The past week hasn't been great. I experienced some stabbing chest pains last week, which morphed into more general soreness - like a bruise - and then became a third sort of pain that I might describe as like cramp.
That's a very inexact description and illustrates one of the problems of illness - getting across what's going on. It doesn't help that often by the time you see a clinician - as I did in Tuesday - the symptoms may have gone for a bit and you struggle to explain them. At times like this I end up being semi-apologetic, as if I'm wasting Doc's time.
It has been a bit depressing though as until a week ago I really thought I was back on the road to 'normal'. I guess it's not the most direct route.
On Monday I had been talking to an NHS trainer who left me feeling as if I was practically ready to do le Tour but by the following day I was in more despairing mode. Something doesn't feel right but is it just in my head?
Having treatment hasn't been the panacea I thought it would be. I don't feel well but maybe this is as good as it gets going forward.
The doc has put me forward for another cardio appointment which is hopeful. The aftercare hasn't been brilliant if I'm honest - maybe I'm expecting too much for what is quite a commonplace day procedure.
It has really heightened my awareness of my body in a not very healthy way. Every creak or spasm or ache is a sign of imminent doom. Sometimes I wonder if I'll wake in the morning - I am aware how overdramatic that sounds.
It must be literally all over my face. I was out for a walk yesterday and encountered a couple of slightly oiled chaps wending their way down St John's Street from the 'Spoons.
As they passed I heard one call after me "Geezer! Geezer!" This came two or three times and despite the urge to ignore it and walk on I turned expecting to hear some nonsense.
He had what looked like genuine concern on his face.
"Geezer. You alright mate?"
I nodded in the affirmative and gave him the thumbs up.
"You sure?"
Blimey! You tell me.
