“Funny how a fine poet might make a good doctor,” mused Annie. “After all, it has already happened - sort of upside down.
“’M’ dear Lec, it would be a good thing if I could tear my heart out of my breast, that heart which has grown so weary of life.’
“’A nice aphorism, Lec. But can it help me spot a ‘silent’ heart attack? On tip-toe, it creeps among patients in hospital wards, pouncing with quiet tread on some hapless woman as she lies breathing gently in the wee hours. Upstairs, downstairs, snooping in my lady’s left chamber – noting where she wouldn’t say her prayers - swinging gaily, first on a gimcrack snore - then on a tiny trickle of vitality as it floats through, then out, one delicately flared nostril.’”
(Copyright, Natalie Irene Wood – 08 June 2012)