The Battle For Everything

I have held my silence long enough I suppose. Well, not so much out of dereliction or negligence, but I was in need of time to wrap my head around these recent events which have left me feeling like I have no idea about the direction my life is taking me. Now I write, so that I may have them arranged in my mind, and I can say to myself, I have addressed it.

I left KK in early November. Returning to Kerteh meant a reacquaintance with its quirks, client requirements and generally, the feeling of being knocked back to the stone aged provinciality it so proudly is. One of those quirky client requirements is the Offshore Passport, a duplicitous medical check placed upon all offshore workers in order to be deemed fit for offshore installation work. Why they have imposed it on pilots in Kerteh who already have a special to profession aircrew medical, I do not know and my speculations are not polite. But, we are mere wage earners, and we merely comply.

And so I lined up at the clinic, with all manner of other folk to get my offshore passport medical check done. All seemed to go well, except that the doctor raised the matter of my age being past 60 years, and that I would require a stress test. I wasn't particularly peturbed, being a cyclist  and all, so I booked myself into a cardiologist's clinic in Kuantan at first, but the initial results and the dodgy old cantankerous cardiologist made me decide on seeking a second opinion in my neighbourhood private hospital in Seremban.

I was put with a nice young Chinese doctor who had cut his teeth in Institut Jantung Negara, no less. On the treadmill, right up to Stage Three, I was joking and bantering with the cardiac technician at 100% heart rate. When it was over, the cardiologist looked grimly at the graphical printout and sat me down for a chat. I had a feeling this wasn't going so well. He seemed concerned about the curvature on a particular line on the graph which he suspected indicated an abnormality in recovery speed from stress, which in turn, he linked to a possible blockage. He suggested an angiogram, and said he could arrange it for the morrow. So it was an early dinner that night, no favourite soju and no breakfast in the morning.

Early the next day, there I was on the table, fully aware of the wire going through my wrist and snaking its way into my heart. The cardiologist kept me briefed on each stage of the procedure, interspersed with his attempts at humorous banter with his nurses, up to the point when the warm dye was injected into my heart. After that they were quiet for a while, and I heard them conferring in hushed tones. I braced myself for the news.

Yes I had a serious blockage in my left anterior descending cardiac artery, exceeding 70%. They moved immediately for the angioplasty. Initially, the balloon didn't crack the calcification so the used a bladed balloon. The stent they put in was quite long too, at 36mm. Ah, never do anything in halves, right?

I was in the operating theatre for almost 2 hours. I am aware I caused a handful of people much worry. But such is the way things are when life chnges in a flash. I was warded in their ICU for a night to be monitored, and the next day was subjected to another examination. Bloodwork was fair and the ultrasound showed my heart was functioning at 70%. If it wasn't for the six months mandatory medical leave and Decrease In Medical Fitness I had to declare to my licensing authority, I could have gone for another stress test in two weeks and tried to get my flying life back on track. Yes I am exaggerating but it's to describe the frustration of having no choice but to sit tight.

Alright, so I have joined the Stent Club now. Once you've done it, then you find out how many people you know have had a stent placement too. And it seems to be fairly common. It's not a prestigous club, but it has many members carrying on noiselessly with their lives.

Of course, in keeping with international civil aviation law, I am immediately suspended from exercising the privileges of my pilot's license, and cannot be considered for review in less than six months from the day of treatment, which was 15th November.

How I see it is this: I am not going to swing into action and double down on my books with the idea that when the hiatus is over, I will be able to mesh seamlessly into the flying world as if I had never left. I am grounded not because of a violation of company procedure or policy, but because I had a cardiac event.

And that is surely a message from the universe to step back a minute. The other senior pilots who had gon through this were encouraging of one thing alone: that I should take it easy for a while. Perhaps for many years I had been pushing too hard. Both in military service and civil life, I have had to chase uphill in both careers, if I can call them those. I was never particularly gifted, and the demographical barriers were constant, therefore pushing against the club members of the pressure groups which exist in these corridors was the only way I could take a step forward at a time though I often felt I was regressing. 

I am listening to the universe speak. I must back off for a while. I must rebuild my physical fitness and resilience. Also and especially since the kids are all employed, I must stop taking life too seriously, champing furiously at the bit. The battle for everything is over. I must now live for myself and for those whom I love.

This means, we're going riding!