“And now the air is clear, my dear, and you’re still here … with a certain surprise …” (John Martyn)

“You should have realised,” said Ripley with a barely concealed hint of accusation in her tone of voice.

“Realised what?”

Ripley put her coffee down and regarded me as one might a small child in whom one is disappointed. ”You’ve been telling anyone who would listen for the past three months that there was only one thing that would scare you more than this cancer and spinal surgery stuff.”

“Yes,” I replied. “And that is if something life threatening happened to Stuart.” She raised an eyebrow and gave me a meaningful stare. ”What? You think somebody or something was listening and decided to teach me a lesson?” No response; but the meaningful stare grew more intense.

“Ripley … I know you have your reasons for being a conspiracy theorist … but -“ And she does, to be fair. How many people do you know who get lured to a dangerous planet, forced to allow the admittance of an unknown peril to your spaceship, see your pals getting picked off and chewed up one by one by said unknown peril, get attacked by a murderous robot accomplice – and then get menaced by a salivating seven foot xenomorph whilst you’re wearing only your Sloggis? You’d feel justified in believing that it was not all just an unfortunate co-incidence. 

So now that it’s all out in the open I am able to formally confirm that yes – something happening to Stuart is definitely more terrifying than whatever is happening to me. That ‘something’ happened last Monday whilst Stuart was in the middle of his weekly swim at the pool in Lerwick. Forging through the water like a barracuda (his description) he suddenly felt very unwell indeed, heart racing, pale, breathless, the works. Having been employed in the NHS for over thirty years he knew This Wasn’t Right, and with commendable sang-froid he clambered out of the pool, got dressed and drove himself to A and E, a two minute drive from the pool. That made me blanche when I found out, until I realised that telling a lifeguard, getting them to phone 999, scrambling an ambulance etc, would probably have taken the best part of fifteen or twenty minutes; and where hearts are concerned, the sooner qualified medics can get started on you the better.

By the time I got there (“No need to panic, but we’ve got Stuart here …”) the fabulous Aimee Sutherland and her great team had him wired up to various bleeping monitors and pumped full of something to bring his soaring heart rate back under control. Seeing that he was calm and smiling I nipped out for my appointment with the medical imaging team, returning just in time to hear Aimee telephoning for the air ambulance. “Aberdeen would like to see him in the Coronary Care Unit because -” (and here she took one look at my panic stricken face) “- his results are … a bit baffling.” 

That’s us – whatever medical conditions we encounter always seem to be either ‘weird’ or ‘baffling’. But this was doubly scary because barring the odd virus, bout of flu, etc, Stuart is NEVER ill. Well, he was now. Having come straight from the swimming pool he had no spare clothes (worse, he was wearing a pair of loud, 60’s style psychedelic underpants … whatever would they think, my late mother would have asked). No phone charger. No books or toiletries. I had imagined (and so had he) that he’d be coming home with me once they’d regularised his heart rate, along with a referral to his GP. 

Watching him get wheeled out, strapped on his gurney, was without doubt the most terrifying moment of my life. For his sake I kept it together until the doors closed behind him, and THEN I bawled all over poor Aimee.

It was a very long week; he came back on the first plane on Saturday, stent duly inserted, and with a carrier bag of medications that matched mine in quantity and variety. And it gave me loads of time to mull over that item in one of my ‘What If’ lists that deals with partners who lose the love of their lives and have to carry on without them forever. I know so many; they are living my nightmare and they have my deepest respect. I am honestly in awe of them. There is not a day goes by that I don’t think of at least one of them and silently extend my love and admiration for them; I hope they somehow feel it through the ether, experience that faint ripple in The Force, even if they don’t know who sent it.

I’m also in awe of the tsunami of offers of help from friends and neighbours, who formed a protective force field around us both. Sincerest thanks from us both to you all. And here’s another announcement – we have THE BEST neighbours. Fact. Ailish and Eleanor and Robert immediately took charge of sheep management, and the feeding of Stuart’s beloved wild birds. Ailish was even up for dealing with Genghis’ litter tray, which is little short of heroic (it’s a big tray for a big cat). Thankfully, it didn’t come to that, and by the time I go for my operation we intend to have re-introduced him to the joys of outdoor toileting.

So – to sum up: 1) Stuart has had a heart attack but thankfully is now recovering; 2) Genghis is nearly recovered from his cruciate ligament misanter and shows no sign of being thankful to anyone; 3) I am awaiting a date in February for scary spinal surgery and I’m still a hopeless wuss; 4) the NHS are bloody marvellous.

And Ripley, I don’t care WHO hears this – it is definitely more terrifying when something awful happens to the one you love than when it happens to you. Again, Fact.