be still my beating heart ….

If who ever wrote those words (William Mountford or Mary Elizabeth Coleridge, but not Shakespeare - I'm sure a passing Eng Lit teacher will put me right) had heart arrhythmia, they might well have written; be steady my beating heart … but it wouldn’t have done a lot for their poetry.

This is an underpass near the hospital.  The ease with which Anniemay drops in to this pose surprises me, but she assures me she has not done this sort of thing before.  Having seen her ‘Mum’ dancing I’m inclined to believe her.

We’re here for yet another cardiology appointment.  We have a good discussion with the consultant about the options open to me, including doing nothing.  Further investigative procedures all carry an element of risk. We agree that I’ll think about it over the weekend then call his secretary with my decision.

The heart is such an amazing organ; we have to treat it with great respect.  Sometimes that means poking a screwdriver in and at other times leaving it well alone.  I don’t always subscribe to the ‘if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it’ philosophy. All too often ‘if it ain’t broke’ simply means we haven’t looked hard enough.  

So it’s probably a job for my lucky penny and ‘best out of three’.