Easter. We were in Scotland with the Scottish grandchildren and the London family decamped too! It was remarkably warm, for Scotland, and remarkably absent of phone signal.

Last week had ended with a second ECG blip. Much as I know I’m ok, much as I know every other ECG has been absolutely unremarkable, the doubts hung over me and all the family. After the long weekend when nothing happens in NHS-land, the hospital rang on Tuesday. Operation cancelled. Cardiology review essential. Apparently that can’t be done in hospital. The referral has to go through my GP back to the hospital. This is bizarre.

To say I was upset would be putting it mildly. Of course if there was something wrong it is only right and proper to be checked out. I just could not believe my heart could be an issue. Meanwhile I had a text from the GP surgery about my latest MSU report. Please could I await a call from the duty doctor.

Duty doctor called. Turned out to be one I had actually met face to face at the patient focus group I had made myself attend. Fortuitious!

“I am not sure why I am calling you” she began.

“Ah” said I “ I think it is because of my latest uti. It is on the NHS app some resistant bugs on it…“

“Ah…I can send you antibiotics….which would you like?”

I requested one and managed to say, whilst you are on the phone I really need help about an ECG.

Ah she said. That I can see on my screen. Another GP is dealing with that. You will be referred to cardiology.That will take several weeks.

Without losing my marbles, I managed not to start balling my eyes out, I explained that the delay in ECG report was

a. Concerning

b.Had resulted in my operation being cancelled

c. The knock on effect on all the rest of the operations which have been scheduled would be catastrophic.

She got the message. Cutting a long story short.

She printed out the ECG.

I ran up to the surgery and the receptionist willingly ( remarkably) handed it over.

I then knocked on my neighbour’s door having forewarned him. You see he is a retired cardiologist. He sat me in his office. Calibrated, Calculated, Measured and decreed:

This ECG is normal.

We often get these strange errors. It’s a computer issue.

He showed me how the formula works. The intersections, the intervals the margin of error. The reason the AI bot spews out an abnormal report. Reassuringly good to try to understand the maths.

Next step was to get that review signed off. Remarkably fantastically, there so happened to be a meeting of cardiologists that very night. The report, the calculations, the sign off was all done and dusted that evening. How lucky was I.Massive thanks to Mr Cardiology.

The next step was to get that to the surgical team, to the scheduled anaesthetist, the surgeon (Baron) and the admission team. Cutting an incredibly long story short. With the help of Luton and Dunstable Hospital, who had already performed a high risk category pre-assessment of me, for the jaw operation which has to follow the spinal operation, also the GP, also the very brilliant CNS…all got forwarded. The levels of stress all week has been absolutely horrendous.

Not knowing when or if the spinal operation might be rescheduled was too awful.

I spent the rest of the week in London. I was being filmed, interviewed and photographed with none other than Pete Reed, OBE, Olympic champion. He and I are Global Ambassadors for a new catheter called Luja. The promotional film, posters etc will go out this summer. To say I feel an imposter is an understatement. Pete is incredible. After all his medals, an Oxford blue, and a stellar naval career, a spinal stroke left him wheel chair ‘enabled’. In addition he has lost his naval career, not because of his wheelchair, but because of chronic urinary tract infections. How unfair is that? He is a legend.

Here is the summary: a film crew descends upon London, armed with cameras, good humor, and apparently, a keen eye for fashion mishaps. They took one look at my wild hair, glasses performing the cha-cha slide down my nose, and—oh yes—my toothpaste-marked jacket, and burst out laughing. The “minders,” took one for the team and decided to give me a full makeover. They wiped me down, lent me a pristine t-shirt, brushed my hair, and shoved my glasses firmly back into place.

And then, the adventure began. Two jam-packed days of traipsing across London, being filmed doing everything from conquering stairs (both up and down, for that added drama) to parading through Green Park, Buckingham Palace, and Trafalgar Square like I was on some bizarre scavenger hunt. Meals? Check. Hotel? Check. I didn’t have to lift a finger—except to keep my hair from turning into a windblown bird’s nest. They truly had it all under control.

Then there was Pete., Pete, the hero with a motorised chair souped up like a Formula 1 car. While we mere mortals slogged through traffic, Pete zipped ahead, headlights flashing at us like some kind of friendly traffic enforcer. Back at the hotel, he’d beam smuglyglad to have beaten us back.

As for Trafalgar Square. There we were, having a lovely chat by the fountains, cameras rolling, when a tiny, wobbly-legged child decided the balustrade was their personal balance beam. Cue our faces morphing from casual to “Oh no, this is about to be on the evening news!” I dramatically declared, “If they fall in, I’ll jump in!” Pete laughed, “You really would, wouldn’t you? Rebel without a pause.” As a naval officer, he had rules to follow. Me? Not so much. Thankfully, an adult swooped in and rescued the little boy before I had to.

In the midst of all that, I had no access to my phone.

Exhausted by the week I finally got home to find a message from the hospital. Remarkably, amazingly, the scheduled spinal operation, is back on. Same time Same date ….same Baron…it is tomorrow.

Remarkable. ARGHHH.Help.