Heart Warrior: The Grey and Rainbow Tower.

My name is Paul, and I am a Heart Warrior. 

There are many worlds, or at least there can be. Over lapping each other, alternate realities. In one of my favourite TV shows ‘Fringe’, they postulate that when you experience Deja Vu, you are experiencing a memory of your alternate self. This has happened to me many times. I often dreamed about an alternate version of myself. One who was slender and muscular, charming on the eyes like Cary Grant, and athletic like Indiana Jones. A Woman in a red dress (there is always a red dress) or men that looked like Clive Owen or Henry Cavill might gaze across a crowded room glaring at me. 

Like I said. Alternate reality. 

The other day my son Teddy was building a tower with his rainbow blocks. This is a very normal and regular thing that he does, several times a day. He always shouts as he builds, ‘Oooohhh Tooowwweerrr.’ Sometimes he might say, ‘Oh look, its a Tower!’. In short, this child loves to build towers, whether that’s with blocks, or books, or his Mother’s expensive MAC foundation that doesn't at all adorn our cream carpet, along with a light pink blusher powder. MAC always gives excellent coverage, but thats not the point. Anyway… 

It got me thinking about the tower I remember from my childhood. Guys Tower. 

Guys Tower, Rothschild ward was where some CHD children went when they needed hospital stays, operations, or investigation. When I was a child Guys Tower was the largest building South of the River. Now, The Shard eclipses it, casting a grey shadow over Guys. Regardless of whether the Shard existed or didn’t, Guys Tower was always Grey to me. Not white, not black, Grey. A place where the light and the darkness met in the middle. 

The Darkness being in a bay with babies so covered in wires and machines, you’d think they were a Borg. Screaming and screaming and screaming. The surgeon who was forced to cancel my operation the night before it took place, after my other Cardiologists challenged him, explaining that the operation was ‘Too high a chance of fatality.’ That surgeon never met my parents, he sent his anaesthetist to tell us.

The light being the time that myself and another boy on the ward snuck out of bed to the kitchen and drank nearly 2 litres of Strawberry Nesquick between us. The play specialist Tracey who made sure that I didn't miss too much of school. The time after my open heart surgery, and I was only allowed little sips of water, so my Dad used to sneak me tiny sips of Ribena. The rocking horse. That damn, incredible stead. My ride into the sunset. 

As an adult, when my train approaches London Bridge, I see the Grey Tower. It probably casts a bigger shadow over me now than when I was a child. But I don’t need to think about the Grey Tower anymore, because my son is building Rainbow Towers. Even the other day, when we tried to potty train him, and he built a rainbow tower whilst an adult sized turd fell out of his ass and splatted on the floor. He turned, smiled, walked into the utility cupboard and urinated up the cupboard and on the floor. 

I am no Gunslinger.

Until next time…