there were even talks of me being discharged on Wednesday evening. Unfortunately, my heart was playing up again so after my ultrasound, I was told that I couldn’t leave and go to my beloved Arsenal (in hindsight, this was good as we lost so it would’ve only added to my stress.) The next couple of days were basically me laying in bed, waiting. Finally there was positive news; the doctor told me that the pills were doing their job and my condition was stable. He discharged me and a few hours later when the pharmacy handed over the tablets, I was able to return home.

They still don’t know the cause of my irregular rhythm but will follow me up and investigate further. It might have been the anger I felt after travelling to Norwich last Saturday to watch a poor Arsenal side lose. I know I shouldn’t get that upset about football but it’s a possible cause…

Bye for now!