People’s lives are defined by good things and bad things. It’s what makes us who we are. A year ago today, was unfortunately one of those bad things.
For the unaware, and newer readers – you can read about it here. Long story short: I went out after work for a few drinks, got to bed late, and woke up with premature aortal contraction. Basically, an irregular heartbeat. Physically, I was fine after being hooked up to a drip which slowed down my heart, and six hours later I was home. Mentally and emotionally I was a mess.
I do find it hard talking about it, as not many 23 year olds wake up and find something wrong with them more than a hangover. It’s one of the scariest things lying on that hospital bed with men 40-50 years older than me on beds either side of me, attached to respirators and defibrillators and dialysis machines, and me being there. It’s scary having something wrong with you, and not knowing when you will be okay again.
Since that day, 365 days later, I have become a huge hypochondriac. It’s the worse feeling in the world – I can’t deal with pain now, as I automatically assume that pain will land me in hospital again. For the past few days, for example, I have had a pretty sore neck. Old Rhys would’ve assumed that “Oh, it’s a muscle strain, snap out of it”, but I was worried sick on Tuesday night what it was, so much so that I couldn’t sleep, and almost made myself sick. It isn’t good. However, I believe the only thing that’ll get me over this is by getting hurt again and again to make me realise I’m not dying, or I’m not going to wind up in hospital.
I look back on the 19th April, and the fact I went for a few beers. Would I have done it again? Probably not. If I was to go back in time and say “Rhys, if you go out drinking tomorrow, you’re going to end up in hospital”. I wouldn’t of gone out, nobody would’ve. It’s just stupid to do that to yourself, knowingly put yourself in hospital. Then I look at times in my life in which led me to that point.
Times such as “Rhys, would you have stayed on in Liverpool for another year, got the job in the call centre?”. To which I say hell yes. The good I know from that far outweighs the bad (the friends I’ve got – I wouldn’t have met Han, for one). On top of that, I wouldn’t be 3 stone lighter, eating pretty well, and have the job that I do should I have called it a day in Liverpool after University.
It is largely the fact that a) I’m still scared about hospitals and b) I dunno what caused me officially to end up in hospital (lt’s either: drink spiked or stressed, overworked, without having a decent night sleep in ages), that makes me a bit of a hypochondriac, but I’m getting better…I think.
Apologies for the dull emo entry today, I just needed to get it off my chest.