The Dicky Ticker Diaries — Part 1
The decision to have a CT Angiogram was taken, appropriately, over a breakfast of marrow bone curry, prawn curry, fried eggs, bacon, and waffles, with loads of butter and some homemade paella for good measure.
Savantha had been badgering me for a few years to get a check-up done but I had never felt the need. The company, the persuasion, and the promise (I know it’s a lie now) of an ‘orgasmic’ rush when injected with the dye, made Ranil, Keith and myself agree to get tested a couple of days later.
Cut to the chase — the other two gentlemen get clear bills to bugger off home, but a Doc with a very serious look on his face put his arm on my shoulder and tells me, I need to get a follow up check done extremely urgently, as I have some seriously blocked arteries. I grin (as one does when you hear this kind of bombshell) and he repeats it to me adding “Mr. Unamboowe. This is very serious!”
So, I did what anyone would do on hearing news like this; I went home, ordered some hot butter cuttlefish and had a very large and very nice Scotch and enjoyed my evening. I can’t tell you that my world was shattered or that I was numb with shock. I wasn’t. I was just incredulous.
Two Scotches later, reality started to kick-in. The signs had been there. The breathlessness when riding bikes, the inability to run more than 150m, the dizziness when I lifted heavy weight. The reality that all was not well inside this rather abused body of mine didn’t come as a surprise. It almost came with a sense of relief. It was more ‘phew… that slowing down was not age; it was just my dicky ticker.’
Things moved quite fast from there on. I saw my friend Dr Gota Ranasinghe, the famed cardiologist (this is the capable Gota, thankfully), and made plans to have a full angiogram done the following week.
More injections of (totally non-orgasmic) dye, more needles, probes and prods and the diagnosis was made. Dr Gota explained to me with extreme clarity and care that I need immediate cardiac bypass surgery. I had two choices — go overseas, or get it done back home. I wasn’t going anywhere without my sons, and with all the Covid-related travel restrictions, the decision was easy. I asked him to give me the name of the surgeon he recommended in Sri Lanka.
Immediate appointments were made with the Surgeon Dr Dev at Durdans and after a very comforting meeting with him, where not just his knowledge but his manner, attention and care, gave me a huge level of comfort, and a date was set.
Between this whirlwind of activity, I managed a few blissful days with the family in the mountains, at Jetwing Warwick Garden, and also a few days with my friends Rukshan and Shanaze in two of my favorite bungalows in Yala.
Both these trips gave me time to think about what was in store for me and to mentally prepare myself for the upcoming events.
I finally made a will, settled all accounts, completed or re-allocated all work, spoke with my bosses and my team and had a few great meals and nights with my friends and family. My boys and their partners, Dhanu and Nish, moved in for the last two nights. The six of us watched movies, chatted at length, and had a few good drinks, in anticipation of the ‘dry spell’ that was to follow.
Sunday morning, hugs, and kisses all-round and I headed out. We made a small detour to give my aunt, who had wanted to see me, a hug and I stroll into Durdans Hospital. And finally, after PCR tests, Antigen tests and lots of back and forth, we were in the room.
Due to Covid protocols I could only have 1 ‘guardian.’ Poor Charlene took on this responsibility and signed in for a mini prison sentence, being confined between my room and the ICU for as long as I was going to be in Hospital.
The day is spent hanging out in bed with regular visits from teams of Doctors and Nurses, constantly checking on a host of different things and taking a million tests.
One Doctor in particular, was not too pleased with the outcome of her visit. Our conversation went something like this:
“Mr U, do you smoke”
“No” (white lie … I did, occasionally)
“Drink? “
“yes”
“How often”
“Daily”
Eyeballs widen…
“Daily? How much”
“100–200ml”
“You realize you can never drink again?”
“HA HA HA … Not going to happen”
“You’re not going to drink? “
“Oh, Hell no!! I AM going to drink after a short break”
The rest was more back and forth and me grinning and her scowling, and finally, she just got up and walked off. I realized how lovely it is to be 57, financially self-sufficient, and how as much as I have the greatest respect for all the Doctors I am friends with, many in the medical profession are used to people blindly following whatever ‘rule’ they decide to pile on the patient. Childish, I know, but my mini rebellion gave me a bit of perverse pleasure.
Evening comes along, and having prepped myself by waxing, shaving, and overall ensuring I was as hairless as I could possibly be, I was confident that I wouldn’t have to go through the humiliation of being ‘shorn’ by the nursing staff. How wrong I was.
Having carefully inspected me, it was deemed necessary that I was properly rid of all body hair as there were, to my horror, patches in far off places, that my razor and I had both missed!
No fanfare, no ceremony, my genitalia was held like a drowning rat, by its tail and I was rid of every errant follicle, with rather aggressive strokes of a deft hand, while my whimpers and squeaks of protest were duly ignored. Having survived the ordeal, genitalia, and other body parts intact, it was shower, dinner, and bed.
We rose at dawn to the rattle of a trolly being wheeled into the room.
Final prep was to begin shortly. I can’t recall having much to eat but a cup of tea and some juice and I was in the shower, under the scrutiny of my eagle-eyed attendant like a 5-year-old having his first solo shower. Having been wiped dry and then re wiped a few times for good measure, my entire body was covered in a sticky yellow disinfectant that had the general texture of treacle.
I was then dressed in my hospital ‘party frock’ and having given Char a final hug, a kiss, a wink and a squeeze of the hand I was rolled off on a gurney to the theatre.
I have to say, the positivity Charlene, the boys and the girls, surrounded me with, was absolutely brilliant and kept my ‘spirits’ up. Char was an absolute rock. Not one single moment of doubt was allowed. I couldn’t have asked for a better mental prep. I did not feel one moment of fear. Not one of doubt. I was convinced that the operation would be fine and all I was focused on was how I could make sustainable changes to my ‘next’ phase of life, and to ensure I was in peak physical and mental health and take maximum use of this amazing second chance I was getting.
The usual process of transfer to surgical table, oxygen mask put over my face, needles stuck into various part of me, and the usual chit chat with the surgeon and crew followed. A few jokes were cracked. I told them to please ensure they don’t leave anything inside me accidentally, and to look for a marble I swallowed as a kid.
I then shut my eyes and reflected on life.
Although I do visit places of worship for the peace I find within them, I don’t believe in religion. I don’t pray, and I wasn’t going to waste my last conscious minutes doing any of that.
I used to always have this measure. If I was told I was to die today, what would I feel? So, I shut my eyes and knowing fully well that I was in with a slim chance of it all ending right here, I thought about my life. I thought about my boys and those nearest to me, and I was filled with an amazing sense of calm and peace. I didn’t realize it, but I was grinning from ear to ear.
The anesthetist walked up to me and asked “Mr. Unamboowe, why are you smiling?” My response — “I’m ready, let’s do this!”
