I’d stayed because I felt sorry for him, he’d have been hopeless on his own. He was often ill and suffered from depression, and couldn’t keep a job down in the end. I was his north star. Quite a responsibility. He tried in his own way, and he was good with the kids, but I’d left it too late to leave. I couldn’t do it, and in the end I found a way to live with him, mainly by pursuing interests out of the house and keeping busy, volunteer work at the hospital, looking after my parents before they died, kids, grandkids, pets. All the same, I had to do the grieving widow bit in case people thought I was heartless. They didn’t have to live with him. As well as his ill-health, he was a moody bastard, and so critical when there was no one around but us. Mr Smarmy Charm in public, Mr Nit-Picker in private. He wore away at my self-esteem and he drained any joy from my life, like a Dyson vacuum on supersuck. Liberated, that was what I was when he went. I got my life back, my bed back and my space.
Anyway, back in the room. Test results.
‘The problem is obvious,’ said Mr Richard. ‘You’re fat.’
‘Pardon?’
‘Fat, obese. Severely overweight. Simple. Blood pressure’s high, cholesterol’s high, you’re a heart attack waiting to happen.’
‘OK, now tell me what you really think, doctor,’ I said. He didn’t laugh. ‘But can’t you give me medication?’
‘Certainly, pills, pills, the answer to everything. If you shifted a few stone, people like you might not need them and would save the NHS a lot of money.’
‘People like me?’
‘Fat people.’
‘Yes, I got that. But the breathlessness I’ve been feeling? This tight feeling across my chest …’
He looked me up and down in such a way that he didn’t need to say the ‘f’ word again.
‘Do you smoke?’ he asked.
‘No,’ I lied. I do. Socially. Every now and then. I have lots of friends who keep a sneaky pack in a drawer somewhere. I hide mine at the back of the cupboard, behind the organic coconut oil and decaffinated green tea.
‘Exercise?’
I nodded. Not a lie. ‘I walk the dogs every day. Miles.’
‘Good. So walk more. How many units do you drink a week?’
‘About ten,’ I lied again. I don’t know anyone who drinks within their units or even knows what the units are. Fourteen a week for women, according to the leaflet that I’d just read in the waiting room. One glass of wine is about one and a half units. Not the way I pour them, more like four units per glass, so three and a half glasses in an evening and that’s your lot for the week.
‘I’ll double that,’ said Mr Richard. ‘Everyone lies. I’m going to give you a prescription for tablets to try and regulate your blood pressure, which you need to take straight away. Come back in two weeks and for goodness’ sake lose some weight.’
‘I don’t think you’re very nice, Mr Richard.’
‘Cruel to be kind.’
‘That’s what my late husband used to say,’ I said as I stood to leave, ‘and it was never kind.’
‘I’ll put your name down for some tests, an ECG, stress test, possibly an angiogram, though I have to warn you, there’s a long waiting list. In the meantime—’
‘Don’t worry, doctor, I’ve got what you’re saying. Lose weight.’ I went to the door. I shall be dignified, I thought, and then I’ll show him, this Dr Smug, I’ll lose the weight. I can do it. I’ve done it before. There’s not a diet I don’t know about. Lean for Life. Slimming World. Zest4life. Food Doctor Diet. I have two bookshelves full of manuals on how to shift the pounds. And a cupboard packed with diet food and shakes. All work. Just have to stick to them.
I swept out of the room, along the corridor, and climbed the steps to the café where I’d arranged to meet my friend Jane. The cheek of the man, I thought as I felt the familiar tightness in my chest, took a deep breath and put a hand out to steady myself on the banister. Once in the café, I couldn’t see Jane, so I got a cup of green tea (new diet starts here) and texted her to let her know that I had finished. As I sat there, I was aware that the feeling across my chest wasn’t going away; in fact, it was getting worse, as though someone had put a rope around my ribcage and was tightening it, causing severe pain, like really bad indigestion. It began spreading up to my jaw, my left arm. Uh oh. I felt nauseous and dizzy. Deep breaths. Chill, I told myself. The pain still wasn’t going away, my back hurt. I felt myself starting to fall and reached out to grip the table. Jane, where the hell are you? Oh, here we go, I thought as I keeled over, taking the table, tea and saucer with me.
Next thing I knew, I heard a buzzing, a ringing in my ears, then I was floating, floating … out of my body. What? I felt as if I was a balloon, wafting gently, softly upwards. Hold on a moment. This is strange, I thought. Nice but weird.
I looked down. I could see myself on the floor. Uh? How can that be if I’m up
