It’s not every day you find yourself preparing for a heart upgrade with the enthusiasm of someone packing for a spa retreat. But on Sunday, November 17, that is precisely what I did. As I laced up my running shoes for one final jog before the procedure, I couldn’t help but feel a certain irony: a man who has run marathons for decades was now about to hand over part of his heart’s workload to a state-of-the-art device smaller than a coin. My feline overlord, Sciusci, clearly sensed the drama of the moment.
Perched on George’s futon like an Egyptian deity, he fixed me with a look that seemed to say, “So, this is it? Off you go then, but don’t expect me to mourn.” He is technically Debora’s cat, but I like to think he graces me with his regal indifference out of choice. As I walked out the door, he continued lounging in glorious defiance of any human concern.
A high-tech heart for a stoic soul
The journey to Pisa CNR Hospital felt surreal, punctuated by Chris Rea’s ‘The Road to Hell’ passing through my head. My chauffeur, Leo, accompanied by his wife Lucy, and their serenely oblivious dog Balo, kept the mood light. Little did they know my inner monologue was teetering between scientific curiosity and mild existential dread.
At the hospital, I was introduced to Ward 20, a space so modern it felt like I had accidentally booked a room in a five-star wellness centre. En-suite bathroom? Check. Bed with more functionality than a Swiss Army knife? Check. A tablet to communicate with the staff? Check. I half-expected to find a complimentary glass of chianti waiting on the bedside table.
Then came the real heroes of this story: surgeon Luca and his team. With the precision of a NASA engineer, Luca explained the procedure. My pacemaker, or “Lady Muck” as I would soon dub her, would be inserted via my femoral vein and elegantly guided to her throne in the left ventricle. No wires, no shoulder pain, just wireless Bluetooth technology straight out of a sci-fi movie. I was both relieved and amused. Had my heart joined the ranks of smartphones, thermostats and toasters in the era of remote-controlled gadgets?
“Sono una cavia?”
As Luca outlined the procedure in endearing English, I couldn’t resist testing my Italian. “Sono una cavia?” I asked with a grin. “Am I a guinea pig?” His response, delivered with the dry humour that makes Italian surgeons so charming, was, “Only the best kind!”
This sense of camaraderie extended beyond the operating room. When I presented Luca with a signed copy of my book Racket Boy, his face lit up as though I had handed him the keys to the Sistine Chapel. He promised to read it after my surgery, and for a moment, I forgot I was about to entrust my life to this man’s steady hands.
Lessons in humour and heart health
Post-surgery, lying bedridden for 24 hours, I faced my first challenge: the dreaded bedpan. As someone who prides himself on self-sufficiency, calling for a nurse to help me relieve myself felt like a personal Everest. Yet, after an hour of bladder negotiations that would rival any international summit, I finally achieved sweet relief. Crisis averted.
Reflecting on this, I realised how much my southern Indian upbringing shaped my view of health. Growing up, I witnessed an almost theatrical approach to illness. A headache was a harbinger of doom; a minor fever required calls to distant relatives for moral support. My own father, bless him, would have attributed my pacemaker procedure to an angry deity or an overdose of tamarind.
Ready for a run: George at the hospital.
It’s no secret that south Asians―especially those from Kerala and Tamil Nadu―excel at indulging in two things: oily food and inertia. The combination is a time bomb for the heart, yet our attitude to heart health remains alarmingly fatalistic. “What’s the point of exercise when fate decides everything?” is a common refrain, as if the treadmill were an affront to divine will.
This cultural tendency towards melodrama extends to diet. A meal isn’t considered complete unless it glistens with enough oil to fuel a small lamp. Add to this a general resistance to physical activity, and you have a recipe for cardiac catastrophe.
A new perspective
In contrast, I’ve embraced a more stoic, English approach to health: face challenges head-on, with humour and practicality. My recent heart issues, rather than a source of despair, became an opportunity for growth. The decision to install a pacemaker was not a surrender but a strategic move in my ongoing battle to maintain an active lifestyle.
A packemaker placed in the heart.
To my southern Indian readers, let me say this gently: our hearts are not invincible. Yes, our cuisine is divine, but moderation is key. And while doom and gloom may be culturally ingrained, there is immense power in choosing positivity. My pacemaker is proof that science and a proactive attitude can do wonders.
Conversations that surprise
The day after my surgery, I shared the news with a Chinese friend. Expecting the usual, “How are you feeling?” I was instead met with, “How much did it cost?” The pragmatism made me laugh out loud. It reminded me of my father’s favourite saying: “The only straight thing about a Chinaman is his hair.” Growing up in Malaysia, I learned early on that sympathy often takes a backseat to financial curiosity.
Yet, this bluntness offers its own wisdom. It’s a reminder that heart health isn’t just a personal issue but a societal one. In a world where medical advancements like lead-less pacemakers are accessible, there’s no excuse for neglecting our health.
Lady Muck’s grand voyage
As I sit here, two days post-op, I marvel at the technological miracle now residing in my chest. “Lady Muck,” my wireless pacemaker, navigated my femoral vein with the precision of a space probe, took her place in my left ventricle, and began her reign without a hitch. The parallels to Fantastic Voyage (1966)―a film where scientists are miniaturised and injected into a patient’s bloodstream―are uncanny.
This tiny device, controlled remotely via a Bluetooth app, is evidence to how far we have come. It’s not just about fixing a problem; it’s about enhancing life. Thanks to Lady Muck, I’m back to doing what I love: driving, cooking, gardening and, yes, even planning my next adventure.
A message in a bottle
A whimsical idea: what if I were to toss copies of my book into the ocean, each wrapped in a floating, insulated bottle? Wouldn’t that be a fitting metaphor for my own journey―a heart that has travelled, adapted and thrived against all odds?
To my readers, take this as a gentle nudge. Whether it’s your heart, your diet or your attitude, take charge. Find humour in the challenges, embrace the advancements, and never underestimate the power of a good story―or a state-of-the-art pacemaker.
Here’s to Lady Muck and all the lessons she’s taught me. Cheers to science, humour, and the resilience of the human heart.
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Today marked an important milestone in my recovery journey. After 15 days of no running due to my surgery, I finally laced up my trusty trek shoes. A beautiful day awaited me here in Tuscany, with skies so vividly blue they seemed borrowed from an Argentinian painting. It was time to break free from the sedentary cycle, to reconnect with my body and the land that I have called home for years.
Majestic sight: The Apuan mountains as seen from George's house in Tuscany.
Dressing for the occasion, I pulled on my seasoned Ron Hill tracksuit leggings and long-sleeved running shirt, layering an aged yellow ski fleece jacket on top. A blue beanie hat and orange wool gloves completed my look. The temperature, hovering around 4°C, was brisk but invigorating.
This was not just a physical test―it was a road test for my health, especially for Lady Muck, who, through the wonders of modern technology, reports back to the cardiology department in Pisa CNR. I felt like Captain Kirk, boldly stepping out of my front door like it was the bridge of the Starship Enterprise.
The quiet charm of my neighbourhood greeted me as I began my slow jog. The narrow alleyways of Via San Rocco framed my path, each step accompanied by cheerful “Ciao!” from neighbours. Some playfully asked where I had been, noting my absence with the care of a close-knit community. Others, knowing about my heart procedure, offered gentle reminders to take it piano piano―slowly, slowly. Their words lifted my spirits, a dose of human connection that no medicine could replicate.
Further down the road, Bennie the black Labrador wagged his tail enthusiastically at my approach. Bennie and I have a long-standing friendship, one built on routine encounters during my runs. Not far from him, Aldo, another loyal canine companion, poked his head out of a window to greet me. These dogs, like the people in the neighbourhood, are creatures of habit. Their recognition of me after my absence felt like a quiet celebration of life’s return to normalcy.
A sanctuary on the hill
The road climbed steeply for the next three kilometres, leading to the Madonna del Bosco shrine―a small, peaceful church nestled in the forest of the dell’Orecchiella. This route has been my sanctuary for years, a place where the rhythm of my footsteps aligns with my thoughts and prayers. As I ascended, I leaned into the mental games that have been my companions for decades. “Take action,” I told myself, pushing past the early fatigue.
With every step, my body surprised me. Unlike my pre-surgery runs, my breathing felt easier, as if the blood now flowed with newfound purpose. The pacemaker seemed to be working its magic, carrying with it the prayers of my late mother, who I felt was watching over me. As the endorphins kicked in, a song floated into my mind: ‘A Good Heart’ by Feargal Sharkey. The lyrics felt like a direct message from the universe, reassuring me that all was well.
Reaching the shrine, I paused for a moment of gratitude. The fast-flowing mountain brook beside the church added a symphony to the stillness of the forest. Here, I spoke my customary words to the Almighty, sending my thoughts to those who might need an extra push of encouragement or strength. This place, with its profound quiet and natural beauty, reminded me of the importance of stopping to breathe, to connect and to acknowledge the gifts of life.
The forest path and homecoming
For my return journey, I chose a less conventional route―a narrow, hardly visible path through the forest. Descending the mountain, I brushed past thorns, overhanging branches and wild plants. The forest was alive with sound: birds chirping, foxes rustling, and the distant snort of a wild boar. This descent has been part of my routine since 2010, a grounding experience that connects me to the earth, the trees and the rhythms of nature.
At the bottom of the hill, the path opened on to my garden, which sits adjacent to the dell’Orecchiella Park. After a quick cool-down stretch, I grabbed a rake and set to work clearing the leaves that had gathered during my time under medical care. I swept the balcony area and tended to the resting place of my boys, George and DJ, pausing to speak with them as I often do. The simple act of cleaning the garden felt restorative, a way to re-establish my bond with the land.
A day well spent
Back indoors, it was time to shift gears. The kitchen, my personal sanctuary of creativity, awaited. I roasted a large chicken, pairing it with perfectly seasoned potatoes and a medley of vegetables. The aroma filled the house, a comforting reminder of the joys of home cooking. Dinner and wine were served alongside the evening’s entertainment: Strictly Ballroom live on BBC One and the latest sports updates.
As I sat down to eat, I reflected on the day―a day filled with simple routines that brought immense peace and satisfaction. From the exhilaration of my run to the quiet fulfilment of sweeping leaves, these small acts grounded me. They reminded me that health―both mental and physical―is often nurtured through ordinary moments.
The pricelessness of routine
There is something profoundly healing about routine. It anchors us in the present, offering structure and purpose even during life’s uncertainties. For me, these routines―running, gardening, cooking―are not just tasks but rituals that celebrate life. They help me catch the fleeting beauty of each moment, a practice that has become even more precious in light of my recent health challenges.
As I write this, I am reminded of David Bowie’s song ‘Space Oddity’: “This is Ground Control to Major Tom. You’ve really made the grade…” In many ways, the pacemaker feels like my own connection to ground control, a lifeline that keeps me grounded while allowing me to explore life’s possibilities. Today, it passed its first road test with flying colours, giving me the confidence to move forward.
Lessons from the day
Today was a reminder that health is not just about avoiding illness; it’s about grabbing life with intention. It’s about finding joy in the mundane, whether it’s the wag of a dog’s tail, the crunch of leaves underfoot or the simple pleasure of a home-cooked meal.
As I sit in my quiet home in Tuscany, I feel a deep sense of peace. The journey from heart surgery to this moment has not been easy, but it has been filled with lessons about resilience, gratitude and the importance of staying present. Routine may seem ordinary, but it is within these ordinary moments that we find the extraordinary gift of life. And for that, I am always grateful.
As I conclude, the ancient wonder of the Hanging Gardens of Babylon lingers in my mind, a symbol of human creativity and perseverance, much like the quiet rhythm of my pacemaker―both nurturing life in their own extraordinary way, set to the hauntingly hypnotic music of ‘Follow Me’ by Amanda Lear.
Philip George, former international badminton player and author of Racket Boy, resides in Tuscany, Italy. He is the founder of the Philip George Foundation, dedicated to empowering underprivileged youth through education and sports initiatives.