Stop the World, I want to get off.

So, as I’ve said before, CCU was very peaceful in comparison with my previous residences. Obviously, that’s not counting the constant low hum of monitors, or the beeping of racing hearts. I had never realised how mesmerising watching a wavy line could be. I pestered the nurses to explain what ‘tachy’ and ‘brady’ meant (fast and slow basically) and why the machine recorded them. I became an expert at spotting when my ectopic beats (that’s extra beats to you laymen) would appear, and would hold my breath and play statues every time I set the monitor off...which was pretty often. I even held off on going to the toilet too much, because every time I moved, my heart rate would sky rocket.

I got to know my ward mates as best I could and discovered that Emma loved the twilight books almost as much as me. I don’t care if I’m 30 plus and sad, I really enjoyed them and will happily spend hours analysing them with fellow fans. Unfortunately, after only 5 minutes of discussion, we started talking about the men in the films and found a nurse flying to our sides as the heart monitors went off the scale. Oooops. So, no talking about men then. I don’t watch soaps, or read magazines, and I was still too listless to do much reading or knitting. What the hell else was I to do? Even worse, they were moving Emma across to Ward 16. I was being abandoned!

Naturally I spoke too soon, for as rounds started I had the first of four different doctor’s visits. Yes I said four! Even more fun, they all had different opinions of what was wrong with me, and what they should do to fix me. Those curtains were opened and closed more often than Jordan’s bra comes off that day. Eventually, they decided to do a test called an Ajmaline reveal. I will admit that when they explained the test to me, I did have a mini panic in my head. It was a fairly scary test, but at least they said I could have someone with me. So, ignoring the frantically beeping monitor, I slipped into my dressing gown and fluffy boot slippers (Thanks Auntie Angela, most useful crimbo pressie ever) and toddled off to the day room to update the parents, and beg my baby sister to come hold my hand. Hell I don’t care if I’m meant to be a big girl, I was scared shitless and desperate for a familiar face.

A few hours later, after a rather amusing argument with the pharmacy people who did not want to dispense the drug needed for the test, the posse arrived at my bed with a lot of scary equipment. There was the, by now, very familiar ECG machine, the drip stand and a fucking huge needle, and then there was the crash cart. Yup, that thing with the paddles that you see on every medical drama, usually with a hot doctor attached screaming ‘clear’.

For the umpteenth time in the last 5 days, the world and his dog got to stare at my tits as I was loaded up with sticky tags and electrical wires. They even put the rubber mats for the paddles on me. Hell what were they expecting? I was beyond paranoia and into full blown fear by now. I just kept repeating to myself that they would let my sister back in once I was covered up again. Except they didn’t let her back. Some Hitler in knickers at the front desk said that she and her boyfriend had to come back in an hour when the test was over, and wouldn’t let them on the damn ward. This was not in my contract peeps. I wanted a hand to hold and where the hell was it?

The test itself wasn’t pleasant at all. As usual, my veins were less than co-operative with getting an IV put in, and it took several botched attempts before they managed to get a baby-sized one in. Once the drug was in, the seriousness hit me. My tongue was numb, I had pins and needles all over, and was dizzy as all hell. They were taking ECG’s every 5 minutes to start with, then they cut it down to every 10minutes. Suddenly, just lying on the bed doing nothing was looking better and better every minute. Staring at the Doctors and nurses surrounding me, I was reminded of a line from an old musical. ‘Stop the world, I want to get off!’