I seem to be attending an awful lot of hospital and doctor appointments lately. Don’t be concerned, I am not becoming unwell again – in fact, some of the recent medical visits have revealed that I am healthier now, than I have been for many years. Despite receiving encouraging news, a trip to the hospital or a GP surgery is rarely a pleasant experience.

Today, I was summoned to the Cardiac Centre. This is on the top floor of the hospital – up three flights of stairs, where it has been for as long as I can remember.

The location of the unit has always amused me. Back in 2003, when I took my first job as an employee of the hospital, I thought it strange how all these patients with dodgy tickers were being forced to climb so many stairs, in order to receive medical treatment. I wondered how many would find it all too much and fail in their ascent to the highest-reaches of the main building.

Of course, lots of cardiac patients can climb many flights of stairs without any difficulties whatsoever. I can’t. My excuse is that it is, in fact, my back, which has buggered any dreams I may have once had of becoming a mountaineer, not my heart. I think that my mobility scooter would object to taking me up stairs, anyway.

There is a lift, so in reality, it wouldn’t matter if the Cardiac Centre was located on the 3rd or 303rd floor!

My reason for my appointment was to attend an ultrasound scan. Some of you may just associate such treatment with pregnant women. Well done! Ultrasound scans are taken during pregnancy – however, men can have them too, and I’m not just referring to Arnold Schwarzenegger in the film, Junior.

After getting my torso covered in jelly, which I was assured is neither edible or fruit flavoured, the radiologist placed a handheld device into the jelly on my chest.

Meanwhile, her colleague, another radiologist enquired into my well-being. She had performed a similar ultrasound scan on me, 16 months ago, when I was very poorly on the Intensive Care Unit.

Despite having a familiar face, I can’t say that I remembered her – although during my short spell on ITU, I must have seen almost a hundred clinicians (at least it felt like that), so I think I can be excused for not recalling her – and if you still don’t think that’s an adequate reason, my body was trying its best not to die. Remembering the details of total strangers, on the off-chace that our paths may cross again, years later, was not highest on my list of priorities as a lay hooked up to all manner of machinery.

I suspect that the radiologist remembered me for the same reason other hospital staff often appeared shocked when we first met – my age. At 37 (36 while in ITU), my days of being youthful are long gone – however, compared to most of the patients on the wards, where I stayed – I was half their age.

The scan must not have lasted more than 15 minutes. I remained seated on my scooter for the entire procedure. Probably a good thing – after a day in the office, I was tired, and had I been placed on a bed, I would have probably fallen asleep. The scooter isn’t the best thing to rest on, so I was pleased when the scan was all over and I could ride off into the sunset (hospital corridor).

In case you were wondering, the jelly was cleaned from my chest and stomach. I did consider asking for it to be left on my upper body – it would make a nice dessert, with some ice cream, once I had arrived home. Then I remembered that the jelly was apparently flavourless. What’s more, we only have Vienetta in the freezer – that does NOT go with ice cream! I made the right decision.

Oh, and most important of all, the ultrasound scan of my heart revealed no problems – a sharp contrast to summer 2018.

After that news, I feel like I could take on a marathon… I’m rather partial to a Snickers bar with my morning coffee.