NOTE: I AM WRITING THIS SERIES OF ARTICLES ABOUT MY HEART ATTACK SO PEOPLE WON'T ASK THE SAME BLOODY FUCKING QUESTIONS. UNFORTUNATELY, TO THIS DAY, I STILL GET IDIOTS AND RETARDS ASKING ME STUFF I HAVE ALREADY STATED HERE.
BEFORE TALKING TO ME, READ THESE ARTICLES FIRST OR FOREVER FUCK YOUR OWN MOTHER.
NEXT TIME YOU WANT TO ASK ME A QUESTION ABOUT MY HEART ATTACK AND WHETHER I SAW GOD/THE DEVIL/EYWA OR FIND OUT WHETHER I HAVE FOUND RENEWED FAITH IN ANY OF YOUR STUPID RELIGIONS, DO YOURSELF A FAVOUR AND FUCKING KILL YOURSELF RIGHT NOW. HEAVEN AWAITS.
Previously, on Amir Hafizi: After surviving a massive heart attack, Amir Hafizi was warded, monitored and scheduled for an angiogram on the fifth day.
An angiogram is when well, wikipedia lists it here as angiography. Read the whole shit there. Basically they were going to insert a small tube through my arm, into my heart and pump it with dye to show blood flow and if there are any blockages as seen through X-Rays.
After obtaining the diagnosis, the doctor would then decide to do whatever doctors believe need be done. The obvious options would be an angioplasty, stenting, or a coronary bypass. Also available on the menu are euthanasia via morphine or a double-tap shotgun to the head should I turn into a zombie.
Anyway, the procedure and walkthrough were explained to me on the first night or second day. I forgot. I was hoping for either 20-30% blockages only, not requiring any further procedures and just treatment by medication.
I was also informed that the angiogram can be done either through the radial or femoral arteries. I prefer radial as the procedure through the femoral artery requires mandatory bed-rest and no movement for the next 12 hours after the procedure. I have fought for so long to ensure I don't poop on the bed, and I do not want to lose on this final stretch.
They also did what was told to me as an 'echo test' which I believe was an echocardiogram. Seems similar. That one tested my heart for areas not functioning properly.
So far, I was feeling very good, despite the heart attack on the 29th. In fact, I suspected that maybe it was just a fluke occurrence involving magnets and the Freemasons. Maybe it was heartburn, after all?
What I was trying to avoid was the annoying Malaysian belief that if something bad happened to you, it is because you are being punished by a stupid and petty God these idiots pray to.
In fact, I was worried if the PKR idiots thought my cardiac arrest was due to me pointing out how they got everything wrong.
Blablabla, blablabla, I eventually found myself, on the fifth day at the hospital, in a room waiting for my turn at the angiogram. This was it. This would determine a lot of stuff.
As I sat there, my feet turning cold from the anticipation and the air-conditioning, I asked myself these questions that ends in a proposition:
1. Do I have anything or anyone to live for?
Nope
2. Do I have anything or anyone to die for?
Nope.
Then the only thing left to pray for would be a swift procedure with minimal drama.
And then they wheeled me in.
