The End

Don’t take the title the wrong way. I don’t intend leaving this mortal world anytime soon but hopefully this will be my last chapter in this blog. This time last year the wheels were coming off. I couldn’t walk up a hill without stopping for breath. I was going to loose weight and get some sort of fitness back. When I put my mind to something I usually do it. Had I not promised my daughter that I’d go get checked out at the doctors I might not be writing this right now. Anyone who is suffering from cardiac problems right now or has just had some sort of operation might be thinking ‘where do I go from here?’. I won’t presume to tell you what you should or shouldn’t be doing, that’s down to the doctors but I would say, don’t give up.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. The NHS doctors and nurses are second to none. Since my bypass operation they have taken great care of me. I have had CT scans, X-rays, ultrasounds and so many needles I may start getting piercings just for the fun of it. I have also attended a program of cardio-rehabilitation which I would strongly recommend. This has been especially good as it has re-introduced me back into exercise and gives you a chance to mix with other patients in a similar situation. Hearing their stories of their own situation takes some of the taboo away from from having a heart problem.

I didn’t want to end this blog until I had been to the appointment that was made just before my operation in April to monitor the lump on my lung that they had spotted during a CT scan. On 22nd of November I went for the results. They had done another scan a few weeks prior to see if the lump had grown. As I sat there in the reception at five minuets past my appointment time I wondered if I should be concerned about the results. The last six months have probably taught me that whatever happens can’t be cured by worrying. As it turns out there was nothing to be worried about anyway as the lumps haven’t grown. Apparently they are just harmless ‘nodes’.

So, to draw this to an end I will tell you I am now running twice a week (will be more when it gets warmer) and have returned to the running club. I play squash/ Badminton once a week. I am weighing lighter than I have in five years and my diet has changed beyond recognition. I feel great.I am thankful for a second chance. I can’t thank my family and friends enough for all their support and I have come to appreciate life more and with the old cliche, life’s too short not to enjoy it.

Thanks

Phil

The Bypass

First of all, I’m here. That has to be the biggest part of it. Open heart surgery will always carry risks and depending on whether you’re the patient or the relative/ friend the stats are looked at from two very different perspectives. Relatives will tell you its nothing to worry about and it’ll be over before you blink. The patient worries. It’s 12 days since the Operation as I write this and I have been home from hospital just two days. I will tell you the story from start to finish warts and all as honestly as possible. I would suggest if you are about to have the same Op to ask yourself, “do you NEED the details at this point? “.

Wednesday 20th April 2016, It all starts. I had been told to phone the hospital at mid day to confirm it’s still on and they have not had an emergency. I get the green light and My son, Sam drives me to New Cross hospital. Parking here is not the hospitals strongest point however if you get to park outside visiting times there a plenty of spaces. This occasion took 20 minutes and several laps of the hospital ring road. Finding the ward was no problem and after the paperwork was completed they took me to my bed. Up till tea time I had been told I could eat and drink as usual however food was far from my mind. As the visiting times finished it was time to wave my son off. The walk back from the car park had the emotions running wild and at one point I sat on the wall contemplating my options. There were no others.

Pre bed preparations involved having a shower with a special red body wash and brushing my teeth with a specialized foul tasting toothpaste and finally dressing in the hospital pyjamas.  I spent the final hours of the evening reading my book in the hope of keeping the morning away, however the morning came and it was time for shaving. The nurse shaved my legs, chest arm and edges of the groin. I then had to go for another red shower and brush my teeth with the nasty tasting toothpaste. I get dressed in a hospital gown which serves on many an occasion to reveal my naked backside to all. The inhibitions are quickly forgotten. After a sedative they wheel me down to theater. On the way down the anesthetist is talking about going scuba diving and as a fellow diver I join in the conversation. In the Prep room we are still talking ………

I wake. I am now in intensive care where, I have a nurse at my bed constantly. they are now pulling the tube out of my mouth. My first thought is that, that didn’t hurt. I have absolutely no concept of time or who is around me. My throat is very sore and they try to give me some strong pain killers. They get them straight back but I must have been alert enough as I asked for a bowl to vomit into.The mattress on the bed is filled with fluid that moves in such a way that you are never uncomfortable. My memory is fragmented but I remember the kids being there at some stage although in which order I can not be certain. In and out of wakefulness had me dreaming the most bizarre dreams and this, I am told is the result of the drugs they give you. I am being sat up now and they are telling me that they want to put me in a chair. I know that I don’t want to move but in my mind I have promised to do exactly as they say. I have three tubes coming out of my chest cavity and a trace wire that is coming from my heart that leads to a box hanging from a hat stand by my bed. They want me to cough but I’m not sure the little voice in my head will allow such a stupid idea. They give me a cushion to hold to my chest while I coughed and after a token gesture they stand me up. The physiotherapist wants me to walk a circuit of the intensive care unit. doesn’t she know what they’ve just done to me? There will be no shuffling as she wants me breathless. I’m already speechless so we are half way there. with someone holding my heart box on a coat hat thing, someone with the box of chest tubes ( which they usually remove before the walk ) and someone with my bag of wee, we set out. we are going a fair old pace and with the encouragement I’m pushing the pace. I wont kid myself into thinking that it is any more than a walking pace but I’m flat out. 20 yards in and we have to stop as the way is blocked. I am breathing heavy now and start coughing. No doubt they got what they wanted from me and I somehow feel they usually win one way or another. Later in the afternoon They tell me they are going to remove the three drain tubes from my chest and send me to the ward. The removal of the drain tubes is something I am not looking forward to and the arrival of several doctors and nurses carrying a silver tray of surgical instruments does nothing to relax me. They tell me that they want me to take a deep breath and hold it while they pull the tube out. They suggest “we” do a trial run, I grit my teeth and tell them just to get on with it. I’m told to take a deep breath and hold. I feel the tube coming out and although its not particularly painful the sensation of pulling 200 mm of 15 mm tube out of my chest is weird. they tell me to breath again. They repeat this for the remaining two tubes and after the relief is immense.

They wheel me up to the ward where I am settled down and finally given time to relax a little. They have pulled the cannulas from the back of my wrist and arm now but the one in the side of my neck that has five tubes stays for now. They allow me a couple of days recovery for now. The drugs that I am being given are giving me lucid dreams and I struggle to keep the eyes open. My youngest son, Connor and my Daughter, Kiera make the mammoth trip to see me on the bus only to find me dozing off in front of them! The doctors have decided I’ve rested long enough now and order the nurses to get me up and walking about. Apparently the quickest way to recovery is to get up and moving about. Before I can become mobile they have to remove the catheter that they put in while I was unconscious. I hadn’t even realised it was in at first but I was well aware it was going to come out. I had to sit in the chair with the nurse facing me.With very little notice She simply started to pull the tube out. With both hands clutching the arms of the chair I can only say it was like being on a fair ground ride and wanting to get off. They removed the bunch of pipes from my neck which was a big relief. With some sort of mobility back the next few days saw me walking around the ward and just as they said, I gradually started to feel better.

Now that I was moving about I was also looking forward to getting home, however every now and again my heart beat would go into an irregular rhythm  ( atrium fibrillation ). This apparently they can cure through the use of medication in the form of tablets and, for a short while, two injections to the stomach. Every day my consultant would be there first thing in the morning and last thing at night without fail. On Sunday 1st of May, after his rounds He told me I could go home providing I returned daily for a blood test and closely monitored medication and the injections. They removed the trace wires from my chest that I had been dreading coming out without any pain and cut the few stitches that closed the tube holes up. I have now spent two nights at home and although the long daily trip to the hospital and back is a real chore, I am glad I am now home.

I cannot thank the Hospital, Doctors and all the nurses of New Cross Hospital enough for the attention and care that they have given me. I know it’s going to be a long road to a full recovery but the alternative would have been unthinkable.I know each journey is a personal one and the experience will vary from case to case but  hopefully this blog will help others understand the basic process.

I will write about my recovery…

Three months, One week

I had almost forgotten about this Blog. The last time I wrote I had just been to the x-ray department to see about the chipped bone in my elbow. although it was low on my priorities it bloody hurt …

Source: Three months, One week

Three months, One week

I had almost forgotten about this Blog. The last time I wrote I had just been to the x-ray department to see about the chipped bone in my elbow. although it was low on my priorities it bloody hurt every time I knocked it. They had told me the results would be ready in two weeks. Almost a month later I booked an appointment with my GP to find out what was going on. They tell me I have snapped a few tendons and apparently when they go they can give a loud crack. I can have physio if I want but I think I will just leave it now and see what happens after the big Op.

Standing in the Plumbers merchants my phone rang. Private number. The only time I get a private number is when someone tries to chase a ppi claim but as there were several people in front of me I decided to answer. The funny thing about waiting for something is, if you wait long enough, eventually you stop waiting. The surgeon had told me that the waiting list was three months but he wanted me in in two if possible. With all the doctor strikes, operations have been cancelled and, as the three months arrived, I expected longer.  The woman on the end of the phone was from the Hospital and not selling claims. She said I was going to be admitted for the operation on Wednesday 20th  April. The actual surgery will be carried out on the Thursday but I suspect they want to stick plenty of needles in me first. I will have to phone at 12 o’clock first just to make sure they have not had an emergency .

How do I feel about it ? well, to be honest in a word, Ready. I need to get it done and without it I can’t function. I can’t do my job properly and I’m shuffling around like a little old man at the moment. I have life insurance if anything goes wrong so at least the kids will be quids in. If things do go pear shaped on the table at least it goes pear shape under anaesthetic and I won’t know about it. Enough doom and gloom. I am now looking forward to the recovery and getting on with my life. Nothing more to say really. The next time I write (hopefully) will be to tell you about the ordeal. see you on the other side….

The Waiting Game

well, it seems like an eternity since I last posted on here. My little world had been turning itself upside down and inside out. I have gone for almost every test available and I’m sure any phobia towards needles have been drawn out in the form of a hypodermic. The first of the tests began at New Cross hospital on Fri 29th Jan in the form of a ” Ultra sound ” which is  called for to test the operation of the heart valves and some other checks. It may sound a little perverse but I quite enjoyed this as it involved a nice little lady rubbing oil over my chest in a darkened room and NO needles. ( ok I need to get out more )  I was told I wouldn’t hear anything  unless there was a problem

The next test was the CT scan. This was performed at West Bromwich General Hospital on wednesday 3rd of Feb and my Son (Connor) accompanied me. I knew from reading the leaflet that they had given me I would probably end up having either some sort of dye injected into me or I might have to drink a fluid shortly before the scan. Just my luck it turned out to be the injection. I had to dress in the NHS nightie again then I had a Canola slipped into my arm so that they could administer the dye while I was in the Machine. After very little waiting they called me into the Scan room. The Scanner was like a giant polo with a bed on a runner going through the middle. I was told to lie on the bed with my arms above me and, after a few practice runs they Injected the dye into me.  The dye felt like hot water being poured down the front of me and I felt it flowing downwards throughout my body and that was the end. After getting dressed I was told he would be along shortly to remove the canola from my arm and I could go home. 40 Minuets later and a press on the nurse call button saw him come rushing in apologizing that he had forgotten me. I tried to gain some sort of insight as to what the result was but he just said I would have to wait two weeks to find out from my doctor.

The next test was a Echocardiogram on the 4th Feb which was Identical to the CT scan but performed this time at the City Road Hospital and my daughter (Kiera) accompanied me here to make sure I didn’t run off with the nurse. The same NHS standard unit of two weeks was given to me to receive the results. Time is a funny thing and in years to come scientists will understand  why it speeds up on a weekend when you are not at work and slows down while you wait for test results.

Monday 15th Feb, I’m at work when the phone rings. There is a lady from the hospital asking me if I can go in for the Bypass Op on Wednesday. I’m suddenly aware that I haven’t answered her and I am desperately trawling the depths of my mind to come up with a reason why I can’t . I tell her “yes”. As my senses slowly return I realise that I still haven’t had the CT results back So I ask if they have had them. She promises that she will check and phone me straight back. 10 am Tuesday morning and after a few phone calls I have tracked her down. I need to know what’s happening so that I can arrange work etc but I am only getting her answer phone, so I leave a message. Just after lunch time I finally get through to her. She explains the Surgeon has been off ill but is unsure for how long so I should go for Blood tests just in case.  The rest of the afternoon is spent at New Cross hospital filling forms and giving blood, without any fuss I must add, OR a lollypop. Wednesday morning and the surgical administrator phones to tell me Op is a no go as the Surgeon is off sick all week and I should get a call in 2-3 weeks time!

Monday 22nd Feb. My appointment with my doctor is here so I should get the CT results. This is a big news day. He tells me that the 2-3 cm shadow they saw on the x-ray has shown up as a “twisted” rib that I had broken in my youth. He also said the CT scan had shown up a few “nodes” on my lungs but they were probably nothing to worry about but just as a precaution they have referred me to a chest specialist on the 8th March who will give me a definitive answer. Before I leave the doctors I mention that I have chipped the bone in my elbow. I can feel the bone piece move below the skin and it hurts like hell if I lean on it. It hasn’t seemed worth mentioning up to now. He refers me for a x-ray on it at Rowley Regis Hospital and I am in and out in no time at all. I get those results in two weeks….

The Results

January 13th 2016,  It’s been over a week since my angiogram and I have to go to New Cross hospital to speak to the consultant about their findings. Since all this has come to light there have been so many friends and relatives who have told me stories of people who have had stents or  a bypass.” They all come out of it well and there is no reason to worry and that’s the end of it”. Except that isn’t the end of it. All the stories and experiences of others DO reassure me of the outcome but as for not Worrying..

At the Hospital I am called into the consultants office. He introduces himself and I sit down. He fills me with confidence and on first impressions comes across as someone who knows more about open heart surgery than me. At this point I still haven’t been told I have to have the triple bypass and I still cling to the faint hope I can get away with stents. After a brief examination we watch the Angiogram on his monitor where he points out the blockages in the arteries then he deals out the news.

There is no sugar coating or plastic models of dolls with their entrails hanging out. he just says ” you will need a quadruple bypass” ! Somehow the mention of a quadruple and not the triple bypass has really taken the wind out of me. He tells me because I am young and healthy  the results should be good. It’s funny how many times I am getting told I am young and healthy now I am rotting from the inside out. I am told the waiting list is around 3 months but he wants to get me in earlier if possible as I am at high risk of a heart attack. How did I get to this point ?

January 19th 2016, It’s a Tuesday and I’m at work. I can’t see any point lounging about at home feeling sorry for myself. I have worked with the same people for the last 25 years and they are more like family. My boss has had a triple bypass 12 months ago so there is no better person to understand what I face and if I’d took the decision to stay at home he would have understood. My phone rang and I was surprised to find it was my doctor. They had been looking at the x-rays that I had done when I went to A&E and have just noticed something and they are sending me for a CT scan ! A few days later I go to my doctor for a repeat prescription and to discuss this new finding. He confirms they are suspecting that what they are looking at is a 2-3cm tumour but need to wait for the results of the CT scan. I can’t be that unlucky can I ?….

The Angiogram

Before I tell you about the procedure I have to admit I have a bit of a problem when it comes to needles. I think it originates from my childhood when my sister had an encounter with TB. Her illness meant that I would have to endure a series of needles. Did they coax me with offers of ice-cream or sweeties if I was big and brave?……. no. They PINNED me down with five people and skewered me while I’m kicking and screaming. I’m no psychoanalyst but I’m sure Sigmund Freud would be tutting right now.

Monday 4th January 1016. I’m nervous but the Consultant has told me if they locate the suspected blockage they will insert the stents and all will be ok and I can get back to normal life. My eldest son, Sam takes me to the hospital as I’m told I wont be allowed to drive for four days after. After finding the department and checking in I’m given a bed to wait in. I have been handed a open backed nightie and a pair of disposable underpants to change into, not the most fashionable items of clothing. They check my blood pressure, insert a cannula in the back of my right hand then take swabs of my nose and groin in case I am bringing infections in with me, then we wait.

Just after lunch time I am wheeled to the “catheter ” room. I am the first of the afternoon patients for the angiogram and as I sit in the wheel chair I notice a rack of what looks like bicycle brake cables hanging up. I wish they hadn’t put me in this room as I am now fighting to stay calm. A few minutes pass and I get wheeled into a operating theatre where I’m taken by surprise at the number of people in gowns and masks here. I’m feeling panicky but I climb onto the table as they ask me to. people are talking to each other and I hear the surgeon say he is not happy with the cannula in my right hand and he wants another on in my left. There are so many working on me all at the same time I cant keep up with what’s happening. I feel the sting in my left hand as the new cannula goes in, they give me another sedative and there is a cold liquid being poured over my right arm, also someone is wrapping what I take to be a blood pressure band around my lower left leg. I feel the catheter going up my right arm and I am tensing as it feels like a knitting needle under my skin. they keep telling me to relax! how can I relax ? they give me another sedative to calm down but the surgeon keeps pulling my arm straight. I am light headed now and I am sure that if I’d had breakfast as I was told I could they would be sliding about right now.

Then suddenly it’s over. People are moving about tidying up tubes and monitors and the surgeon is talking to me. Briefly he explains I have disease in 3 of my arteries and I will probably have to undergo a triple bypass as He it not sure stenting would be the best option anymore. I am feeling mixed emotions. On the one hand I feel relief that the Angiogram is over but I am also aware that I have some major obstacles ahead of me. Back at the ward I have to wait four hours before I can be released to go home just in case there are complications. I get a follow up visit from a lady who discusses the net steps with me. I am told that the surgeons get together every other Friday (probably with a pint and a packet of scratchings)  to review each patient and the best course of action needed. I will then be given an appointment through the post to go and discuss with the consultant what will happen next.

As my son drives me home I reflect on the outcome of the day and what I now face. First I realise this is going to be major surgery and second I had better start to Man up to injections. It can’t get any worse than this can it ?…..

To A&E or not to A&E, that is the question

The traumatic events of the week had taken their toll on me both physically and mentally. I had tried to obtain an appointment at the doctors surgery to get the increasingly frequent chest pains checked out but there were no spare slots that day. The doctor had warned me that if the pains didn’t go away then I should call an ambulance. The pains would go eventually but they also came back with very little exertion. I made the decision to call a taxi and pop down to the Queen Elizabeth A&E department, I had just flown across the globe I was dammed if I was going in an ambulance.

Armed with a thick book in preparation for a long wait the taxi driver dropped me off at the hospital. By the time I had walked up the hill from the car park to the A&E department I was in pain again but this time with each step I felt safer. If I was to collapse now they would fix me. After explaining my situation to the receptionist, rather than sitting down to a few chapters of my book I was sent straight down the corridor to the emergency room. Without pause I went from a ECG, blood pressure then to a booth where they wired me to a monitor and a sample of blood was taken. They checked my blood pressure regularly and every now and again a doctor would come and ask me questions. My heart was beating irregular at that time whether it was the arterial  problem or just anxiety I didn’t know. After a short while a porter wheeled me down the corridor to the x-ray department where they took a chest x-ray.

After several hours back in my booth with regular checks I started to feel more relaxed and with it came a growing sense of unease. I felt no pain now but I also felt like I was wasting the doctors time being here. The doctor came around  just after lunch time and we had a short chat, he explained he thought the increase in pain was probably bought on by the stress of the weeks events and I could go home. All through the mornings activities I was assured it was better to be safe than sorry and I had taken the right course of action to be there. There is no doubt that our NHS is stretched to the limit but I doubt there is more dedicated doctors or nurses anywhere in the world…

A Bad Week

Saturday 28th November. less than 24 hrs since the news that I had heart problems and would have to endure a angiogram, the phone rang. It was my sister, Sue, telling me that she had just had news that mom had collapsed from a heart attack . Mom and her friend had been on holiday in Turkey for two weeks and this happened as she was getting on the coach to go to the airport. The medics had started her heart then sent her to Hospital where she was now in intensive care and in a coma. After speaking to the Turkish hospital and discussing the severity of the situation with Sue we decided I needed to fly out there.

Until now I have always ticked the boxes when it comes to travel insurance. This time however there were boxes I couldn’t tick. If you don’t answer truthfully you may as well not take insurance out. one such question ” do you have any undiagnosed symptoms” ?  well…..yes.  The angiogram diagnoses problems and hopefully fixes them at the same time. After some phone calls and discussions between the agent and his supervisor  I secured some travel insurance at 10 times the usual cost.

It’s mid day on Monday 30th November and I’m standing on the platform at New Street station, Birmingham. The pain is there as I’ve been walking to quickly and my thoughts are running away with me. The task I face is daunting and, as I stand waiting I start to question if I’m up to it. I finally make it to Antalya,  Turkey in the early hours the following day after spending 8 hours waiting for a transfer  at Istanbul. I have arranged a transfer from the Airport straight to the Hospital. As we speed through the residential streets in excess of 110 KPH in his battered Peugeot with the metal on metal sound of his brakes, I reflected that any other time this would be scary.

The lady in charge of foreign patients ( Anastasia). informed me I could see Mom shortly,so I sat outside and waited. I like to think of myself as grounded and not overly emotional so I was prepared to see mom in any state. Anastasia lead me down a series of corridors and down stairs to what must have been intensive care. There was a ward with approximately 8 beds all occupied with patients hooked up to machines.  After washing my hands and putting on a face mask they led me over to Moms bed. So much for being strong. All hope immediately vanished and I cried. After a short while I composed myself and forced a few words of comfort out to Mom. Outside the hospital I faced the task of phoning family to tell them of the situation but each time I broke and couldn’t even find the words to hang up.

I walked across the town to find my hotel and checked in. The following day I had a slow walk from the hotel to the hospital. I had found texting was a easier way of communication and didn’t betray my emotions. My eldest son (Sam) had asked if I was eating ok. I realised I hadn’t eaten since the morning of departure and promised I would get something later. This time when I went to see Mom I spent more time with her and spoke more . I watched the heart monitor and listened to her breathing. As I left I stroked her hair, told her I loved her and if she was tired it was ok to go to sleep now.

Later that afternoon I got the phone call I knew was coming. Anastasia asked me to return to the hospital. There was no need for questions. I was shown into the surgeon who had put Stents into Moms arteries in the hope of saving her. He just said simply “It’s over” . He looked a typical family man with a caring face and he expressed his sadness for my loss. We hugged and I thanked him for trying then left. After the emotional phone calls I started walking back but found myself stopping for food. Was this inappropriate or just realising it was over ? who knows.

The journey home was slow and uncomfortable. Sitting in Istanbul’s crowded departure lounge I had pains in my chest and I seriously questioned whether I should board the plane. With the fear that someone would have to come get me if I didn’t, I got on the plane. I was so thankful that my Sister and Brother-in-law picked me up from the Airport back home when I landed on Thursday.  I was tired and emotionally drained but the usual 40 minute drive home took 2 and a half hours due to motorway closures. As we sat in the gridlocked traffic I looked up at the sky waiting for the plague of locusts….

The System

As with any journey you have to start somewhere. I would imagine most people go to see their GP. Some will walk into A&E and some will arrive in a ambulance after a heart attack. For myself, I went to my GP. I’m a firm believer of a “if you give the body enough time it will fix its self” philosophy. As a motorcyclist I fully understand why after a crash the rider will rush over to his bike dragging his severed limb to inspect the damage to his pride and joy. He knows the limb will grow back but the damage to the fuel tank and the bent handle bars will never be the same.

I booked an appointment to see my GP on November 13th 2015.  I figured I needed some sort of antibiotics to make these pains go away. After explaining the location and frequency of the pains I couldn’t help but notice the concerned look on the doctors face. He was not convinced with my “chest infection” theory. I was noticing that this examination was taking considerably more time than the usual 4-5 mins and he kept asking if I had a “tightness ” in my chest. What would you class as tightness? I had a pain in my shoulders chest and upper arms, as if I had over exercised the day before.   After the lengthy consultation the doctor explained he was going to refer me for tests to check my heart out and fit me up with a 24 hr blood pressure monitor. Before I left I was given a prescription for a spray that after 1-2 squirts under the tongue would ease the pain if the “tightness” didn’t go away.

The following week a hospital appointment came through to go see a Doctor Lee at Sandwell General Hospital  on the 27th of November 2015.  On arrival in the cardiac outpatients department my height and weight was taken. I was also sent for a Cardiograph where little sticky pads were stuck to my chest wrists and legs, then wires were clipped on and a reading was taken.  Armed with all this fresh information Doctor Lee called me in to discuss my problems. He asked about my family history and at this point it was only my Father who had died. He was a smoker, drinker and vastly overweight so in truth it was no surprise when he died years ago. He was convinced my problem was in my Arteries and the best course of action was a angiogram. This, he explained was a tube that is inserted into the wrist under a local anaesthetic and pushed up into the chest where a dye was injected through the tube and the results recorded with the use of a x-ray machine. He explained that if they found a narrow artery he should be able to stent ( angioplasty) it there and then. With an estimate of 3-4 weeks to get things sorted and a prescription for four lots of medicine I was sent away to wait for the appointment to come through.

I was now in the system…