Falling apart

Some days I like to go with 'Arty Farty'.  Today is one of those days with an image I can sort-of justify and tag as 'Derelict Thursday'.  In fact, sadly, it is the outside wall of my apartment building, bathed in end-of-the-day sunshine and shadows of the trees that surround it.   Sorely in need of major renovation and TLC - school is waiting for the capital and perhaps ministry permission (it is an early C19th Ottoman wooden hunting lodge and a listed building) to do the job properly.  Talking of which, as in doing the job properly of looking after myself, back to the hospital all afternoon to see three different doctors - firstly,(a) infectious diseases for consultation and more blood tests to see if nasty wee bacteria that infected my leg have now all legged it,  (b) orthopaedic surgeon for inspection of healing wound searching for progress or rot, stitches out or not,  (c) a new venture - an appointment with a recommended new-to-me cardiologist about my dicky ticker - just as a check up on this recent roll of personal health care, as I neglected - well abandoned - my heart health care since before Dad became ill... so now I have abandoned instead the previous hospital light years away across Istanbul in favour of this new, intergalactic space station of a hospital which is located approximately five minutes away from the Art Studio - no warp speed necessary.  Happy to report that it seems that (a) no new antibiotics needed but weird-o Aegean sea water borne bacteria blood test results not available for three weeks (my blood has to go to europe without me); (b) a quick umm and ah and chin scratch before surgeon removed the stitches (hooray) and said he was sure I could go swimming next weekend when in Akbuk (double hooray) and finally (c) I still have a beating heart.  Sometimes.  It doesn't beat the same rhythm as most other folk, Stravinsky rather than Beethoven, but, works for me.  Check again in 6 months. So,  apparently, I am not actually falling apart.  Good to know.