My adventure is in the past. 2004 was the time.
Read on if you’re someone who likes a bad rhyme!
It may seem far-fetched, but I can assure you,
The following events are completely true.
While playing football on December the twelfth,
A catastrophic event affected my health.
Struck down with Wolff-Parkinson-White,
My face turned blue and I made for the light.
Medical staff did what they do best,
Rhythmically pounding on my chest.
They brought me back to the here and now.
With a few compressions, a kiss, a kerpow!
Five days did I nap, stuck in a coma.
No sight, no sound, no whiff of aroma.
Before the hearts of my family could break,
I stirred and I roused, soon I was awake.
The doctors stepped up, ablation was the cure.
I was soon back on my feet, steadfast and sure.
But what is this, out of breath on the stair!
My throat had been scratched and needed repair.
Fourteen long months. A tracheostomy, no voice.
Laid bare before me was a dangerous choice.
Stay as I was. Keep the status quo.
Or put my eggs in one basket, give it a go.
Another operation. A second coma. A risk.
Success, celebration, my recovery was brisk.
My voice soon returned. I was going to be alright.
But for the first two weeks, I spoke like Barry White.
Now there was no stopping me. Full speed. Gung-ho.
To prove my recovery, to Kilimanjaro I did go.
Marriage and kids soon followed, inspiration I took.
I switched on the laptop and wrote my very first book.
A second one was penned. Lots of people read it.
Many more are coming, but it’s a shame ah canny edit!
I am a writer now. I will write until I die.
But I must improve my grammar. That I can’t deny.