From another perspective

As part of his blog, Nick has asked me to write something telling you about his cardiac arrest from my perspective.

Whenever anyone asks me about what happens, I will always tell them and answer questions that they may have - I get asked about it a lot, even now. I’ve had people comment that they are surprised that I can tell the story with ease or be matter-of-fact about it. I’ve reflected on this and I think that by being factual, it’s the only way I can talk about it without breaking down, but I can assure you, every time I tell the story, I go right back to that time and relive it as if it was yesterday.

I apologise now for the length of this. When Nick asked me I was hesitant about whether I would write this or not but I want to be there for him and I’m only going to do this once! So lets begin…..

I can remember exactly the moment when I knew something was wrong.

I was due to be on the mainland for work that day but the meeting got cancelled so I was working from home. Nick had taken Henry to nursery and it started off as a normal day. Obviously, we did have concerns about Nick at the time due to him having pains and the cancellation of the CT scan the day before, but I never thought that a cardiac arrest was in our future.

I was working away when I got a phone call from Dan (Nick's friend and colleague)….."Mich, is Nick coming in today, he was due for a meeting but he’s not here"….. "No he left for work as normal" ….. "Mich, he’s not here" then it hit me….something had happened - we both realised it. “I’ve got to go” and hung up the phone.

My immediate response was to call the Nursery and check that he and Henry were both ok. I was told that Henry was there and Nick had left as normal. Next thoughts….he’s had a car crash. I rang his dad who said he would drive the route to see if he could see anything. Still, even at this point, a problem with his heart didn’t even enter my head. While I was waiting I rang the hospital, gave them Nick’s name and asked if he’d been brought in. “Mrs Dover, he’s had a cardiac arrest, you need to get here now” I rang Martin, he came and got me, we got his mum and raced to the hospital, even overtaking cars and going through a red light (sorry not sorry). We got to the hospital and they ushered us into a side room in A&E. The head Consultant came in and told us that he was brought in after having a cardiac arrest, they had to give him a defibrillate shock twice to restart his heart. The details were vague but their main concern was the lack of oxygen to his brain and they were transferring him to ICU to be kept in a coma to stabilise the brain function. It was at its lowest point. The Consultant kept talking to me directly instead of his mum and dad and all I could think of was how odd that was. Why was I the main person he was talking to? Weird thought probably but I remember thinking then and throughout the week when everyone was directing news to me was, if this was Henry, there’s no way that I would let anyone speak to someone else before me - strange what goes through your mind at times of crisis isn’t it.

Before he went to ICU we were allowed to see him and it felt like an out-of-body experience. I remember not really being able to look at him or when I did, it didn’t feel like it was really him. I don’t think I can really articulate how that felt but I remember seeing on the board “40-year-old male” and I asked if that referred to Nick, which it did and my response was laughter and that he’s not going to be happy with that when he finds out. Even then I don’t think I really realised how serious everything was.

As we started telling people what was happening it did start to feel more real, but we still didn’t know what was happening as the ‘settling him in to ICU’ took hours. Again, we were in a room - me, Jan, Martin, Lou and Tim with the Consultant and a Nurse and they were directing what they needed to say to me. They told us that Nick was being kept in a coma and that he wasn’t breathing by himself. The next 24 hours were critical and that we needed to prepare for the worst. It was highly likely we would need to make the decision to turn off the machines or, if he did come out of the coma, to expect catastrophic brain damage. Some friends were waiting outside of the room and they described the sound that they heard coming from me inside the room was something that they never heard before.

I remember running out of there and collapsing into my friend Kier’s arms and just sobbing. How could we go from a normal family and everyday life to one of uncertainty in less than 12 hours. What was I going to tell Henry, how was I going to explain this to him. He’s only 3 years old - why

That night, Jan, Martin and I stayed at the hospital, taking it in turns to be by his side. We slept - I say slept, even when it wasn’t ‘our turn’ there was no sleeping, in the waiting room. That night was one of the longest of my life - sounds like a cliche I know but it really was. I googled everything - cardiac arrest statistics, how to care for someone with a disability (even though at that stage I didn’t even know what that would look like). I thought about everything, what are we going to do for money, I’m going to have to quit my job to care for Nick, funeral expenses, how am I going to afford to keep our house and the worst thoughts - how am I going to live without him, how am I going to tell Henry, what is going to happen to him growing up without a dad. Basically everything you can imagine went through my head.

The next couple of days were long but the support we had was unbelievable. So many people turned up to just be there. We were constantly asked if we needed anything. If I asked for a Coke - I got a pack of 12, we even had a bolognese brought up to us. I had so much support looking after Henry and as much as I wanted to be at Nick’s side around the clock, I also had to be mum and make sure Henry had me as well - the guilt and the pull between both of them was incredibly difficult.

After 24 hours they tried to bring him out of his coma - it didn’t work. He needed longer….another 24 hours wait having no clue what direction my life was going to take. Then 48 hours after it happened (Valentines Day - anything to get out of buying a present) they tried again. This time, after what felt like hours, they gradually brought him round and when he saw us, he smiled. Nick was back and he recognised us. I didn’t realise at the time but the Nurses were stood behind their station holding hands and watching - they weren’t expecting to have a positive result. His recovery was amazing and he came round very quickly and knew answers to questions. Another guilt point - I promised Henry that I would pick him up from nursery that day. He was asking why I hadn’t been and asked me to so I made a promise to him that I would . Even though he didn’t know what was happening, things weren’t normal for him and he needed his mummy. After about an hour of Nick being brought out of a coma, I had to leave. Apparently, as I left Nick told his dad that he was going to marry me. He couldn’t remember that we were already married. Can you imagine if he said “dad who is she?” or “Dad, I finished with her months ago” As soon as Martin told him though, he remembered - thankfully.

It was concluded that there was no catastrophic brain damage but there was some immediate memory loss. One of the funniest (if you can have funny moments during a time like this) was that evening when it was just me, Nick and Kier. We were talking then Nick says “lets go for a coffee” “Babe, you can’t have a coffee” “Motherfucker!!!” (Yes Nick had quite a potty mouth during this time), conversation continues - Nick: “Lets go for a coffee” “Babe, you can’t have a coffee” “Motherfucker!!” this carried on quite a long time that Kier and I couldn’t help but laugh. The funniest thing was that when I told the consultant he informed me that he could have a coffee if he wanted!!

On the Friday, ICU felt happy that he could be transferred to the Cardiac Unit for observation until he had to be moved to Queen Alexander Hospital on Monday for testing - oh yes, at that point, they had no idea what was wrong with his heart! We limited his visits there as much as possible - not because we didn’t appreciate the outpouring of support and love we had but because as you an imagine, it was really tiring for him. It didn’t stop him messaging his aunt on his dad’s phone asking her to bring him sweets. Due to the memory loss he was having, he couldn’t remember why he was there and became extremely distressed when he was told as you can imagine. The memory loss also meant that he was happily messaging people having conversations with no clue of what had happened. These messages also included one thread to me asking me to move in with him and that we could talk it through over a MacDonalds (lucky me!!) Explaining to him the next day that we didn’t have two houses to sell and buy one ‘mega house’ (his words not mine) left him with a bemused look on his face as he had no idea what I was talking about.

Move forward to Monday - 6 days after ‘the event!’

Martin and I made our way to Portsmouth, not knowing how long we would be there for. We met Nick at the hospital and he very quickly was taken down for tests. Another anxious wait started but we eventually spoke to the Consultant. Nick had a 90% blockage in his major left artery, they call it they widow maker as it’s rare to survive. They had fitted him with a stent and was happy that this was the cause. There was discussion about having a defibrillator fitted but decided that it wasn’t necessary. The Consultant was happy and that he was happy for him to come home the next day for me to look after him. Immediate panic went through my head - how was I supposed to care for him, what do I do, I hadn’t even brought any clothes over for him so needed to buy him things. I was scared but I wouldn’t let it show to him, I had to be strong for my boys and all I could do was my best.

The next day we brought him home and that first night I don’t think I kept my eyes off him, what if it happened again. I had to have faith that they had ‘fixed him’ and all would be ok. The next few weeks was recovery, I didn’t want him to leave my sight, I had a tracker on his phone that I’d literally stare at constantly when other people took him out (I think I was driving him mad) and it was hard gradually having to trust - trust him driving again, trust that he was going to be ok, trust him being with Henry on his own - my fear was what if something happened when he was on his own with him. It was an extremely hard time but I was also on auto pilot that it wasn’t for months afterwards when Nick opened up to me about how he was feeling and I reacted still on auto pilot that I knew I needed help myself - which I have had and it helped me process the trauma

There’s so much else I could write about, other little stories, outpouring of thanks to all that was there for me and my family. To Brigette that carried out CPR until the ambulances arrived, I could go on, but words aren’t enough to really convey how I feel about you all. The professionals - it amazed me how skilled they were on such long hours and the investment they have into their patients - the nurse looking after Nick on that first night cried when she saw him - she didn’t think that he was going to make it, but she didn’t show it on her face for one second.

The mental health battle has been hard. Understandably it’s taken a long time for Nick to trust his body again - every niggle and pain resulted in a reaction of ‘it’s happening again’. I’ve tried to be as strong as I can and I hope that I’ve helped with that but my husband is stronger than he realises and he needs all the credit for getting himself to this stage and it will always be a continual journey

I think to end this story I want to write about my reflections. I’ve had a lot of people ask me ‘do you now live each day to the full’. Honestly, no. As much as I think that’s a very ideal and positive way to live, every day life, work, bills, parent life etc means that you can’t always live each day to it’s fullest - but what I can do is appreciate it more. However, that also feels like a double edged sword because I do live (in a very small way) my life in fear. That naivety of ‘it won’t happen to us’ has gone and my family was close to being ripped to pieces in an instant that I don’t think I can ever truly get over that. My mum died when I was 9 and one of my biggest fears is that something will happen to me that means that I won’t get to watch my children grow up. That they will grow up without their mum and the emotional trauma and experiences that that brings - I still live with that fear. I would never have imagined that it was almost their dad being taken away from them and I never want to be in that situation again.

So let's fast forward nearly 4 years - life is great. We moved house, we went on to have another amazing son and two incredible boys that blow us away every day. Nick’s completed his first marathon back and I feel that this in itself closed a chapter that we were all looking for to be closed

To quote one of Nick’s favourite movies ‘The night is darkest before the dawn’ and I can honestly say that I think we’ve reached that dawn (even though saying that scares me living with a continual fear)...