\n \u201cBehave yourself,\u201d I replied. \u201cIt\u2019ll be a touch of that thrombosis everyone gets on these flights. It\u2019ll sort itself out.\u201d For the first few nights I was staying at the apartment of my friend David Dick, then an executive at the Melbourne Age and now editor of the Daily Record. There\u2019s a picture of me somewhere on Facebook at his place, sipping a large glass of red wine just an hour later.\n<\/p>\n
\n It was only when I went to bed that it occurred to me this could be something serious. I began to feel some unruly activity in my chest and realised that this wasn\u2019t good at all. Worse: it was probably too late to do anything about it and that I should probably accept my fate and ask God\u2019s forgiveness for being a daft fud.\n<\/p>\n
\n I also made a mental inventory of all those people I\u2019d hurt or slighted and asked for mercy. And then I made my peace with those with whom I still had some unresolved issues. What with all that and three Hail Marys, a Glory Be and an Our Father I might yet have a wee chance of a fair hearing should I wake up dead in the morning.\n<\/p>\n
\n Fortunately (or not, depending on your point of view) I woke in the land of the living and my daughter immediately whisked me to St Vincent\u2019s Hospital in downtown Melbourne. They took one look at me and began kitting me out in the hospital gear and a drip. I love Australians\u2019 propensity for plain speaking. \u201cHow did you not know you\u2019d had a heart attack,\u201d asked the consultant, astonished that I hadn\u2019t immediately popped in following the flight.\n<\/p>\n
\n Glaswegians also like to speak plainly. \u201cWell, not having ever had a heart attack, how was I supposed to know,\u201d I asked him. It\u2019s not as though I\u2019d had the falling-down-while-clutching-your-chest type of event you see on the telly. After the scans and a wee angiogram they concluded I didn\u2019t need the hacksaw and staples routine. Some tablets and a couple of stents would do the trick.\n<\/p>\n
\n \u201cIs it because I\u2019m quite a healthy specimen that I don\u2019t need a bypass,\u201d I asked the consultant. \u201cNo, it\u2019s because you\u2019re one lucky b****** and you need to be taking better care of yourself,\u201d he said.\n<\/p>\n
\n And besides, he pointed out, there was some old scarring on an artery, indicating I\u2019d had some kind of \u2018cardio event\u2019 several years ago. It was only later that I learned that many of the male McKennas have been going down like skittles with heart failure since we first got off the boat from Ireland in the 1890s. My Glasgow consultant would later tell me that, in all probability, I was destined to get a heart attack at some point and that getting it when I was \u2018relatively\u2019 young and \u2018relatively\u2019 fit was preferable to falling over later in life.\n<\/p>\n
\n I was working for The Observer at this time and they were keen that I write one of those arse-clenching pieces about kindness and being more appreciative of wur planet. But that\u2019s not really me. So they settled instead for a lighter, self-mocking piece about my delinquent life choices.\n<\/p>\n
\n Read more Kevin McKenna:<\/strong>\n<\/p>\n \n \u201cGive us your blueprint for surviving a heart attack ten years on,\u201d absolutely no-one has ever said. But here it is anyway. My handy lifestyle guide to living responsibly after a heart attack.\n<\/p>\n \n Alcohol.<\/strong> Rather than deny yourself the delights of the swally, maybe try putting an extra slice of fruit in your gins, vodkas and Bacardis.\n<\/p>\n \n \n Sex.<\/strong> When men write about sex there are no good outcomes, but the doctors kept mentioning it. So, based on anecdotal research among other heart attack survivors, I\u2019d advise using the approach favoured by our international football team. Just leave all the fancy stuff to the continentals and only venture over the halfway line when absolutely necessary.\n<\/p>\n \n Pray.<\/strong> If you\u2019re an atheist, don\u2019t kid on you don\u2019t get worried you\u2019ve backed the wrong horse whenever you start feeling fragile and vulnerable. My Godless chums always ask for proof of The Almighty\u2019s existence. But if you\u2019re ever in a life-threatening situation, can you be absolutely sure he DOESN\u2019T exist? So try a bit of praying now and again.\n<\/p>\n \n Swearing.<\/strong> Do lots of this. And if you recoil at the use of profanities, get over yourself. Read these f***ing sentences aloud minus these f***ing asterisks. You\u2019ll feel better for it. Try to be a decent c*** and not a w***er. You only get one f***ing shot at this, so stop f***ing around. There: that\u2019s better, isn\u2019t it?\n<\/p>\n \n Silence.<\/strong> We\u2019re always told to share our problems and open up more as a means of mental self-medication. B*******. You\u2019ll just worry about over-sharing and that\u2019ll make you more anxious. If you want to unburden yourself, get a dog.\n<\/p>\n \n Be cardio-smart.<\/strong> You\u2019re going to have a dickie ticker for the rest of your life, so turn it into an asset. Need to make a last-minute cancellation for a party or an event full of sanctimonious rockets discussing climate change and pronouns? Just use your heart condition. To add depth to your little white lie, memorise all the terminology around heart health: the arteries, the valves, the ventricles and all the other tubes and chambers. If you\u2019re really desperate, just say you need to have another cheeky wee stent put in. I\u2019m up to about six, but I\u2019ve only got the two.\n<\/p>\nKevin McKenna won’t deprive himself of time in the pub. (Image: Newsquest)\n<\/p>\n