Certified Fit (sort of)

After six weeks and twelve visits, I was finally given the Certification of Survival by our favourite Commandant, Jo. Her guards put their whips and whistles down and my fellow inmates gathered around to wish me well. No sooner had that formality passed, than Jo was pressing me to sign up for Phase 4 of the rehabilitation. I can't think why, but maybe she senses something of the masochist in me. It's probably a very good idea. (it says here)

This week also saw Gina 'The Ring Master', remembering her routines for once. Last weeks Blonde Moments forgotten. Well, that is until she blotted her copybook right at the end by missing out a vital stretching exercise. I think she was a little distracted this week. Indeed, several of my fellow inmates including myself, noticed Gina's fawning favouritism to one particularly handsome newcomer. She spent most of the exercise following him around with his drink and giving unwarranted 1-1 attention to the dismay of her other, sadly abandoned charges. Tsk tsk.

All told, (and joking apart), the program has been a great help. The staff involved with the Cardiac Rehabilitation have been incredibly friendly and encouraging and I certainly feel more confidant in myself, and in the ability of my heart to keep working as it should, and the exercise is actually enjoyable. Sort of. In a way. On to Phase 4 then ...

Coffin Dodgers Club

After they kick you out of the hospital bed, the tyrants convince you to start physical re-habilitation. For me, an expert and accredited couch potato of the first order, this is a daunting task. For six weeks we are frog-marched into the gym while evilly smiling black-shirted guards blow whistles in your face for the good of your health. Ok, well, maybe I'm exaggerating. A bit. They don't actually, really, wear black shirts. Afterwards I'm knackered, but apparently healthier.

Below are some pictures of the torture, smuggled out but don't ask how.

Jo Thomas, in the white shirt, is head Commandant in charge of making sure our hearts beat fast enough. Gina Smith, in the blue shirt and headset with voice amplification set to 11, is Obersturmfuher in charge of shouting and encouragement.

Yes, I'm being flippant. The fact is, this is helping me and I do appreciate it. Honest. No really, honest.

Lack of exercise BHA (Before Heart Attack) was a precursor to the event. I'm not fat, I don't smoke and I drink rarely. And I thought I was reasonably fit. I thought I could do strenuous work when needed just as if I was still 21. Wrong. Suddenly doing heavy lifting and carrying, macho style, did me in. So if, like me, you're pushing the wrong side of 50 and aren't particularly fit, you now have the perfect excuse to NOT suddenly clear the loft/garden/garage etc. Because it might well kill you ...