By Harry Mottram: On August 17th, 2024, I had a heart attack in the middle of the night in my tent. I was taken to Carlisle Infirmary where I was immediately operated on with two stents inserted into my main artery and a clot that was blocking it removed. As one of the medics said at the time ‘you were minutes from death.’
I had been cycling from Land’s End to John O’Groats and after eight days was approaching Carlisle when I felt short of breath and had aches in my elbows and wrists. After cycling hundreds of miles, I assumed it was a mixture of muscle fatigue and exhaustion – it lasted a few minutes, and I sat on a wall and had a drink of water. The same had happened earlier after I stopped in Shap for a coffee at a roadside cafe having crossed the Cumbrian hills – and more importantly I should have recognised the symptoms two days before in Worcestershire after suffering chronic indigestion after eating a sandwich. Each time I dismissed it as the effects of cycling long distances with a body that was simply too tired and too old. How wrong I was.
I have previously written how I had been camping at a farm just outside Carlisle and when I experienced extreme pains first in my elbows and then in my chest. It was about 2am and I was unable to sleep thinking it was muscle pain but as it grew worse, I Googled my symptoms, and the conclusion was a heart attack. I called an ambulance, crawled to the main road, was treated by the crew and admitted to hospital with a suspected heart attack.
I was operated on within a few minutes of being admitted by Mr Shelton who inserted a minute catheter into my groin which fed up to my main artery in the heart which was blocked, he removed the blood clot and then inserted two stents first using a tiny balloon to press the remaining cholesterol to one side of my artery. I was awake all through the operation and perhaps due to the morphine I was given didn’t feel anything – and within minutes of the end of the operation at around 6am on a Saturday morning the chest pains went.
It was a miracle – and a tribute to the skills of the surgeon, the support team of cardiac nurses and doctors that I survived. I was in hospital for six days during which I was informed it was a very serious heart attack and my heart was badly damaged – so much so I felt short of breath due to its pumping capacity down to 30% – dangerously low when it should be at least 50%. I was monitored throughout the day and night by an ever smiling and positive set of nurses and medics who kept pointing to the positives: I was alive.
A week later I was back home having experienced what can only be described as a life changing event with the realisation I would have to adjust my lifestyle to cope with the permanent shortage of breath, dizzy spells when getting up suddenly and feeling underpowered. I no longer had a top gear. Doctor Ahmed at Carlisle Infirmary had prescribed me a number of pills most of which I would need to take for ever. These included Lansoprazole to prevent indigestion and heart burn from the cocktail of drugs, metroprolol to prevent angina, apixaban stop prevent blood clots, the antiplacelet ticagrelor to thin my blood to allow it to flow more easily and prevent clotting, and the statin Atorvastatin widely prescribed to combat high blood cholesterol and prevent heart disease, including heart attacks and strokes. And finally, Ramipril which also prevents future strokes, heart attacks and kidney problems. A month of aspirins was also prescribed meaning that I felt I’d rattle if given a shake. They all have side effects and in general these for me were tiredness and a lack of energy, a continual runny nose as though I was getting a cold, a loss of appetite and an extra feeling of grottiness the day after the rare times I had wine. Before I could exist on five hours of sleep but now seven or more is essential or the following day is a struggle.
For people who have a heart condition or have had a stroke or a heart attack this will all sound familiar, but for me it was a whole new world and a huge shock. As indeed were the condition of my fellow patients in hospital who were mainly elderly but also in the outpatient’s department at the BRI in Bristol they included some young and healthy-looking people.
Initially I was in shock – and it has taken weeks to come to terms with the fact I can’t seem to run around Cheddar Reservoir every morning but must walk slowly instead and have the odd day off from exercise. The cardiac team in Carlisle emphasized exercise was vital to regain some semblance of health. In fact, the cardiac nurse said her problem was getting people with a heart condition to exercise at all, as so many give up and sit on the sofa in the mistaken belief exercise will bring on a heart attack.
Losing weight and changing my diet was also important coming out of hospital. The cycle ride had already caused me to shed a few pounds but with no fry ups, beer, chips, crisps, bacon sarnies and my daily bar of chocolate I managed to fit into shirts and trousers long since abandoned at the back of the wardrobe as I dropped from close to 15 stone to nearly 13 with more to shift to get rid of all the wobbly bits.
This all sounds very positive and it is but there’s no mistaking the fear and worry a heart attack brings. The statistics are not encouraging with one in four men of my age suffering similar heart damage having a second attack or stroke within 90 days and many of them not recovering. In two years, more will be visited by the grim reaper and by five years the survival rate is depressingly low. It preys on your mind and has an unwanted sobering effect forcing you to think about your life and what time you have left. I had to cancel holidays that meant flying abroad and plumped for Tenby instead with Linda as it was less stressful and well… I love Wales. I did something I hadn’t even considered: I wrote a will and began to rationalize what I did in an average week including earning a living as a freelance journalist. Coming on top of a near fatal road crash in May it is no understatement to say it’s been a rollercoaster of a year with my family and Linda in particular put under a huge amount of anxiety and stress. I certainly wouldn’t recommend it.
Looking back the morning fry up, plenty of alcohol and a modest amount of tobacco some years ago have all played their part as well as my age of 68 – but as everyone says it seems odd when I take so much exercise. The explanation is in part genetic according to the doctors as my father Kenneth Mottram died of a heart attack in 1978 at the age of 71. However the surgeon who saved my life in Carlisle said it was a piece of cholesterol that had detached from the artery wall and was attacked by my blood cells forming a clot which he then removed. Clearly it was a combination of all of these factors that led to that 999 phone call in a field in Cumbria in the early hours of a Saturday in August.
My first priority now is to survive the first 90 days since my heart attack and then to still be alive by the New Year. And at some stage in the future to see if I can’t complete my cycle ride to John O’Groats – preferably without having to dial 999.
About Harry Mottram
Harry is a freelance journalist and editor, a playwright and occasional actor. Follow him on Facebook, LinkedIn, Twitter, Instagram, YouTube etc
Email:harryfmottram@gmail.com
Website:www.harrymottram.co.uk
Mobile: 07789 864769
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