My Heart Spits Up

Well, there you have it. My diagnosis is.... Wait, I've got to find the paper with the words written on it because I butcher it every time I have to say it. Which is in a sense a shout out to my mother who when I told her said, "Well, it might be generic." She meant genetic. That reminds me of when I told her I was a lesbian. She said, "Well, I know its nothing I did wrong because I learned on Phil Donahue that you were born that way, it's generic." I should have "Yes, Mom, I am a generic lesbian. You can tell because I am covered in a plain black & white label with a bar code across my forehead. Not top shelf but I taste just as good & I've got a good long shelf life & who needs a fancy label anyway." That was a 18 years or so ago and for anyone under 40 reading this, Phil Donahue paved the way for Oprah and for anyone who knows my Dad, he kinda looks Phil because he went prematurely gray too, which I am told is also genetic & so I can thank Dad for that too. See, its all spookily connected.

I have a mild mitral and tricuspid regurgitation or in medical slang, mitral regurge. Lynne said that means my heart spits up or something along that line. I am not sure those were her exact words but its close. This caused me to laugh. I guess when you have anything "mild" you are informed by mail - like I was along with a checked box that says "Schedule an appointment for review of results and/or follow-up evaluation." Should I conclude that it's not serious because I did not receive a frantic call to go to the hospital for open heart surgery? Maybe I'll ask Lynne to shore up the floppy tricuspid valve with some duct tape. I actually like the shiny silver tape she used on the furnace heat runs a little better. That would be kinda pretty.