I have a huge heart. I love giving to people. I’m pretty good at not letting my right hand know what my left hand is doing. But this past year I found out I physically have a great, big heart. Someone upstairs knows me so well. Every two years since I turned thirty I’ve gotten some extremely bad health news. 32 I had a wreck that ended in two surgeries including a six-hour hysterectomy after discovering just how extensive my Endometriosis was. At 34 I was jumping into a foam pit at a birthday party when a killer migraine and (4) strokes led to the discovery of a really crummy disease. I also lost most of my peripheral vision and now have gaping holes throughout my entire field of vision. At 36 I was on my way to work when I felt a familiar slamming headache, loss of sensation and overwhelming nausea. Yep another stroke. This one was the one that led to PTSD, Major Depression and Anxiety Disorder. I thought, about three-quarters of the way through 2016 that I had made it through my 38th year without major incident. Then I made an overdue appointment at the cardiologist and, goddamnit if the shit didn’t hit the fan, (sorry for the language but I think, occasionally strong language is the only real way to convey strong emotion), I had a stress echo done and guess what the doctor found, an enlarged heart. I always knew I was full of love and kindness and the fact that my heart my heart brimmeth over proves it. But for real, I’ve had tests done, again, and its been attributed to a birth defect that also affects my lungs. God really broke the mold after he put in my organs. Seriously, I was the last one in that batch, had to be, a bad brain, heart, lungs and arteries, man that’s like hitting the interior fucked up lottery.