Pacemaker Saga – Grahame May (25th)

I was first fitted with a pacemaker in the middle of 2007 and never really worried about it until my 6th annual hospital check up in December 2013, when a genial male operator wired me up to the monitor, called Merlin, and ran the usual checks. He then indicated that I would probably have to come back in nine months for another check up in order to confirm the need for a battery replacement. It so happened he was dead right, as in early 2015 I was in hospital being opened up and my original pacemaker battery was replaced. It was not a very pleasant experience but I was assured that this battery would last considerably longer than the old one, and so it did, as 9 years later I was informed that another possible replacement was not far off. True to form, early last December, I got a letter from the very posh sounding Cardiac Angiography Suite saying that I was booked in on Friday 10th January 2025 at 11am. The wife and I arrived in good time and were shown into a nice warm, modern, comfortable, 20 bed mixed ward on the ground floor and left to sort ourselves out. ( This ward was streets better than the old one which had just 10 beds on the third floor and all patients had to use a public lift to get up and down to the operating theatre. Visitors were not catered for, nor was there any easy access to food or drink.) I was then given one of those horrible hospital gowns that only tie up at the back and I assumed we were just about ready for the kick off. No such luck! A nice young nurse arrived and said there was a three hour delay and wired me up to check that I was still alive, as well as taking a blood sample. She left after giving me some official forms to fill in, which I think exempted all and sundry should I kick the bucket on the operating table. The wife had already bought a paper and a magazine and was quite content to sit things out in a comfy chair while I was propped up, half dressed on the bed, with the forms. After a while those patients who had been treated earlier in the day began leaving and waving goodbye, whilst I just lay there seething. Finally. at about 4. 30pm a jovial male hospital attendant arrived and escorted me along the corridor and into the operating room. ”just a battery change then” I ventured. ”’No mate” he replied ”it all comes out and a new complete unit goes in. Should last twelve to fifteen years at least.” I was stunned, but before I could do anything I was on the operating table being prepped and covered up so that I could not see the horror that I fully expected was to come. Actually is was not as bad as I thought it would be as I was well doped and the discomfort was quite bearable. I was helped to walk back to the ward by Mr Joviality but then had to wait a further two hours before being released, during which time we were treated to a choice of pre-packed sandwiches, cake and tea or coffee, all served on pretty little trays. Oh, how things have changed! It was two weeks before I was allowed to do much, except walk Bobby using only my right hand and arm and a further six weeks before I could lift anything remotely sizeable. Fortunately everything seems O.K. now. The dressing has long been removed and the stitches will continue to dissolve themselves as normal. I will probably have to go back for a routine check up sometime soon, but this should not be much of a big deal. However, if I am around in 2037 the big question is will I have to go through all this again at the grand old age of 98 or maybe even older ???.