My name is Brian Ellis and I am 63 years old. This story begins in the afternoon of a Monday in September 1998, in that, while I was talking with a friend and colleague, I suddenly felt nauseous and apparently went quite ashen. Fortunately my friend did not panic but sat me down and went to get help - this is where the second part of my good fortune comes into effect. At the time I was working in a research department associated with a major London hospital and medical school, so my help came in the form of a cardiology registrar who was working in an office a few doors along the corridor that afternoon. Having assessed my condition, the registrar decided to take me to the Accident and Emergency department - down a few floors - and dealt with the formalities with just a little help from myself. The A&E registrar thought that my condition was equivocal but proceeded on the basis that I was suffering/had suffered a myocardial infarction by authorising an electro-cardiogram (ECG), the appropriate blood tests and Glyceryl trinitrate (GTN) administration, and arranging for a hospital bed to be made available.

The following morning came the treadmill exercise test - I thought that I was doing quite well but this illusion was shattered by the technician supervising the test who called it to a halt and left to find a consultant cardiologist. More bad news - I had not done very well at all and the consultant decided that a prolonged stay in hospital was called for while an angiogram was arranged.

Two days later I had the joy of an angiogram - not a particularly pleasant experience but a sedative did its work and everything proceeded as desired. Later that day, and back on the ward, a consultant cardiothoracic surgeon visited me with a sheet of paper on which was a drawing of a heart. Superimposed on the arteries were black marks that I soon learned referred to the amount of blockage that the vessel in question was subjected to. Even I realised that marks indicating 100% and 95% were not good news! A quadruple coronary artery bypass graft (CABG) operation was proposed! Although I could refuse this option, that did not seem to be a sensible approach to the problem - so, my stay in hospital was to continue until the operation could be performed.

As events transpired I had 4 days in which to come to terms with this life-changing experience. The morning of the operation I was provided with a small batch of disposable razors and asked to completely shave my body - just to complete matters I also removed the beard that I had worn for nearly 30 years (although not an absolute requirement this would apparently help the anaesthetist with inserting a central line via the neck). I remember being in the ante-room to the theatre where the anaesthetist carried out his task but after that a blank until the high dependency ward and being comforted by my wife and daughter.

Life back on the regular ward for the next week went reasonably quickly because of the number of visits that I had from colleagues. Mind you, many walked straight past my bed as they failed to recognise me without my beard! As I had resolved to grow the beard again straight away persuading some of the nursing staff that my dishevelled look was intentional and not the first signs of depression provided another topic for many conversations. After a week I was deemed fit enough to be allowed home, and so followed a car journey of 25 miles with the same friend who had been with me at the start of this episode. She was so concerned about my condition that a pillow was supplied to fit between the seat-belt and my chest. Furthermore, any sign of a pothole induced a swerve to avoid any unnecessary jolts - much to the amazement of other motorists.

Being at home was great although I was initially apprehensive about life without professional support being readily available. But much of that was alleviated following a rehabilitation course at the local hospital - the staff were wonderfully reassuring and the advice helpful.

The next problem to resolve was the mental aspect of the experience - I was 54 at the time and should be working not staying at home (albeit that not commuting to London in the winter rush hour had much to recommend it). Four months after the CABG operation I eventually persuaded my general practitioner that I was fit enough to return to work although I now wish that I had been more attentive to her advice to be more patient but I was definitely going "stir-crazy" and missing the stimulation of my working environment.

Unfortunately, some four months after returning to work I collapsed again - fortunately this was while at work. Subsequent to an immediate short stay in hospital I was admitted again to undergo further investigation, including another angiogram and electrical stimulation studies. The conclusion drawn from the results of those tests was that two of the grafts were partially blocked and that I was/am subject to arrythmia. The view of the cardiologists concerned was that I would benefit significantly from removing the (mental and physical) stress of a working environment. Consequently I retired on medical grounds a few months later. A follow-up angiogram 3 years later confirmed these findings and worse, and added to the general belief that my retirement was the correct decision.

My retirement was some seven years ago and since then I have adapted to a new lifestyle that revolves around regular exercise in a local gym, participating in the functions of active retirement association (for which I was a committee member organising monthly visiting speakers and quizzes) including acting as facilitator for a genealogy study group and attending adult education art classes. I have even learnt to cook although my repertoire is still somewhat limited. For a while I played short mat bowls but am finding it difficult to fit that in with the stronger development of the other interests - one cannot always do everything! If I have not made the most of my retirement by someone else’s expectation I would say that "life is a subjective matter and I am grateful for the care and support that I have received".

Did this story really begin in 1998? On reflection one might argue that it really started about June 1943 at my conception when I received the genes that would lead me to have a high risk of lyperlipidaemia and atherosclerosis. (My paternal grandfather had died aged 50 of a heart attack and my father was to follow this pattern at the age of 54.) I must admit that I added to my problems by following a relatively poor diet for many years - one of the disadvantages of commuting a distance and the associated problems is the temptation to use "fast foods", even home-cooked, more than is advisable. Add to this the great mistake of smoking for approximately 30 years - I have not smoked since that fateful day in 1998. Being in hospital it was relatively easy to stop smoking and I resolved to leave hospital as a "non-smoker" rather than as an "ex-smoker". That attitude has obviously worked for me as I did/do not believe that I have given up even an undesirable habit.

Does my story have a moral? If it has, it is many-fold:

1. intelligence is no barrier to stupidity, and I like to
think of myself as reasonably intelligent;
2. be aware of your diet and, perhaps more importantly,
that of your children;
3. ensure that regular exercise is part of your life
- remember that feet were invented before the motor car!
4. learn to relax and take part in activities that you enjoy.

Brian Ellis