A broken heart isn't always metaphorical.

I sat in the doctors surgery as I had done many times before, smilling and chatting as he poked and prodded and asked me how I felt. Everything was normal, just a cardiac checkup I've been having for years until he told me to take a seat.

The look on his face changed as the words streamed from his lips. Everything became slow motion and I tried desperately to follow along..

"Obviously you are not showing any symptoms... yet.. its not good news... new tests... I'll discuss with colleagues... heart has failed... this never normally happens... OPEN HEART SURGERY."

..my eyes welled up with tears, alone I came to this appointment and alone I left, crying, confused, in shock. The next two days were a blur of tears and my attempts to push away everyone I held dear. Sadly in some cases it worked.

Today, a week and a half after the news, I went for my first lot of tests. Needles, drugs, a scary machine and lonely rooms filled with nothing but radiation and my fears. I watch as the all to familiar scene begins, everyone walking on egg shells so as not to disturb the dance we all take part in, the steps that tell us it isn't really that bad.