vifferman

So anyway, after the "lawnmow the vifferman's bits derby", I was evidently wheeled into theatre,and the anaesthetist and perfusionist conspired between themselves to try and balance me just neatly on the very thin edge between being dead and alive, using temperature, weird chemicals, machines that go "Beep!" and more'n likely a few arcane and black arts.This achieved, they stopped my heart going "pah-Dump!...swish...pah-Dump!" Then the eminiently skilled and highly paid (when I send him his cheque) surgeon cut into my chest with scalpel and shears, before levering my ribs asunder. The leftward side of the heart was then opened up, and the naughty valve was cut, stitched, and a ring added around the outside to keep it in shape. Oooer...

Eventually, they put it all back together, lacing the sternum back together with twists of stainless steel wire, and got an ex-owner of a Yamaha RT360 to kick-start me back into life (being a rider of Vespas only, the perfusionist wasn't up to it).

OK - I lied; there wasn't much pain here, but there was some in the scary narrow bits between morphine does and consciousness. You'll have to wait - all this fond reminiscing is making my sternum hurt.