Post 47: Groundhog Day at A&E.
Yesterday was another long one.
It started badly, became a great day for a walk, and then descended into a tiresome medical irritation.
———
My Darling looked at me with a strange seriousness in her voice and face.
“I have some very bad news,” she said.
Immediately on alert, I tried to stay calm.
“What is it?” I asked, bracing for impact.
“It’s the TV,” she said, pointing at the 55-inch wall-mounted beauty in the lounge, “It’s dead!”
“Oh,” I replied, a wave of relief washing over me.
“We’ll get a new one. I’ll look right now.”
That was a relief—just a bit of deceased hardware, nothing more.
Our trusty Chinese viewing platform wasn’t that old, but by God, it had been well-used.
We both have square eyes and loved every minute we spent glued to it.
Without a flicker of guilt, I opened up a local store’s website and found a replacement in seconds. I can’t have My Darling miserable. It was time to be the proactive husband I know I can be… occasionally.
She agreed the one I’d picked was perfect—and even bigger than the late, lamented model.
I expedited delivery for next Saturday, the day after my resumed chemo. Brilliant. Great timing.
“I’ll bring down the TV from the spare room to use in the meantime,” I said.
As I set it up, I heard a loud, derisive:
“I AM NOT WATCHING THAT LITTLE THING!”
She burst into uncontrollable laughter, and honestly, I was glad.
A bit hurt, sure—but mostly glad. I laughed with her in the end.
I had to admit, next to the dead one, it was tiny.
So yes… apparently, size does matter.
———
Later, My Darling headed off to the shops—finally a little time away from me. She’s still watching me like a hawk, and her worry is written in her eyes. I wish I could tell her to stop, to relax—but nothing works. She can’t help herself.
I, meanwhile, was showered and ready to help with the afternoon’s plans: a visit from our youngest and his fiancée, and a big roast dinner. Yum.
I was allowed to set the table while all the veg were peeled, chopped, boiled, or steamed.
We caught up with their busy lives—their work, downtime, and the big progress on their beachside bungalow. Sounds like everything’s going well.
“Dinner!” My Darling called, and we gathered in the kitchen-diner, drawn by the delicious smells. The plates were uncomfortably full, which could only lead to one thing: a long walk afterwards.
To make it easier on me, we drove to the car park near the huge local park.
Kids and dogs were everywhere, enjoying the dry, windy, cloudy afternoon.
We strolled a couple of miles, chatting about this and that. Just spending time together. It was lovely.
But let’s be honest—my goal was simple: walk off the main course to make room for pudding. Lemon cheesecake. Definitely worth it.
———
After pudding, we migrated to the lounge where my youngest had taken it upon himself to diagnose the dead TV using AI.
I ignored him at first. I’ve grown out of the fix-it-at-all-costs attitude when it comes to things My Darling holds dear. I’ve learned it’s best to dig deep, ask few questions, and be guided by love and a good dollop of common sense.
It wasn’t always like that.
We (My Darling and I) started with nothing—used to having little—and I fixed what I could, made what I couldn’t afford.
As a kid, I was endlessly curious about old electrical gear. Jumble sales were treasure troves of dusty valve radios and radiograms. A few pence each, and I’d stash them in Dad’s shed, tinkering alongside a schoolmate who was more the boffin to my mechanic. It sparked my lifelong love for engineering.
But these days I know my limits—and know when to step aside.
So back to my youngest.
He’s on the floor, phone in hand, asking for screwdrivers and Sellotape, cheerfully explaining what he’s doing. The rest of us chat, old vinyls spinning in the background. Every now and then, the TV is propped upright with hopeful anticipation.
Eventually, he asks for contact cleaner and an old toothbrush—and dives back in.
Then silence. Then a faint smile.
“There you go,” he says casually.
“It’s fixed.”
Sure enough, the red and yellow vertical lines are gone—replaced by a fully functional screen.
He’s only gone and done it. The TV paramedic.
We cheer. I cheer with pride.
That inquisitive spark I had as a child?
It’s in my DNA. I passed it on.
I’m a proud dad of a 30-year-old repair prodigy.
My Darling is delighted.
Her precious viewing can resume.
He screws the thing back together, mounts it on the wall, and takes the hideous little spare back upstairs where it belongs.
Soon after, they head home with our heartfelt thanks—and I’m left glowing inside.
What a day.
———
But as they left, I had to admit… I’d been having ectopic beats since pudding. Possibly the start of another AFib episode—especially worrying after the recent warnings.
My Darling gave me a look like I’d just let out a massive fart.
A mix of disgust, worry, déjà vu, and panic all at once.
“Yes,” I said. “Sorry… but it’s the heart again. We need to go to A&E.”
So, off we went—again—on the medical merry-go-round, heading to A&E at 10 p.m.
Apparently I’m a VIP now: triage and assessments were swift, and I was in Bay 5 before I’d caught my breath.
Bloods, vitals, a double dose of beta blocker, and some rest.
By 3 a.m. we were released with a slightly calmer rhythm and instructions:
If it doesn’t stop in 3 hours, come back.
By 6:30, I was relieved to feel calm.
The meds had done their job.
The A&E doctor’s update—was mixed news.
The bad:
Over the last five years, since my last echocardiogram, the AFib has done its usual damage.
Both upper chambers are dilated.
One valve—previously mildly leaky—is now moderate to severe.
My medication needs upping to reflect this new state since the PE.
The good:
Because it’s A&E, not Oncology or GP, the urgent cardiology referral is same-day or next-day, not weeks away.
He filled out my referral immediately—I should hear something by Tuesday.
Now that’s good news.
I’ve been chasing that referral for four weeks. Finally, it’s done.
———
So, all’s well that ends well.
Today I’ll rest—me upstairs with a K-drama, My Darling downstairs, watching her freshly revived TV.
I’m looking forward to Tuesday’s phone calls and the week’s positive outcomes.
Today is Jamie and Daisy’s wedding day—on a sunny Florentine hillside vineyard where we should also be.
We’re thinking of you both even though we are so far away. xx
