This time four years ago today I was walking to the hospital shower room to smother myself in a medicated body wash in preparation for having my chest cracked open and my calcified aortic valve replaced. Today I’m lying on a sun lounger looking out over the Mediterranean Sea.

Four years ago I was scared. Still mystified as to how I ended up in that shower room wondering what the day would bring. Even a little concerned that I wouldn’t see the following day. But the odds were good. I was fit and healthy apart from my valve and the operation although major was routine. I was going to wake up albeit with a tube down my throat surrounded by a load of bleeping machines. Not that I was looking forward to that. The thought of being that helpless did not sit well with me. But moving on 24 hours I was experiencing the joys of patient controlled analgesia. It hadn’t been as bad I feared. And apart from an episode of atrial flutter, apparently fairly commonplace after heart surgery, and the challenges of getting my warfarin dosage correct my recovery was ‘uneventful’.

Well according to the cardio thoracic surgeons anyway. For me as the patient it brought certain challenges which at the risk of sounding over dramatic has made me the person I am today. That person being a happier, more grateful, appreciative one. 

So what advice would I give to someone that finds themselves in a similar place.

1. Prepare. If you have time. I was fortunate in that I had time to prepare. Physically and mentally. For many open heart surgery can happen within hours of finding out that they have a heart problem. It is an emergency procedure to save their life. I’m not sure how I would have coped with that. I can only relate to my own experience.

I had 8 weeks to prepare myself. I had to stop training so did a lot of walking. Fortunately the weather was good so I spent many a lunch hour strolling around Regent’s Park. Getting out into the fresh air, appreciating the beauty of the gardens, helped me come to terms with what had happened and what was going to happen. 

It took me a while to deal with the shock of being fallible. I had got to 56 years of age with only arthritic fingers to contend with. A few months earlier I had completed a Spartan. I also felt the injustice of having a heart condition when I had done so much to look after my health. But I couldn’t dwell on this as I was very aware that heart patients were more likely to suffer from depression. I was determined that I would not be one of them. So the whole mental preparation was very important. But initially I was  in a very dark place. Fortunately, a friend who had gone through the same operation a few years before pulled me out of there. You can’t replace the experience of others to help you on your way. 

The mental preparation must have gone to plan  as although I was often anxious depression stayed well away.

I prepared for my hospital stay. My bag was packed well in advance and my ipod (remember those) loaded with films and music. I had my colouring book and plenty of reading material. I was going to be well dressed in my front opening nightwear and never bored.

I ate well. No junk. I still had the occasional drink but I was mindful that I wanted to give my body the best fighting chance of a good recovery.

By the time I was being wheeled into the operating theatre I was as ready as I could be.

1. Let your body heal at its own pace. I did everything I was told to do but I pushed myself a bit too hard which meant more painkillers and some anxiety that I had damaged my sternum. I had painted a skirting board. The movement was not good for it but I only found that out the following day.

2. The pain will eventually go away. Well it did for me. Nine weeks after my surgery I took my last painkiller. It would have been earlier if I hadn’t painted that skirting board.

3. Be grateful. It may seem a little odd but having open heart surgery has made me a happier person. I appreciate life more. I’m grateful for what I have and what I can do. Just feeling the breeze in my face reminds me that I’m here. Many are not so lucky. And as I write this it is a Mediterranean breeze. I read a week or so ago an account of someone with a terminal illness. He used the phrase ‘everything is sharper’. This is certainly how I feel. I may have a 9 inch scar running down my chest, the limitations of being on Warfarin and the occasional anxiety that my mitral valve may be calcifying but life is good. Probably far better now than four years ago. The silver lining.