The heart attack that hit me was the result of my own stupidity. Six years ago I was brought back from the brink with the aid of a defibrillator. Lying in intensive care I swore I wasn't going to become a victim and I'd do everything I could to survive and prosper. I have.
The last six years has been the most rewarding time of my life. Enjoy it while you can.
It's strange how these things affect different people: the first thing - the only thing, really, that I remember doing as soon as I got out of Intensive Care was to ask Ann to bring me the Complete Works of Shakespeare, a present from my English teacher, as I left school. Neglected ever since, I thought it high time to make use of it! Oh, yes: I do rememebr noticing a PR lady who came into my room with her clipboard and questionnaire as I was walking about in my hospital nighshirt; she looked lovely and my first thought was to ask her if she was interested in modelling. However, I was also very aware of what a pillock I must have looked in that nighshirt so refrained... missed opportunity or just an avoided extra embarrassment? Most likely the latter.
Fear? I don’t believe so, on either occasion. I suppose that I either felt it was nothing, that life would just continue as normal after a couple of weeks, or perhaps a lifetime of self-employment hardens you to reality and you accept it as it comes, realising that much of the time there’s not a whole heap you can do to change anything, that you get dealt the hand you do and that’s pretty much it. That’s when it applies to oneself. It is far, far different when it hits someone you love.