Medical efforts in vein and a hearty return to business

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“Never say you know the last word about any human heart” -Henry James

Today is day one back at Moodie HQ – not even an interim bureau in recent weeks as I recovered from heart surgery.

Four weeks and a day since the big  ‘op’, it’s good to be back in the office with my colleagues who, unlike my dodgy ticker, never missed a beat during my absence. It’s a bewildering experience to feel a whole lot less fit than I was before my operation. I’m not talking about the more obvious effects of the surgery (the medical excavations are healing nicely though my battled-scarred torso now resembles a combination of the London Underground map and an outtake from Jaws) but about the way the new-look heart operates.

I was, as they say, fit as a fiddle four weeks ago. Now the musical instrument has been downgraded to a partially blocked tin whistle (which is what I sound like when I reach the top of a flight of stairs).

This, I am assured, is normal. Apparently now that I am no longer a patient I need to show patience (I always wondered why the makers of Vertu luxury mobile phones never called one of their models Patience but I digress). Alas patience and I are not natural bedfellows. I want to be better yesterday, ideally the week before yesterday (as the old joke goes, “I want patience and I want it NOW!!”).

I should donate £5 to charity for every reader who has urged me to slow down. I didn’t realise they meant it literally. Around six weeks ago I was trotting around the streets of Ealing, West London, 5 kilometres little more than a deep breathing exercise. Right now I’d need to take a bus – and even then I’d struggle to climb aboard.

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[Patience is a…]

As mentioned, the great Moodie Report team have done an outstanding job in my absence (Dermot Davitt, currently in India, is threatening to rival my 2015 carbon footprint this year) and we’re in great shape as we prepare to unveil some of the most exciting developments in our 14-year history in coming weeks.

For a wee while there it didn’t look as though I was in a similarly healthy state, but courtesy of the modern-day wonder that is open heart surgery and with a decent chunk of my leg vein now sewn onto my aorta (thank goodness the surgeon didn’t get it the wrong way around), I’m as good as new.

Well, nearly. For once, it’s good that the doctors’ efforts were in vein. It’s good to be back.

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