This is where the tale starts to get really serious.
During July, Ann had been in touch with Dr E again about the continued chest pain and he had arranged a stress echocardiogram for Tuesday 18th August to check the cardiac circulation. The intention was to follow that with a repeat angiogram if necessary to demonstrate that the cause of the chest pain lay elsewhere. Dr E advised Ann to stop taking her beta blockers a few days before the echo. The first dose she didn’t take was Saturday evening, 15th August.
That same evening, we joined some friends for a curry at a restaurant in Market Weighton. Our table wasn’t ready when we arrived and so we all took a seat in the waiting area. A few minutes after we arrived, Ann experienced a very severe arrhythmia episode. This was only an hour or two after the beta blocker dose had been due so that is very unlikely to be the primary cause.
There was a partial loss of consciousness (her head fell to her chest and she started to slide out of her chair). She was experiencing violent palpitations, clammy skin and central chest pain. It was patently obvious that there was a very serious problem with Ann’s heart. It was terrifying.
An ambulance was immediately called. An emergency responder was there in a couple of minutes, followed by a paramedic and then the ambulance itself. The speed of their arrival was extremely impressive and all the paramedics were calm, professional and caring. I couldn’t fault them.
Ann was treated for 25 minutes at the scene and then rushed to the ED at Hull Royal Infirmary. I rode with her in the ambulance.
There, she was taken straight through to a cubicle in Majors where blood was taken for the inevitable Troponin test and she had the first of a number of ECGs. At the time of the ECG, her heartbeat was pretty much back to normal and, of course, the Troponin test was clear.
I was allowed to join her in the cubicle after waiting 90 minutes in the lobby. Ann was NOT attached to a heart monitor – then or at any time during her stay in the hospital – even though there was one right beside her bed. It would have taken just two minutes to attach her to the potentially life-saving machine but they simply didn’t bother – even though she had experienced a potentially life-threatening tachycardia episode the last time she had been there in identical circumstances.
It is worth labouring the point here that Ann had been rushed in with a KNOWN diagnosis of arrhythmia. As such, she was at far more risk of a cardiac arrest than a heart attack. The two are completely different. Arrhythmia is by its very nature, irregular and episodic. If you take an ECG, it is most likely that you won’t see it at all. Troponin levels are generally unaffected (Ann has never had an abnormal Troponin result). These test are appropriate for heart attack, not for a patient at risk from cardiac arrest – other than for elimination purposes. It was right that these tests were done because Ann did have chest pain, but to leave it at that?! Ridiculous.
The following passage comes from the British Heart Foundation website:
“What’s the difference between a heart attack and cardiac arrest?
Although a heart attack can lead to a cardiac arrest, they are not the same thing.
A heart attack is a sudden interruption to the blood supply to part of the heart muscle. It is likely to cause chest pain and permanent damage to the heart. The heart is still sending blood around the body and the person remains conscious and is still breathing.
A cardiac arrest occurs when the heart suddenly stops pumping blood around the body. Someone who is having a cardiac arrest will suddenly lose consciousness and will stop breathing or stop breathing normally. Unless immediately treated by CPR this always leads to death within minutes”.
The most common cause of cardiac arrest is not a heart attack, but arrhythmia. At least 75,000 people die in the UK each year as a result. Ann had experienced a dangerous episode of arrhythmia – very probably ventricular tachycardia – and she was at risk of cardiac arrest. Only one in ten people survive an out of hospital cardiac arrest. It was essential that Ann’s condition received medical attention. It could be a matter of life and death.
What Ann needed (as demonstrated by the insightful Dr A at Ann’s first ED visit) was constant monitoring and vigilance because arrhythmia can suddenly change from completely absent to life-threatening in the blink of an eye.
Constant monitoring and vigilance is exactly what Ann didn’t get.
In fact, she didn’t even get seen by a doctor.
On Ann’s first admission, they had done everything right even though there was no previous history. This time, they were doing everything wrong even though they knew of her arrhythmia.
After we had been there a couple of hours, I tried to raise the complete absence of medical attention with a member of the ED staff behind the desk. I approached someone, a nurse presumably, sitting there at his keyboard and stood in front of him waiting for him to raise his head and acknowledge my existence. He decided to ignore me. His eyes remained stubbornly fixed on whatever it was he was doing on his computer screen. By staying there, I tried to make it clear that I would wait it out. He on the other hand was going to continue to ignore me even though it was blatantly obvious I was waiting for the traditional “Can I help you?”
Suffice to say, even after I said “Excuse me please” a number of times, he continued to act as if I simply didn’t exist. In the end, I had no chance but to walk away – which was exactly what he wanted me to do of course.
Rudeness like that takes enormous effort. Going out of your way not to help someone in genuine need goes beyond negligent to plain nasty.
Meanwhile, across the hall, a prisoner who was hand-cuffed to his trolley was able to continue to make obscene gestures towards Ann – including simulated masturbation – with impunity for hours on end in full view of the staff. No-one closed the curtain on either cubicle. No consideration was shown by any member of the nursing or medical teams. No one gave a damn about the obvious distress it was causing.
I can’t begin to describe my frustration and anger. I knew perfectly well that Ann was seriously ill and I simply couldn’t believe that she was being completely ignored. The entire scene was beyond comprehension.
Midnight came and went. I made a number of further attempts to get help but without success. It was only when I had had enough of being ignored and explained very loudly that my sick wife hadn’t even been seen by a doctor after four hours in the unit that someone finally looked up and, grudgingly went off to find us a medic.
Dr G arrived a few minutes later (and four hours after Ann entered the Majors Unit) radiating indifference. Clearly irritated that she had been summoned, she explained that the Troponin levels were normal so Ann hadn’t had a heart attack – which of course we knew already.
We explained again about Ann’s history of arrhythmia and the serious episode in the restaurant when she had partially lost consciousness but despite this, Dr G still didn’t see fit to attach Ann to the monitor which sat unused just a few feet away. She did eventually contact cardiology and asked for a cardiologist to see Ann – or so she told me. She also told me that the cardiologist had refused to see Ann and, presumably, gave his recommendations based on their telephone conversation. Those recommendations apparently didn’t include a heart monitor for a dangerously ill arrhythmia patient. Or perhaps Dr G just ignored the recommendations. Or perhaps she never sought any.
Those who have read the earlier chapters will know that The Cardiology Department in this Trust is about 6 miles away at Castle Hill Hospital in Cottingham. More often than not, there are no cardiologists on hand at Hull Royal. I assume that this was also the case on this occasion. Hard to believe I know, but that is how it is. Perhaps the cardiologist didn’t fancy the drive over. We will never know.
Either way, the monitor stayed dormant right beside us.
Throughout our brief exchanges, Dr G was curt bordering on the aggressive and displayed all the compassion of Attila the Hun. She really was very unpleasant and seemed to me to be trying to make us feel like we were wasting her valuable time.
It was becoming a familiar pattern. Ann’s outward healthy appearance was becoming a real problem. That, and arrogance. Arrogance that makes medical staff assume that you are exaggerating, mistaken or making it up. Arrogance that labels patients as time wasters.
I know of course that an ED on a Saturday night/Sunday morning is Hell on Earth. I think it must be extremely tough to work in that environment and I have every sympathy with the staff. I was later assured that Dr G is a very capable, experienced and conscientious doctor and that her behaviour that night was very out of character. I don’t doubt it. BUT, there was absolutely no excuse for what was happening to us. None whatsoever.
As the medical team had chosen not to look for any arrhythmia, they couldn’t possibly find any and so Ann was transferred during the night from Majors to AMU (the Acute Monitoring Unit – one step down in the urgency chain) and eventually to ACU (the Ambulatory Care Unit – two steps down and for the walking wounded as the name suggests) at 9.00am.
At midday on the Sunday, Ann saw the senior registrar who asked Ann to wait and see the cardiologist. However, as the previous night, the on-duty cardiologist (presumably still back at Castle Hill) once more failed to turn up to see her.
I went to ACU to collect Ann just after lunch. There, we asked to see a doctor to express our concern at the lack of monitoring and complete absence of treatment following last night’s emergency admission. Instead, we sat down in a private area with one of the senior nurses. The nurse told us that the cardiologist had concluded that Ann’s problems were not heart-related. Quite a conclusion when the cardiologist hadn’t even bothered to examine the patient!
“Not heart related? What about that tachycardia? What about the Arrhythmia history? That’s bullshit!” I said angrily – and the nurse actually threatened to have me thrown out for swearing!
God give me strength!
Eventually, the nurse fetched one of the registrars to hear our concerns. Ann asked what she should do about the Bisoprolol given that she was being discharged with continued chest pain and arrhythmia. He told her that if she could tolerate the symptoms, then she could continue to go without the beta blockers so that her scheduled echo with Dr E could go ahead as planned. In the meantime, he prescribed GTN tablets (glyceryl trinitrate – a vasodilator used to treat angina, which Ann didn’t have) and with that, Ann was discharged – by a gastroenterologist (Yes, really, a doctor specialising in the digestion) – and we were sent to the hospital pharmacy to collect the prescription.
It was closed, naturally. We got the tablets at ASDA.
Five hours later, Ann had a cardiac arrest.
She had decided to take a bath before dinner to unwind from her dreadful experience. I was in the study (which is also upstairs) and when she was ready to get out, she called me saying that she was feeling a bit light-headed and was worried she might slip. So I went to help her get out safely.
As she climbed out with my arms under hers, she suddenly said she was going to pass out so I started to lower her onto the WC. There, the colour simply drained from her and she put her hand to her chest saying “Oh my God! My heart’s going crazy. My heart’s going crazy!”
Then she died.
She went limp and started to slide off the toilet. I held her there, half on and half off the loo, a floppy, dead weight. I could see that she was already changing colour. Her face and especially her lips were already going grey-blue and her whole body was getting paler. Her eyes were wide open, staring into nothing, her pupils were fixed and fully dilated. Big black holes. For some strange reason, it was her tongue that distressed me the most. Her jaw was slack, her mouth wide open and her tongue was fully lolling out of her mouth and hanging down the side of her jaw. It was like the worst possible nightmare – and believe me, it has been the subject of many nightmares since. I shall take that image with me to the grave.
I had seen a few people die and I knew exactly what I was seeing. I felt utter, undiluted terror!
I picked her up and gently lowered her to the floor. She just lay there, naked, dripping wet – completely inanimate.
“She can’t be dead, she can’t be dead” my mind was screaming at me. “Check if she’s breathing! Make sure she has a clear airway!”
I put a towel under her neck to maintain an airway. Her chest wasn’t moving at all. I put my face up to hers. No air movement. Not a sound. No breathing at all. Nothing!
“Check for a pulse!” my sub-conscious shouted. There was no pulse at her wrist. I tried the carotid pulse at the neck (not that I knew the right place to check). Nothing. I listened to her chest. Nothing. No heartbeat. No breaths. Sometimes when she was in tachycardia, the pulse is so fast you can barely feel it. I concentrated and tried again to find a ‘thready’ pulse. Nothing. Not a glimmer.
She had gone.
Oh my God! Oh my God!!
“Please don’t leave me. Please don’t leave me, I’m not ready!” Not the voice in my head this time, but me screaming at the top of my voice as the tears poured down my face. “Don’t leave me. I’m not ready. Don’t leave me!” I couldn’t stop saying it.
Ann did a CPR course every year as part of her job and she had insisted on teaching me the basics but it had been ages. Would I remember? I knew it was the only option I had left. What should I do, call 999 or give CPR? You’re supposed to have two people, one to make the call and one to do the CPR.
Oh shit shit shit! Decision! Decision!
Either way, I was going to need a phone which meant leaving her. How could I leave her like that – cold, wet, naked, dead. On the floor. Alone. No choice! I sprinted to the study and grabbed a phone. Back to the bathroom, threw the phone on the floor. How long had it been? One minute, two minutes? Probably just one. She was a horrible colour. The tongue was still hanging down the side of her face. The eyes were still staring – huge black pupils.
Pure terror. “Don’t leave me. Please don’t leave me!”
Decision made. CPR first before it’s too late, then call 999. They’ll be able to tell me if I’m doing anything wrong.
So I did what she had taught me.
And bless her, she came back to me. She blinked at me and took a huge breath. The colour flooded back into her lifeless body. More tears, this time tears of unmitigated joy.
“I have to call 999!”
She looked at me. Blinked again.
“I have to call 999”
“Why am I on the floor?” Oh God, she can talk! Utter joy and stratospheric relief!
“Oh fuck, I actually did it!”
“I have to call 999!”
“You’ve just arrested for crying out loud, I have to call 999”
“Arrested? ….No! I’m not going back there!”
“For God’s sake, you just had a bloody cardiac arrest!”
“I… AM…. NOT… GOING… BACK… TO… THAT… PLACE!”
We actually argued. Me on my knees with tears still streaming down my face and her on her back on the floor having just cheated death. We had a row. She had been treated so badly at the ED that she was refusing to go back even when her life probably depended on it. It was the most surreal scene I could ever have imagined. I wanted to laugh out loud at the ridiculousness of it all. And the relief. I desperately wanted to laugh my head off in relief.
To this day, I have no idea whatsoever why I took any notice of Ann’s plea not to call the ambulance but I didn’t make the call. Can you believe that?! Ann insisted that I called our dear friends instead (the ones who had been at the restaurant 48 hours earlier) and I actually did as I was told. Looking back, it seems insane but my mind was in turmoil. I wasn’t capable of a rational decision. I needed calmer heads in the room.
Fortunately, our friends were there in minutes. As soon as they let themselves in I quickly explained what had happened and my friend called 999 immediately.
The first responder was there perhaps three minutes later, then a paramedic and finally the ambulance all arrived extremely quickly. Together, they treated Ann where she lay for the best part of half an hour. Finally, they got her stable, got her into some clothes and took her back to the ED with me at her side.
I have to say that the all the paramedics that have attended Ann on all three call-outs (there’s still one to come) have been utterly outstanding. The combination of expertise, calmness and even humour is such a welcome boost when you are at your most scared and vulnerable. I cannot praise them enough.
They should give lessons to doctors.
On arrival at the ED this time, Ann was a ‘return-within-24-hours’ so she was spoiling the hospital statistics. As a result, there was a complete transformation in attitude upon our arrival at the ED.
Ann was admitted straight into Resus and the contrast in care compared to 24 hours earlier could not have been more dramatic. Obviously, the first thing they did was attach Ann to a cardiac monitor.
The consultant, Dr H in Resus that night was nothing short of heroic. Professional, calm and yet still managing to be funny, he was looking after Ann as well as a poor girl in the cubicle opposite who had survived an attempted suicide jump from the Humber Bridge with appalling multiple injuries. Her back was broken in two places, she had a ruptured spleen that needed urgent surgery and a dislocated shoulder plus God knows what else they hadn’t found yet.
Ann was stable thanks to the ambulance crew so Dr H’s priority was the seriously ill young woman across the corridor but he still found time to keep us updated and visited Ann regularly. If you’re reading this Dr H and remember that night, thank you so very much for everything that you did. The Trust needs many more like you.
This time there was no question, the transfer to Castle Hill that should have happened the day before and could have prevented the cardiac arrest would happen this time. I was sent home just before 4.00am when they were satisfied that Ann was out of immediate danger and she was transferred back to Castle Hill Cardiology CMU soon after.
When I got home, I was exhausted. Numb.
It was already daylight. I noticed for the first time the muddy footprints from the front door to the bathroom left by the paramedics. The place was a mess. Upstairs, wet towels and Ann’s clothes were scattered where they had been thrown out of the bathroom whilst they treated her. The little clear plastic peel-off patches from the ECG electrodes and defibrillator pads seemed to be everywhere. I don’t know why, but I couldn’t bring myself to clear up. The mess stayed there for the best part of two weeks. I just couldn’t touch it.
The debris of the emergency. It brought home to me how very close I had come to losing my soul mate, lover and best friend. How must Ann be feeling? Alone in the hospital again. Scared? She must have been terrified. Angry that they had brought her to this? Definitely.
I decided to have a shower to see if that would miraculously wash the awful emotions away. After a minute, I just collapsed into the shower tray. There I lay, curled up into a ball, sobbing uncontrollably until the hot water tank was exhausted and the cold water forced me to move again and make my way to bed for a couple of hours sleep.
Would this mean that the ordeal was nearly at an end? Surely now, they would have to make her well?
But it wasn’t at an end.
Ann’s ordeal had barely started.
Go straight to Chapter Five