“Journalling gave me strength after surgery”

“Sitting in my usual early spot at the kitchen table with a hot coffee, I looked out at the garden, opened my notebook and began to write.

I’d started this daily practice of journalling 5 years earlier as a tool to get me through the depths of depression.

Some mornings I would write down what I could see in front of me. Other times it was my darkest fears.

Now it was March 2024, and I was hoping this ritual could help my mental health at arguably the hardest time of my life.

Not only had I been made redundant from my job as an actuary in insurance after 18 years, I’d just been told I’d need open heart surgery too.

I was scared and overwhelmed. Everything I thought I knew about my identity, my health and my future was in doubt.

I was 52, and although I’d let my running slip, I considered myself fit.

Only 7 months before, I'd walked the 25-mile Yorkshire Three Peaks challenge with my eldest son, George, then 19.

But by winter, things began to change. I felt light-headed, short of breath and unusually fatigued just walking to lunch.

Friends said they’d had similar bugs that lingered, so I brushed it off.

Yet the symptoms persisted and straight after Christmas 2023, I had an online consultation with my GP.

To my surprise, they asked me to come in that same day.

Diagnosed with coronary heart disease

I had an ECG (electrocardiogram), a test that records the electrical activity of the heart, and blood tests, then got referred for a cardiac CT scan.

The cardiologist said it showed the blood vessels of my heart were narrowed – I had coronary heart disease.

This happens when fatty deposits, known as atherosclerotic plaques, build up inside the arteries.

This restricts blood flow to the heart muscle. It also increases the risk of heart attack and stroke.

I was shocked. I didn’t smoke or drink. I had no idea my cholesterol had been high.

The next step was a coronary angiogram. This is where dye is injected into the coronary arteries and X-rays are taken to check for any narrowings or blockages.

I remember the atmosphere in the room shifting as the procedure progressed on 1 March 2024.

The narrowing was at the point where the arteries branched, meaning a stent was not a suitable fix.

The only option was coronary artery bypass graft surgery (CABG). Specifically, I needed a triple bypass.

Surgeons would have to create 3 new routes for blood to reach the heart muscle. They’d take a vein from my leg and graft it onto the heart, bypassing the blocked sections.

My wife Liz was with me, and we struggled to process it.

The surgeon reassured us.

He explained the risks but said that because I hadn’t had a heart attack, was relatively young and otherwise healthy, my chances of survival were very good.

Facing fears before surgery

My surgery was scheduled for just 10 days later.

At first, that felt too soon. But as the days passed, it became the longest week of my life.

I journalled my thoughts and sometimes wrote as if it might be my last week alive.

Telling family and friends was difficult. George and his brother, Daniel, then 17, tried to be strong, but I knew they were worried.

My mum Elaine and brother Ian came down from Leeds to support us.

I sought comfort in stories from others who had been through heart surgery and read resources from British Heart Foundation.

But I realised it wasn’t helpful to dwell on the mechanics of the operation.

What mattered was what life would look like after heart bypass surgery.

The day of heart surgery

I felt nervous arriving at the hospital on 11 March 2024 but calmer than I expected.

Walking down to the operating theatre, I met the anaesthetist.

As we talked, 2 fears struck me. First, that I might not wake up. Second, that I might wake up in the middle of the operation.

Both were chilling.

But then I realised: if I didn’t wake up, I wouldn’t know. That strange logic gave me a sliver of peace.

My first memory after surgery is hazy.

I was in the intensive care unit, surrounded by machines and wires. A large bandage covered my chest. Liz and George were there.

The operation had been successful.

The surgeons had taken a vein from my left leg, using small incisions at the top and bottom, rather than a long cut, and grafted it onto my heart to bypass the blocked arteries.

My chest had been opened, my heart stopped and a machine had taken over my circulation while they worked.

And yet, here I was – alive, breathing and beginning recovery.

Writing gave me strength in recovery 

The days that followed were surreal. Pain, exhaustion and the strangeness of being dependent on others.

Sitting up felt monumental. But gradually, I started to improve.

Back home after 5 nights in hospital, I worried about being a burden.

I found strength in writing. It wasn’t a magic wand, but that regular habit gave me the continuity my life lacked.

I also talked about my journey on LinkedIn, as I’d done during my times of mental ill health, because I knew sharing your difficulties was important.

It connected me with others who’d faced similar experiences and reminded me I wasn’t alone.

I learned that the mental side of recovery can be just as hard, if not harder, than the physical side – and there’s less support and information about it.

Reframing my situation helped.

I focused on the small wins – what I could do that day and what I might be able to do tomorrow, not what I could do in my past.

Breaking down the silence

Two years on, now 54, I walk regularly, eat more carefully and continue taking medicine to manage my cholesterol.

I’m mindful of my health, but I don’t let fear dominate me.

I started a fulfilling new job coaching apprentice actuaries in December 2024 – a career move I’d never have been brave enough to consider in my old corporate role. But the enforced time recuperating gave me a chance to reassess my values.

My openness about my mental recovery has also led me down new, exciting paths.

Last October, on my birthday, I stood in front of more than 500 people to give a talk at TEDx in St Albans after the organiser saw my LinkedIn posts.

As I spoke about how I’d had to change my mindset, it hit me how far I’d come.

But sharing my story wasn’t just about me, it was about helping others recognise symptoms, seek help and find hope.

Looking back, I realise how easy it is to ignore the signs. Heart disease doesn’t always fit the stereotypes.

If I hadn’t done that online GP consultation, who knows what might have happened?

Most of all, I’ve learned about resilience – mine and my family’s. I had to survive changes I didn’t choose.

Facing open heart surgery forced me to confront my mortality.

But it also gave me perspective. Life is fragile and every day matters.” 

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