127 days ago, I stared at that button for 20 minutes.
'Whatever doesn't work, I'm the only one who falls for it again. I can't survive another disappointment.
My ALT was 171. My belly hadn't been flat in two years. My hepatologist had mentioned the transplant evaluation at every appointment for two years.'
But I also thought: I can't keep going like this.
So I clicked. Hands shaking. Distinctly certain I was making a mistake.
Day 7, the ache under my ribs was quiet for the first time in two years. It had not let up once in that whole time. I didn't know what to do with that. I kept waiting for it to come back.
Week six. Took the stairs at the office. Two flights. Reached the top and stopped. No heaviness. No catching my breath. Stood at the top for thirty seconds just... standing there. Texted my sister: 'I just walked up two flights of stairs.' She knew exactly what that meant.
Twelve weeks. Full labs. ALT 127, down from 171. AST following it down. FibroScan improved for the first time since my diagnosis. My hepatologist looked at the panel. Then at me. Then at the panel. 'Whatever you changed — keep doing it. I'm not scheduling that evaluation today.'
It's the small things that get me. Not calculating the risk of every meal. Not dreading the next appointment. Not managing three separate problems that were always one problem.
I don't know where you are right now. Maybe the same tunnel I felt. Maybe you're thinking 'she got lucky, but it won't work for me.'
I thought that too.
127 days ago I clicked that button. Today I'm living a life I forgot I could have.
Whatever you decide, I'm waiting for you.
— Sarah