Jemima Kiss — she of journalism.co.uk and the great byline — says I had “a dicky ticker.” Gotta love the Brits.
Oh, yes, she also wrote a good story about the OPA.
LATER: Jemima tells me a dicky ticker is a reference from the cult sitcom Allo Allo.
Monday, I get shocked back into rhythm. Last night,, everywhere I looked, I saw electricity. I watched House on Fox and patients kept getting shocked and I thought, yow, did I lurch like that? I watched Boston Legal and a guy got arrested for electrocuting a guy. I’m getting secret message from my TV. But, no, the shock didn’t affect my brain. Not at all.
The prettiest music I know is the dull rhythm of a heart doing what it’s supposed to do. Beep. Beep. Beep. I am, as they say, converted, which sounds like and almost is a religious experience. And the only ill effect I know of is a very sore chest from ripping hairs out with the sticky pad that held the wires that ended my afib. The procedure itself took maybe 15 minutes and I’m back to being me. Except now I’m paranoid about every heart beat. But I’m grateful. Thanks to you all for your kind words and thoughts. Now we’ll see how long this lasts….
I’m going back to the hospital this afternoon for the second shot at getting shocked to get my afibbing, adlibbing heart back to the script. I’ll give you an update.
I’m flying to London today to spend two packed days at The Guardian and two more at the Online Publishers Association confab. I’m sorry that I won’t be able to do London meet-ups; the schedule is full with work. Blogging will be unpredictable because the days are jammed and because I’m still dragging thanks to my afib. I quizzed the doctor a dozen ways whether it was OK traveling, but my blood is as thin as stone soup now, so he assures me it’s fine. I’m scheduled to get plugged into the wall socket on the Monday after I return and he’s just as glad I’ll spend more time getting thinned. I’m also using my infirmity as a convenient if stretched excuse to try the new Eos Airlines: all flat-beds, endless legroom, decent wine, electric sockets — for the laptop, not me — but, alas, no wi-fi; can’t have everything.