My dodgy heart started to beat like I was running the 100 metres. Could you please report to the Freeman Hospital this afternoon to speak with your consultant?’ ‘The results of your recent biopsy are in. The voicemail came through, short and to the point. I didn’t recognise the number and ignored it. Walking happily out of the Royal Victoria Infirmary Hospital in Newcastle that day in December 2016, I was convinced I had bullet-proofed myself and my family - with my wife, Geraldine, I have three sons aged between 20 and 29 - from potential health catastrophes.īut as I made my way through the throngs of sick people to the exit, my phone buzzed in my pocket. ‘Just keep doing what you are doing,’ was his assessment. I’d lost two stone, dropping from 14.5 st to 12 st and the smile of my cardiologist told me it had been worth it. My life had been devoted to fitnessĪfter my heart attack, I did everything to ensure my condition wouldn’t kill me any time soon: exercising more, taking statins and sticking to a plant-based diet. It was an enormous shock, and not just because of my age. I’d had a heart attack in 2013, at the age of only 48.
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