It certainly happened to me a couple of weeks ago – and in the process, highlighted some amazing people to me.

Men’s health is a major issue nowadays and we (yes, I like to think of myself as a man rather than a mouse, despite what some think) are regularly told to act on certain ‘symptoms’ which might occur.

Not to be macho and ignore warnings which might come up from time to time.

Well, that was the case with me.

I had some weird feelings in the right side of my chest – not pain, but some severe tightening which lasted for a few hours.

I just happened to mention it to one of my senior female workmates and she said to get myself straight off to hospital.

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ I thought, but ultimately agreed to drive myself up to the place on the hill.

I sat in the car for a few minutes contemplating whether I should or should not take myself in, but finally said, ‘what the heck, if I’m a sook, so be it.’

Well the reaction was rather amazing.

When I presented myself to Emergency and told them of my symptoms, I was quickly taken in, given an aspirin (apparently to thin the blood in case I was having a heart attack) and immediately given an ECG.

Next there was a doctor checking me out, reports of the ECG flying off to a cardiologist (I presume) – things really did happen, and happened quickly!

A couple of phone calls between doctor and cardiologist (again, I presume) and next thing I knew, a decision had been made to take me by ambulance to Orange.

The suggestion was I may have had, was having, or about to have, a heart attack.

What the!

I couldn’t believe it – from a concern about a weird feeling in my chest to be in an ambulance being rushed to Orange.

It was all a bit surreal.

The fuss was just as intensive when we arrived in Orange… questions about my, and my family’s, history, an ECG, cords attached to everywhere!

More ECGs, constant monitoring, oh yes, blood tests, ultra scan.

Truly, it was like something out of a TV show.

No stone was left unturned to ensure I ventured out alive.

One by one, they ruled out every possible ailment until they made the final diagnosis.

I did not have a heart attack, and my heart seemed quite OK.

But I did have an inflammation of the heart and needed complete rest for a couple of weeks.

Hopefully, the problem will not come back again and there will be no complications.

Phew!

I was most impressed with the treatment.

Never again will I have anyone criticise our health system. Perhaps heart problems require this amazing response … that it doesn’t happen every time you go to hospital.

But I have nothing but praise for the people who looked after me – here in the Emergency department, the local Ambulance guys and the doctors, nurses and yes, even the cooking staff, at Orange.

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There were some interesting aspects which came out of the entire experience.

First of all, the urgency with which men must act if they have any concerns at all, especially about their heart.

This has been more than borne out by the sudden deaths of quite a few very young local men in recent months.

I was told during my stay (at least I think I was told, and didn’t dream it) that if a person has not had a heart attack, the brain can warn you in many different ways if you are about to have one.

It could be feelings in the chest, in the arm, in the jaw, the teeth, even the toes.

Almost anything can be a warning – and it should not be ignored.

As one Ambo said to me some years ago, we would much prefer you called in and it was nothing, than wait until you collapse and it is possibly too late to do anything.

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There are always the wags in situations such as this of course.

‘How could you have a heart attack, you don’t even have one.’

‘They did well to find anything, your’s would only be the size of a pea.’

‘They should have checked to see if you had a brain while you were there.’

Ha, ha, very funny!

It was good to see the experience kept some people amused.

But I tell the story to again stress to people, especially men who are always so slow to react, not to feel like a wimp or a sook if they have any concerns or warnings – get yourself up to the hospital as quickly as possible.

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Well, the Big Day has arrived!

It’s Rissole-off time.

It’s hard to believe but we are now into the eighth year of the family rissole cooking championships and this year, we have more combatants than ever.

I can’t wait.

For the uninitiated, what happens is this…

All of the men in the family mix up and make their own rissoles, cook them up well away from the judges (our partners), and then bring them before the judges for adjudication.

It’s quite a battleground among the men, many of whom bring their own barbecues rather than sharing the ones provided – just so their rissoles are not contaminated.

The sledging is also quite profuse and the refreshments free-flowing.

Anyway, once cooked, the rissoles are placed on a plate (which has a number)– and then taken down for judging.

The women (judges) don’t know whose rissole they are sampling, they just have the samples on a plate. They give points out of 10 and after they have tasted all of them (it’s quite a chore because there will be 23 cooks!), the points are tallied.

The cooks all then line up and are eliminated from the last place-getter. As they are eliminated, the men do the ‘walk of shame’ in front of all the other contestants until there is just the one left standing – the champion, and holder of the prestigious Rissole-off Trophy for 12 months.

The pressure is right on the defending champion (who just happens to be moi) as there is only one way to go when you are on top.

But some secret ingredients prised out of some of my fellow patients (a couple of elderly women) while in Orange hospital hopefully will give me the edge I need to remain the champ.

I’ll let you know how it all pans out.

One thing I do know for sure though is a good time will be had by all!

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THOUGHT FOR

THE WEEK:

‘It’s good to be here!’