Chapter 25
Waiting to Die
I have enjoyed fairly good health all my life. I suffered the minor irritation of eczema through my young years but it impinged little upon my life. It disappeared the day after I emigrated to Canada. My brother has suffered a little with high blood pressure but that did not seem to be a family trait and I have never had any problem at all.
On 25th March 2003 I was taken ill in town and managed to get to the Area Co-ordination office where I lay on the floor and cried. I was taken into Walsgrave Hospital by some unsympathetic medics and I remained there for 30 days.
I was admitted to A&E where Ii sat for half an hour when my then partner, Chris, joined me. Slowly the pain built up inside my chest. I somehow got onto a bed and was hammering my head against the mattress and screaming. Eventually the whole ward was gathered round watching me. The nurse got me a pillow to hamer my head against. Chris was no shrinking violet and ordered the nurse to give me morphine which she eventually did. Still the pain persisted, as did the screaming and head-banging. Chris told the nurse to do something. A doctor appeared and I remember him surveying me. He instructed the nurse to give me some morphine. She protested she already had. "Give his some more". "But I'll kill him". "He's going to die anyway." She did and at last the pain subsided, as did I.
For the first week I was on an assessment ward and was doped to the eyeballs with morphine, paracetemol and codeine phosphate. Each night I had the most terrible nightmares about a huge prairie with a huge fence and a huge pile of dead bodies. A man with a huge scythe and a grey cloak stood at the back of my bed each night.
After about seven days I decided the drugs were causing me more pain than the illness, whatever that was. I stopped the codeine immediately and the nurses stopped the morphine the same day. Within two days I stopped the paracetemol also. I improved and the nightmares stopped but I was still in almost constant pain and the only time I felt comfortable was in a hot bath that I took three times a day for an hour each time.On Good Friday the senior surgeon in charge of my case stood at the bottom of my bed and said “There's good news and bad news. The good news is that we’re all going on three days holiday. The bad news is you have to stay here. But I’m going to release you on Tuesday because there is nothing wrong with you. In the meantime we’re going to give you a CAT scan. My colleagues have persuaded me that you deserve that but if you had what they suggest you have, you would be dead. ”
He walked out and at 7:00pm on Good Friday I lay inside the CAT machine that was to determine my future. On Tuesday he did not apologise but sent a very young female doctor to tell me that I was dead, or soon likely to be. She spoke in a whisper, as though she was sitting in an undertaker’s parlour. I told her not to worry.
The following day another young doctor came on his rounds although by that time they showed relatively little interest in me as they had stabilised me and there was absolutely nothing further they could do. I would either live of die. The reality was just sinking in and I felt a little subdued. A single tear ran down my face and the doctor saw it out of the corner of his eye. He asked me if I was alright and I looked him in the eye and said “Yes”. Then I knew I was ready to fight.
A few days later I got up and shaved for the first time in two weeks. It took me about an hour but by lunch time I had shaved, bathed, washed my hair and dressed in some new clothes. I decided to walk along the corridor in the first exercise for two weeks. As I walked out of the door, the very young doctor was just about to enter. When she saw me her jaw dropped and her face lit up with surprise and then delight. That was when I knew for certain that my condition was serious. She was obviously expecting to have to sign me off into the morgue.
A friend had given me a book of quotations and one afternoon I read one I had not heard before.
Yea though I walk through the valley
Of the shadow of death
I will fear no evil
For I am the biggest SOB in the valleyI put down my book and knew that I was going to survive.
It took the doctors 12 days to discover that I was suffering from a dissected aorta. The doctors could not believe then, and still can hardly believe, that I could have this condition and still be alive. What this means is that the inner lining of my aorta has parted company with the outer and there is a huge amount of loose skin hanging inside my blood stream attached to very little. 98% of people with this condition die instantly. There is no remedial action possible.
I call it my Sword of Damocles. It is suspended by an unknown thread and if it parts, I shall die instantly. The surgeon told my friend that I would never know what hit me. My life is at constant risk and the pills necessary to control my condition cause me considerable distress. The probability that you will not wake up tomorrow is around 100 million to one. The probability that I will not wake up tomorrow is around 1000 to1.
I asked three different surgeons at Walsgrave what had caused my condition and they all said that it was caused by high blood pressure. Mine had been an incredible 234/180 that is about double normal. A trainee nurse was trying to take my blood pressure and could not get the automatic machine to work. I suggested she get the old manual machine from the window sill. She was pumping away for several minutes and turned to a charge nurse and said. “I can’t pump any more, I’ll blow him up”. The meter read over 300. We all had a good laugh but it achieved the result.
I had had my blood pressure checked routinely a few months before and it was quite normal. I asked three different specialists who attended me what had caused the dissection and they all said "High blood pressure". High blood pressure is caused by high stress and the high stress I have suffered has been directly attributable to the harassment I have suffered at the hands of Scrimp and his cronies.
(15th November 2012 cgw
Indeed, looking back at this from nine years away it appears that this group set out to kill me and they very nearly succeeded. They even continued their attacks after I came out of hospital. The attacks were stopped only by a concerted effort from my son and daughter together with Paul and another good friend. This may sound dramatic but that is what the diary shows.)
I visited the senior surgeon recently for a routine check. Almost the only thing he said was “You still alive then ?”. He treated me well in Walsgrave and I could forgive him anything and I understand his manner. He deals with a lot of people who are about to die. He would not kid about it if he did not know that I am able to appreciate the joke. The only bright note is that there is one other patient in Walsgrave who has survived this and has lived with it for ten years.
So here I am, nearly twelve months later, still waiting to die. One big problem is that you cannot sensibly tell other people what is wrong. Very few have any experience of it and think you are confused or lying. Now I have come to terms with it, I tell very few people. I manage to live a fairly normal life for around twelve hours per day but also sleep twelve hours a day.
So that’s it.
Continuing notes
July 2004I returned from the dead and my life continues. It is different from before but only partly because of my medical condition. The main change is in my relationship with those people whom I used to call friends but chose to make themselves my enemies. I shall write notes as these things progress but as there is no historical perspective to them they may become somewhat confused. Just as political actions inevitably have unforeseen consequences, it is not possible to know what may be the consequence of any particular action or event. All I can do is record those that I encounter.
I have continued to recover and progress in the sixteen months since my near death experience. I shall never be cured. I am critically but not chronically ill. I have replaced the roof on one of the shops at my factory almost single-handedly. I have signed up to a course at the University. I have joined several community organisations and have just been invited to lecture at a local college and to present my lecture on the River Sherbourne. I am negotiating the future of my factory building and propose to develop it personally. I see my children and grandchildren regularly and have just been to pay homage to the men who made my life possible by laying down their lives on the beaches of Normandy sixty years ago. I was fortunate to have been able to combine my trip to Normandy with a huge and profound party, a stay in the beautiful city of Rouen, a visit to the lovely valley of the Seine and the opportunity to stock up with enough French wine to last until my son and I go to Europe next year. Life is good. I give thanks each morning. Especially to the men who lie in Normandy and Flanders Fields.
The only problem is that when you get older you do not achieve so much because you have to do everything twice. It is not that you make mistakes. It’s just that you forgot that you did it the first time. That is much more of a pain than a dissected aorta.
One September day around 2011 my grandson was preparing to enter Manchester Medical School. He ventured to ask me what was wrong with me. I told him the story of the disected aorta and as I talked he tapped away on his keyboard. Suddenly he interrupted "Eighty four percent die in the ambulance and another 14% within two weeks. What are you doing here?" I wish I knew.
Area Co-ordination
In April 2004 I received a short note from the head of Area Co-ordination North West that simply said “Your position is no longer valid”. My relationship with ACNW had started when I was elected chair of the forum in October 1998. ACNW and I worked together on many projects and I became a Team Member in recognition of the contribution I was making to its success in the Spon End area. ACNW supported and encouraged me in every way possible but was not shy to claim the credits and take advantage of my successes. I do not claim any unfairness in this; they provided the funds and were entitled to many credits.
After the collapse of the Spon End Forum and many of its associated functions, I was dumped. The previous chapters show quite clearly how much work I did for Spon End and the Forum and ACNW. They were pleased to pay for the opening event at Black Swan and take the credits for that achievement despite the fact that that was the only contribution ACNW made to the whole programme. I had no axe to grind at that point as I still thought, rather naively, that we were all building a viable community.
I have a database of names of people with whom I have worked and it contains 972 entries. Some are duplicated because certain people provided more than one type of service to me. I estimate there are around 400 individuals with whom I dealt in the course of four years doing the business that helped make ACNW appear successful in Spon End.After Scrimp and his cronies put the boot in, they could not wait to get rid of me. I got no help, no consultations, no discussions. Despite the fact that I am nearly the only member of the Spon End community still running a community group and almost the only member to regularly support his North West Area Forum I was sent me a note that said “Your position is no longer valid”. End of story.
Spon End Building Preservation Trust
In July 2004 I found a twenty-page booklet recently published by the Spon End Building Preservation Trust that told quite well the story of the restoration to date. There was a whole page of acknowledgements but my name had been carefully avoided throughout. Such are the mean spirits of the people whom this tale is about.
A director of the Architectural heritage Fund wrote to say I should remain proud of what I had achieved. That is exactly what these thugs are trying to take away from me. I used to think that fascist thugs rewrote history books. Now I know that to be true.Update 14th November 2012
I have a very busy life and my only problem is finding enough time to do it all. I am still a leading member of non-aligned politics in Coventry and like to think I make a useful contribution to the life of the city. All the others in the story in the previous chapter have moved, disappeared, withdrawn or are keeping their heads down. I have lots of friends, some good neighbours, a lovely family and too much to do.
Update 11th February 2015
Last September my elder grandson entered Medical School at Manchester. A few days before he went we were sitting at my new computer when he asked "What happened to you Granddad?" I told him the story of my dissected aorta and as I spoke he tapped away at the keyboard. Suddenly he exclaimed "85 percent die in the ambulance, another thirteen percent within two weeks. What are you doing here?" But here I am; apparently fit and healthy and 75 years old.
My elder granddaughter is at university on a teaching course and the younger one is working one day a week for her mother who runs my old company and she is doing A levels based an a business course. She was 17 about four weeks ago and has already had about five driving lessons.
last year my old car was getting older. The lock froze and I broke it trying to force it open. I went looking for a new one with a friend who likes junk yards. We could not find a lock so I went and bought one from the main dealer at a fairly fancy price. When we left the showroom the clutch started slipping so I drove to our local used car lot and bought a nearly new car. Sometimes enough is enough.
I do a considerable amount of routine work for our local Civic Society and work one half day a week in the local Walled Garden. I have a small allotment which I enjoy although its reward/effort ratio is pitiful. I am slowly working on forming a trust to protect and conserve and enhance the River Sherbourne which is a relatively tiny but very pretty local stream. Much of its tributaries have been channeled and covered and my ambition is to reverse that process. The obstacles are huge and the project, if achievable, will take 100 years but someone has to start it. If anyone has about £10M to get the project started I can point them in the right direction.
A neighbour appeared to have abandoned his house for over six years. After much work looking after the property and searching for clues to his whereabouts, I found him and within two days he and his wife had moved in. They had forgotten they had a house and had been living in a hotel for over two years at rather high cost. They settled down comfortably and were never out of each others sight. A few weeks ago they walked to the post office and she went in while he waited outside and died of a heart attack. She cannot cope without him and is now in care.
So I keep pretty busy. I have just bought an Arduino, which is a tiny computer and I have programmed it to drive a small electric motor. I have tested it and got some surprising results so am now trying to develop a few equations to describe the results I am getting. It is certainly stretching my over-aged mental capacity.
When I was in hospital 12 years ago I asked the surgeon if he could operate. He replied " I don't do miracles." Each year in the week before Christmas I go to the hospital and a very nice nurse scans my abdominal aorta where I have a six centimetre anurism. This is a major cause of death in men but mine has not changed in 12 years. Last year I asked the nurse if she could turn the ultrasound sensor around to look at the cross section of the aorta. She did this and it still looks just the way it did on the 12 year old CAT scans.