Dreams and visions

I’ve shared elsewhere in my blog how on 2nd September 2016 I collapsed with a previously undiagnosed “Triple A” – abdominal aortic aneurysm. You can read the story here
https://notanormalvicar.blogspot.com/2017/05/nhs-i-owe-you-my-life.html

But up to now I’ve not shared much about my experience on the ICU ward at Southmead hospital. What follows is an abridged version of a talk I gave to the annual general meeting of Willows Counselling Service covering my time in ICU and the impact it had on my mental health. It's purely based on my experience. And it may be that a little knowledge from the internet is a dangerous thing! But in researching the topic, it has helped me find some answers.

Willows AGM - Dreams & Visions

Following surgery at Southmead I was transferred to the Intensive Care Unit and placed in a medically induced coma. And by all accounts one of the challenges was that I was fighting the sedation, so I was on some powerful stuff!

Now I promise this isn’t meant to be a synopsis of an episode of Casualty. I am getting to the point of my talk this evening. “Young men will see visions; Old men will dream dreams”

That phrase comes from the Bible. From Acts of the Apostles chapter 2. It is a phrase spoken by Peter on the Day of Pentecost.

17 ‘“In the last days, God says,
I will pour out my Spirit on all people.
Your sons and daughters will prophesy,
your young men will see visions,
your old men will dream dreams.

And when I was asked for a title for my talk, that phrase “Young men will see visions, Old men will dream dreams” popped in to my head. Because what I want to share with you is a flavour of the “dreams and visions” I experienced during my time in ICU and what that meant for my own mental health. And I hope that by sharing it may give some of our counsellors some insights, or at least an understanding, of the trauma ICU patients can face.

ICU

As I say, I was heavily sedated for about 3 weeks. During that time, I had no real sense or recollection of what was going on or who was visiting.
But my brain was clearly very active because I experienced many dreams and hallucinations. Though these weren’t dreams and visions inspired by the Holy Spirit!

All of us dream, don’t we? Some of us remember our dreams. Some of us don’t. I remember most of my dreams normally. But the dreams I had in ICU were like nothing else. Some were dreamlike in that they were funny and pleasant. But others were scary and frightening nightmares. They were vivid, colourful and very lifelike. In fact, like nothing I’d experienced before or since.

They very fact that the dreams were so vivid and “real” caused problems later. For example, for some reason in one of my dreams a male nurse was black mailing me. But as I regained consciousness and this nurse treated me I was scared of him. Though I couldn’t express this as I had a tracheotomy.

And another dream which had real consequences – to me at least - involved me being booked on a flight to the USA on 21st September to go out to be treated by the top specialist in the world for my condition. All arranged by real American friends.

By this stage I was again semi-conscious, and I was trying to write notes for my wife to explain I was flying to America. She thought I was referring to a holiday we were supposed to be having at the end of September to coincide with our 30th wedding anniversary. Not being able to tell her about my “flight” to the USA was very frustrating.
There are many more dreams I can recall. As I say some very funny and some horrible. But I don’t need to go further. I’ll keep them for my novel!

I was transferred from ICU on 27th September – our wedding anniversary. I spent the next month on the vascular ward at Southmead and a further 3 weeks in Chippenham hospital. I was finally discharged from hospital in late November – after almost 3 months.

Dreams, hallucinations or psychosis?

As I said earlier, the reason for sharing this is to give you as counsellors and supporters of Willows an idea of the trauma faced by people who have undergone heavy sedation.
I’m not sure what the best term is to describe the trauma. The condition seems to be called Sedation hallucinations, delirium and ICU Psychosis. Please forgive me if I use several different terms. I suppose they may mean different things medically. But for a lay person like me, they seem synonymous.

If you Google sedation hallucinations, you will find a great deal of material and research on the subject. In fact, it seems clear that for as long as there have been anaesthetics, there have been sedation hallucinations.

One web site I’ve found informative is healthtalk.org. A British web site founded by two doctors and supported by the University of Oxford. There is a good section there on the condition, complete with video interviews of those who have experienced such hallucinations.

Healthtalk says this about the condition of sedation hallucinations:

Although some people had no dreams or hallucinations, for others these were an important part of their whole experience. Sometimes dreams and hallucinations caused anxiety, confusion or disorientation and some people found it difficult to distinguish between dreams, nightmares and hallucinations, particularly when they first came around.

That was very much my experience.

Other research pointed me to an American web site medicinenet.com

MedicineNet refers to what I experienced as ICU Psychosis.

(The NHS web site states that Psychosis is a mental health problem that causes people to perceive or interpret things differently from those around them. This might involve hallucinations or delusions.)

ICU psychosis facts

• ICU psychosis is a temporary condition and can be treated.
• ICU psychosis may last 24 hours or even up to two weeks with various symptoms occurring at different times.
• Many factors can be involved in causing ICU psychosis.

What causes ICU psychosis? ICU psychosis is said to be caused by Environmental and Medical causes.

Environmental Causes

• Sensory deprivation: A patient being put in a room that often has no windows, and is away from family, friends, and all that is familiar and comforting.
• Sleep disturbance and deprivation: The constant disturbance and noise with the hospital staff coming at all hours to check vital signs, give medications, etc.
• Continuous light levels: Continuous disruption of the normal biorhythms with lights on continually (no reference to day or night).
• Stress: Patients in an ICU frequently feel the almost total loss of control over their life.
• Lack of orientation: A patient's loss of time and date.
• Medical monitoring: The continuous monitoring of the patient's vital signs, and the noise monitoring devices produce can be disturbing and create sensory overload.

Looking back, I experienced all of these.

Medical Causes include:

• Pain which may not be adequately controlled in an ICU
• Medication (drug) reaction or side effects: The administration of medications typically given to the patient in the hospital setting that they have not taken before.
• Infection creating fever and toxins in the body.
• Metabolic disturbances: electrolyte imbalance, hypoxia (low blood oxygen levels), and elevated liver enzymes.
• Cumulative analgesia (the inability to feel pain while still conscious)
• Dehydration

Medically there were some factors with me – I certainly developed an infection and was briefly on dialysis to reduce the toxins.

The cluster of psychiatric symptoms of ICU psychosis include:
• extreme excitement,
• anxiety,
• restlessness,
• hearing voices,
• clouding of consciousness,
• hallucinations,
• nightmares,
• paranoia,
• disorientation,
• agitation,
• delusions,
• abnormal behaviour,
• fluctuating level of consciousness which include aggressive or passive behaviour.

I now realise that I experienced most of these.

MedicineNet says: “In short, patients become temporarily psychotic. The symptoms vary greatly from patient to patient. The onset of ICU psychosis is usually rapid, and is upsetting and frightening to the patient and family members.”

This is interesting, as my family didn’t realise what I had been experiencing and, as mentioned, I couldn’t tell them. And apart from one nurse who thought I was becoming depressed, so arranged for me to be moved to a room with a view, the medical staff seemed unaware of what was going on.

MedicineNet goes on to explain how ICU psychosis is treated.

The treatment of ICU psychosis clearly depends on the cause(s).

Many times, the actual cause of the psychosis involves many factors, and many issues will need to be addressed to relieve the symptoms.

In my case the psychosis, if that is what it was, wasn’t treated per se. I was just gradually taken off the heavy sedation and the infection cleared up. And the dreams and hallucinations ended. Being moved to the room with a view was the only “treatment” I had for the condition.
But I’m not complaining. I agree with MedicineNet

“It should be understood that in saving a life in the critical environment, ICU psychosis sometimes may be a small price to pay for cutting edge, precise medical life-saving measures.”

My online research identified a paper called Sedation in the intensive care unit by Rowe and Fletcher Oxford 2008. This refers to what I experienced as delirium. The paper states:

The recognition and management of delirium is important; it occurs in up to 80% of ICU patients during their admission.

As I said, although I don’t blame Southmead, I am surprised they didn’t check me for ICU psychosis / delirium / sedation hallucinations as it is so common.

Coming to terms with what happened

After coming home from hospital, with more time to think and reflect, I realised that the ICU psychosis (I’ll stick with that phrase) had left a mark on me. But what was I to do?

No one in hospital had mentioned the condition to me. No one had asked me whether I was suffering from it or asked about symptoms.

During my time in hospital one Methodist minister who supported me and my family was Paul. (Not his real name.) Paul has done a great deal of work in hospital chaplaincy, therefore he is very knowledgeable on many medical matters. When I described to him – in broad terms – my hallucinations, he firstly affirmed that this was a very common occurrence for someone who had been heavily sedated. And he suggested that when I was ready, I should speak to a counsellor.

I learned later, that Paul knew of another Methodist minister who had experienced a very similar thing to me. And he drew on his experience of dealing with that colleague when speaking to me. That colleague had received counselling and it had been very beneficial.

Also, about 10 days after coming out of hospital, I took a Skype call from a friend who lives in the USA. 4 years ago, my friend had a massive heart attack. He ended up with a quadruple by pass. He’d called to encourage me. And almost as an aside he said, “Did you have weird dreams when you were in ICU?” He had had the same experience as me which was reassuring.

After being out of hospital for a couple of months I arranged to see a counsellor. With the counsellor I felt able to speak of all the hallucinations I’d had. This wasn’t easy as the hallucinations that had been the scariest, were often very violent and sexual (think of a Quentin Tarantino movie on steroids!) I’d been too embarrassed to talk about these to someone else. (My research has found this such hallucinations are not uncommon – which is something of a relief!)

I was also able to share with the counsellor something that had been of a great concern for me. And that was a missing month of my life. This loss of time and date is one of the environmental causes of ICU psychosis.

It is hard to explain, but during my time in hospital and during the first few months at home, it felt strange that there was pretty much a whole month of my life that I have no recollection about. Between arriving at Southmead around 5pm on 2nd September and my leaving ICU on 27th September I have virtually no recollection. I just abut recall some things about my last week on ICU but that is sketchy.

For a long time, this missing month was a worry for me. The counsellor helped me talk about this. And to a large extent helped me cope with it. But it took me many months to realise I’d not missed anything! Strangely enough, as I prepared this talk, I Googled events of September 2016 just to confirm I’d not missed anything. I don’t think I have!

Conclusion

It is only in the last 3 or 4 months I think that I really feel as if I have finally moved on. Although I’ve never had flash backs as such, I’d been able to recall the hallucinations. And until recently my mind did often seem to go back to them. Though it felt detached, like I was looking at a film. They didn’t seem connected to me any longer.

Some of you here this evening who are counsellors may have had clients with similar issues to me and if so, I’m sure you’ve helped them by allowing them to talk about them. But some of you may not have encountered this before – and may never encounter it – but I hope by sharing what I have experienced, you may have some greater knowledge to take back with you.

Most people connected with Willows – though not all – are Christians. If you’re not a Christian, my closing comments won’t mean much. But for Christians I think it is important for me to share one other thing.

Not long after being home, a clergy colleague came to visit. We had a good long chat and then he said, “So how are things between you and God?” I don’t know what he was expecting me to say. Perhaps he assumed I’d be angry at God. But I was able to say to him “Things are fine with me and God.”

From that moment of peace in the ambulance travelling to Southmead, throughout my time in hospital and during my recovery, I’ve felt closer to God than ever before. I don’t know what caused my aorta to fail but it wasn’t God. God didn’t wish what happened to me to happen. It just did.

For many years, a verse of scripture that has meant a lot to me is Jeremiah 29:11

11 For I know the plans I have for you,’ declares the LORD, ‘plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.

I’ve clung on to these words of hope. I don’t know what is next for me. I’m up for whatever God has in mind. Though I’d rather it didn’t involve ambulances, doctors, nurses and machines that go “ping”!

Sources

https://www.medicinenet.com/icu_psychosis/article.htm#how_is_icu_psychosis_treated
http://www.healthtalk.org/peoples-experiences/intensive-care/intensive-care-patients-experiences/sleep-dreams-and-hallucinations-icu
https://academic.oup.com/bjaed/article/8/2/50/338650

Christian Today article " A Methodist Minister describes how he survived a devastating illness - through God's Grace

What follows is an article I was invited to write for the online magazine Christian Today. You'll find the link to that at the end of the blog.

2nd September 2016 was going to be a lovely day. My wife and I had it all planned out. We’d go to a garden centre in the morning to see if they had any patio furniture in the end of season sale. Then drive up into the Cotswolds for lunch, before heading to Stratford-upon-Avon in the evening for a friend’s wedding. That was the plan …

Returning to the car after shopping, I felt a sudden stabbing pain in my back near my kidneys and collapsed. My wife (a senior nurse) suspected a kidney stone but as I was drifting in an out of consciousness she called an ambulance while some fellow customers and a first aider from the shop kept an eye on me.

A paramedic arrived and checked me over. He was concerned that my blood pressure was low and felt I needed to get to hospital in Bath (about 20 miles away.) There was no ambulance available, so he decided to drive me in his car. With me hanging on to a saline drip with one hand and the door handle with the other.

We got to Bath, and I was seen quickly. Time blurred but I remember a doctor sending me for a CT scan. As I came out of the scanner I knew something was seriously wrong. There was a resuscitation team on standby and I was moved from the scanner to the trolley very carefully.

Back in the A&E the doctor told me that I had a “Triple A” (abdominal aortic aneurysm). In layman’s terms the aorta was leaking and was on the point of rupture. “It’s very serious Mr. Gray. In fact, 50:50. We are transferring you to Southmead Hospital Bristol for urgent surgery.”

I had enough time to say goodbye to my wife, before being placed in an ambulance.

Lying in the back of the ambulance, all I remember is feeling really at peace. I knew I was in God’s hands. I wasn’t afraid. I was worried for my wife and son. But as for me, I was with God. I gave myself to God, trusting in his promises and relying on his grace.

(With hindsight this peace and tranquillity was literally a Godsend. I’m sure if I’d been stressed it would not have helped the condition at all.)

I remember arriving at Southmead but after that nothing. In fact, three weeks went by before I knew anything again. (I spent three weeks in the Intensive Care Unit having had several emergency operations. My wife tells me the first 24 – 72 hours were “touch and go”.)

I woke to find that due to having a deep vein thrombosis, my right leg was paralysed. (The blood supply to the nerves was cut off and the nerves severely damaged.)
I remained in Southmead until early November before being transferred to a rehabilitation ward at our local cottage hospital. By the end of November, I was back home.
It was only on coming home that I think the enormity of what had happened hit me. Having to be brought into the house in a wheelchair up the ramp now built at the rear of the house has that effect.

Over the next six months or so, I received incredible support from community physiotherapists who got me from being reliant solely on a wheelchair, to walking with a Zimmer frame, to walking with crutches. All the while my wife did the exercises with me and cared for me.

By the autumn I was driving our now adapted car and this gave me a sense of getting back to normal – or at least the new normal. And finally, on 7th January 2018, I started back to active ministry (on a part time basis) by leading the powerful Methodist Covenant service. My right leg still isn’t fully functional but it is vastly improved.
During the first few months at home, two of my frequent visitors were fellow clergy but from different denominations. They both prayed with me and talked with me. And one of them asked me one day “So how are things between you and God?”

It was a very good question. But I was able to answer straight away that things between me and God were fine. I didn’t blame God for what had happened, I’d felt God’s presence with me from that moment in the ambulance and I was at peace. I also had this real sense of my ministry not being over but it looking (inevitably) different.
I realised years ago that God doesn’t speak to me directly, but He speaks through other people. He spoke at various times through the two clergy I mentioned. He’s spoken through Methodist colleagues. And I’ve been blessed to have many wise Christian friends who have been beside me over this last 16 months and who have often given me words of encouragement.

And throughout God has sent others to be beside me. There was the Afro Caribbean ward orderly who came into my room one day whistling “Give thanks with a grateful heart.” There was the physiotherapist who was a Christian. There was the close friend who gave me a holding cross “for when you ae frightened” (which I was from time to time.)

On coming home from hospital, initially I had to have a bed downstairs. The only place to put it was my study but that left the question of how I could manage to get to a toilet and sink for washing. One of the occupational therapists who assessed the house before coming home had a bright idea. Remove the wall between my study and the downstairs cloak room. Genius! (The wall was only plasterboard.)

Now I am back at work, the wall has been restored. But as yet the study isn’t back to normal. There are still bookcases to be put back and pictures to hang. One picture that will have pride of place is a beautiful piece of calligraphy that my wife commissioned when I entered ministry. It is Jeremiah 29:11 11 For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the LORD, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.

I will soon look at those words every day and wonder anew what those plans are. But I know that I have hope and a future.
As I mentioned earlier, my first service was the Methodist Covenant Service. I conducted most of the service sitting on a perch seat.
The liturgy contains these words
“Let us give ourselves to him, trusting in his promises and relying on his grace.”

I’d rather not have gone through these last 16 months. And I certainly wish my family and friends hadn’t gone through all the heartache they experienced.
But I can say with certainty, that by giving myself “to him, trusting in his promises and relying on his grace” I am here to tell the tale.

This is the link to the article https://www.christiantoday.com/article/my.story.how.i.survived.a.devastating.illness.and.gave.myself.to.godexecute1/123344.htm

NHS - I owe you my life

I’ve thought long and hard about writing this blog, as it touches on some painful memories for me. However, I want to share this to show how important the National Health Service is for this country. And to say how worried I am for the future of the NHS if (as seems highly likely) the Conservatives are returned to power on 8th June.

2nd September 2016 proved to be a day in which my life changed (and indeed the lives of my family changed too.) It started off as a normal day. My wife and I both had a day off work because we’d been invited to attend a wedding reception in Stratford-upon-Avon that evening. Our plan for the day was that we’d go to a department store in the morning to see if they had any patio furniture in the end of season sale. Then we’d drive to Cirencester. Have lunch. Call in to see my mother-in-law and get changed at her house. Then we’d drive on to Stratford for the wedding reception.

I remember sitting at breakfast feeling a dull ache in my back. I thought perhaps I’d slept awkwardly – though I remember thinking the ache was near my kidneys. Could it be something to do with them? I decided I’d take a couple of ibuprofen They seemed to help.

We went to the department store – Leekes in Melksham. They didn’t have any patio furniture but we enjoyed browsing round for an hour. As we were leaving the store, I went to use the toilet. As I was using the toilet, I had a sudden intense pain. Really sharp. So much so that I almost blacked out. It seemed to go from front to back and was roughly in the area of my kidneys. Kidney stone??

I came out of the toilet feeling groggy and said to my wife she’d better drive me home. She went on ahead to the car and I followed. I got to the car and the next thing I remember was coming around on the ground. (Anne later described how I’d been leaning against the car and then slid down it as I collapsed.) I’d bumped my head (though no more than a graze) and felt very weak. Fortunately, a couple came along whose car was parked next to ours. They helped and phoned an ambulance. One of them went in to the store to find a first aider.

A first aider came and she then went inside to get a blanket as I was shivering (though it was a pleasantly warm late summer’s day.) She returned with a blanket.
Within 10 minutes a first response paramedic arrived in a car. The paramedic (a Polish man named Marcus) immediately went into action. He helped me up into this car. He checked my blood pressure (which was low). He set me up on a saline drip and radioed for an ambulance. He was told there wasn’t one available. Although he wasn’t sure what was wrong with me, he realised I need to get to hospital urgently so made the decision to take me to the Royal United Hospital in Bath (“RUH”).

(Marcus could not have known how ill I was. But if he hadn't acted as quickly as he did, things might have been different.)

We got to RUH in about 20 minutes. I was taken into Accident & Emergency. Marcus explained what had happened and I was shown into a cubicle. A nurse came and took my details and took my blood pressure and drew some blood. Anne arrived and we waited for a doctor. This is all a bit hazy but I was seen by a nurse within minutes and seen by a doctor probably within half an hour. The doctor said he wanted me to have a CT scan.

I was wheeled off to have a scan and Anne went to get a coffee. The scan lasted probably 15 minutes. As I came out of the scanner I realised that the doctor was concerned because the room seemed full of people (doctors and nurses) some of whom were carrying what I knew to be defibrillator packs. I was very gently lifted on to a trolley from the scanner and carefully wheeled back to a consulting room.

“Mr Gray we’ve found you have a very serious problem called an Abdominal Aortic Aneurysm. It will need surgery at a specialist unit in Southmead Hospital in Bristol.” I had no idea what an Abdominal Aortic Aneurysm was. (“Triple A” as I’ve learned it’s referred to by doctors.) I must have asked for some more information but all I remember is the doctor saying “I will be straight with you. Your chances of survival are 50:50.” (I've learned he was being generous.)

I will digress for a moment. On being told that I had a 50:50 chance of survival it would have been easy to panic or be worried. But I didn’t. I remember praying something along the lines of “God I am in your hands. Your will be done.” And I had this incredible sense of peace. I was worried for Anne and Tom. But at peace myself. I’ve come to realise since this was probably a good thing.

Having had chance to say goodbye to Anne (for the last time?) I was put in an ambulance for the journey to Bristol. I was “blue lighted” all the way. I remember the journey and I remember arriving at Southmead. But after that I have no recollection.

From bits and pieces Anne has told me I must have been taken straight to the operating theatre. There the amazing vascular surgery team at Southmead saved my life. I gather that the surgeons were on the point of finishing (having repaired the aorta) when the repair started to leak. They had to repeat the operation. However, in due course I came out of theatre and on to the Intensive Therapy Unit (ITU). Over the next few days I had another couple of operations.

I spent the best part of September on ITU. For the first 2 weeks, I was heavily sedated. I have no recollection of what was happening at all. Although during this time I had the most intense dreams / nightmares / hallucinations. And in these I now realise people who were visiting appeared. Some of the dreams were very funny. Some very very scary. But all seemed very real. So much so that I had some very odd conversations with Anne. I say conversations as I couldn’t converse due to having a tracheotomy.

For example, I was convinced at one time I was in hospital in London. Similarly, I was convinced that some American friends had arranged for me to have surgery in the USA with “the best Triple A surgeon in the world” who they knew. I was going to fly out on 21st September. I remember asking Anne about this and of course she knew nothing as it was all in my mind.

As I came out of sedation I began to realise how wonderful the doctors and nurses on ITU were. One nurse, whose name I sadly can’t remember, would put on a Lionel Richie CD when she was washing me and shaving me. She’d sing along and it made me so happy. All the nurses and doctors were fantastic with me (and I have since learned how good they were with Anne and the family.)

In my final week on ITU I started to receive some physiotherapy. During one of the surgeries, or because of the condition, I suffered a Deep Vein Thrombosis. This left my right leg paralysed. (I’ve learned since that there was a possibility that the right leg would be amputated but thankfully this didn’t have to happen.)

On 27th September (our 30th wedding anniversary) I left ITU and went to the Vascular surgery ward. I remained there for a month. The nurses and health care assistants were brilliant. Some of the nurses could have been my daughters they were that young. They gave me healthcare of course but also were there for me during the dark days when I almost felt as if I had had enough.

The vascular surgeons themselves were very good. I was seen every day. One in particular had a great attitude. He’d sit on a chair next to me and chat things through. Long gone are the days of Sir Lancelot Spratt in the “Dr in the house” films.

And the ward orderlies who brought meals became great friends.

The physiotherapists though are the ones who have since made the biggest difference. Every day I was taken for exercises. They quite literally got me back on my feet and gave me the self-belief that I would get some mobility back in time.

After a month there, a bed was found for me in the rehabilitation unit at Chippenham hospital. Cedar ward is mainly used to dealing with elderly people (often stroke victims) I was regarded I think as a bit unusual. Again, nursing and healthcare assistants were wonderful. (One healthcare assistant “John” loved rugby and we had long chats.) And the physios and occupational therapists made such a difference.

Finally, in the last week of November I came home. (Home to find that a wheelchair ramp had been installed courtesy of NHS and social services.)

I write all this to show that our NHS is a wonderful thing. It is not perfect. But we must fight for it. If we value it why don’t we let politicians know? Why don’t we say we would pay more taxes if we knew it was going to the NHS? Why don’t we tell our politicians we don’t want the NHS sold off bit by bit to Richard Branson’s Virgin Healthcare?

My paternal grandfather was called Fred Gray. Fred served on the board of a charity called Tredegar Mutual Aid. It was set up so that coal miners and their families in Tredegar in South Wales could have medical care. Everyone contributed to the fund and got healthcare consequently. (It’s not a unique scheme. The Great Western Railway works in Swindon for example had something similar.) But why I mention Tredegar Mutual Aid is that a fellow board member alongside my grandfather was the Tredegar MP Aneurin Bevan – the man credited with founding the NHS.

You could say that the NHS is in my DNA courtesy of my grandfather’s association with Nye Bevan.

Bevan said, “The NHS will last as long as there are folk left with faith to fight for it.”

Fight for it I will! I owe my life to it.

How did I get here?

One of the thoughts I get from time to time given my condition is “How did this happen?” Or “How did I come to be in a wheelchair?” After all, on 2nd September Anne and I had our day planned out. We were going to go to look for some patio furniture in the end of season sale and then drive up though the Cotswolds stopping for lunch, to attend a wedding reception in Stratford upon Avon.

We did get to look for the patio furniture (the store we went to didn’t have any as it happens.) Then next I knew I’d collapsed, I was rushed into hospital only to wake up 3 weeks later with a right leg that was immobile. But I was alive. (From what I’ve learned since, I am fortunate to be alive as the condition that made me collapse – Abdominal Aortic Aneurism; “Triple A” – is extremely serious and survival rate is very low. In fact, every doctor I’ve seen since says at some point “You do know you’re lucky to be alive?” Yes, I do and I am grateful.)

Maybe sometime I will blog about how I processed all I went through. I don’t think I’m ready to do that yet, though I feel it might be good to do so. For now, let’s just say I am OK with what has happened but I do ask myself “How have I ended up like this?” “How did I get here?”

Medically, I have ended up like this (with limited function in my right leg) as I have Femoral Nerve Neuropathy. (Put simply the blood supply to my nerves was interrupted and they ceased working. But gradually they are starting to function again.) So, I know why but how?

There’s no answer. It was one of those things. There was no warning of me having a Triple A. I felt fine. It just happened.

And I’m pleased that is my attitude. There is no one to blame. I’m not angry at God. I don’t believe He allowed this to happen as some sort of test of my faith. I just had a leaky aorta. (In another life, I might just have to form a punk band called “Leaky Aorta”!)

It’s no point getting maudlin and saying, “Why me?” OK, I do have some days when I feel down. But I am alive! Spring is here. The birds are singing. And I have things to look forward to.

Now some of the things I am looking forward to will seem odd to you but they’re not for me so bear with me.

We have a holiday booked for the middle of May. (To a cottage in the New Forest adapted for people with disabilities.)

We have a new car coming (next week all being well.) A Honda C-RV. This will have some adaptations made for me.

So far so good. Now it gets weird.

I am getting a walking frame from my physiotherapist. (She saw me on Monday and felt I had made such good progress that it would be good to try a frame. At best only for small steps but steps nonetheless.)

I am getting a mobility scooter.

Yes, the kind I’ve always moaned about when driven by some old biddy in town. Or some old git trundling along the road at 4 miles an hour with no idea of the tailback behind him. Yes folks. I’m about to join that club.

Seriously though I am excited about the scooter. It means that when we go out Anne doesn’t have to push me in my wheelchair. It means I can have some independence. I can go out for a ride around the area we live in. I can get to Sainsbury’s. I can do some shopping which will mean I am taking some of the load off Anne’s back.

More than that, the new car will have a hoist fitted in the boot so the scooter can be lifted in and out. The new car will also be adapted so that I can drive it with my left foot.

How did I get here? Via my Sterling Sapphire Mobility Scooter of course!