Once upon a time I took a keen interest in politics. But it’s amazing how a vision of building a better world for all can shrink so dramatically, it barely figures in your life anymore. I mean it’s still there to a point, like a tolerable stone in your shoe. One that occasionally causes you to break your stride and wiggle your toes, but never actually makes stop and shake out your footwear. These days our bigger picture is so crammed full of detail, the irrelevant stuff has been pushed out to the edges where it sets solid to form a frame of sorts.
Mags is halfway through her chemo, and has been tolerating the toxicity of the treatment reasonably well. But just over a week ago she collapsed twice. A GP arranged an appointment at the surgery for an ECG. I know the qualities of her heart better than anyone, but the medics are only concerned with pulses and physical functionality. To each his own.
We were all set for a quick check up, then home for a cuppa, but it was not to be. “There’s something a bit funny going on here,” said the doctor, holding a print of beats and rhythms out in front of him. “We have to get you straight to A&E. I’ve called an ambulance.”
So, a bumpy ride to hospital, with blue lights and sirens, and a six hour stay in the resuscitation room until things had settled down, courtesy of doctors, consultants and two magic pills.
The latest cycle of chemo was held off due to a low platelet count, so everything is up in the air at the moment, as it is with so much that’s going on in the wider world. Local and global uncertainty. At least Mags now has firm appointments with people who specialise in fixing things. An A&E doctor told us that cardiologists, rather like oncologists, are renowned for having a singular focus.
It’s a comfort to know that Mags is in good hands, even though the nation’s heart is palpitating and various ideological malignancies continue to spread with alarming aggression.