The Chronicles of Biff - Volume 2 - written 11/02/2010 – updated 12/31/2012

This is a modification and updating of a previous post..enjoy

On the eve of another rotation around the sun, I felt a bit reflective on friendship and my life these days in general. Bear with me because, as most know, I get a little rambly and wordy at times.

As some people may notice and/or may have commented to themselves or out about, I have a lot of Facebook friends. I have gone through and made sure that each and every one is someone who I truly consider a friend.  And physicality is not a determining factor on what friendship entails, as referenced by the fact that there are a good number of my friends who I know solely through online chatting either here, or Yahoo or even AOL back in the good old days. My definition of friendship lies in the words and actions reflected therein. Each and every one of you holds a special place in my heart and I wish I had the ability to personally address and thank every single person for being there for me. As I have beaten into the ground, I’m sure, I am going through the hardest thing I have ever dealt with in a life time that can be at least described as never dull. And through all of my venting, my whining, my complaining and my general descriptions of my physical and mental health, I have felt the power of friendship from all of you and it has helped me deal with and cope with this crap that I’m stuck with forever. And as I have said a million different times in a million different ways (forgive my repetition but I really am sincere), thank you one and all for everything

This is a basic breakdown of the genesis and steps through the initial process/diagnosis. It was originally written about 6 months into things and right around the time when the pain and symptoms began to reach the level that they are at now. I have updated, edited and modified certain aspects for current and correctness. Although some of the emotions etc and such may have changed, the facts have not and my feelings were current and correct as of the time I wrote it. Enjoy..

Apparently Biff likes ice cream. Who would have thunk it. He also likes Count Chocula, Double Stuf and White Fudge Oreos and lemon drops. This is a good thing because I do too.

I think one of the biggest casualties in this whole thing has been my appetite.  When I first when to the doctor about this around the end of March, I weighed a svelte 195 lbs., more than I had weighed in a long while. This was probably due to the new anti-depressants that I was taking. Once the cramps and pain started kicking into full gear, the weight started dropping. At my lowest point, right around diagnosis time at the end of May, I was 176 around May/June 2011 it was down to 154. It has since rebounded but still not near where I was when all of this started but thus I digress...

Try the new pancreatitis diet plan and watch the pounds just melt away.

The pounds were slowly dropping off with each doctor’s visit and new test. First came the sonogram checking my pancreas (just the surface) and found nothing. That was followed by an endoscopy looking for ulcers or infections, nothing, the a CAT scan looking at my pancreas again, 0 for 2 on that one and then a nuclear gall bladder scan (which was really cool because I got to see my gall bladder glow) which resulted in no answers either.  By this point it was going on two months and I had resorted to House (which my doctor said she liked to watch to find all the errors), WebMD, and Mystery Diagnosis for any inkling of an answer.

By this point I was seriously starting to wonder if this was all in my head. All of the tests were showing nothing and there were no physical symptoms to justify what I was feeling. I began to wonder if I was really stuck with this until it "passed” or just stopped as suddenly as it started. My doctor/savior was still curious and undaunted in her quest to get answers. I was and still am very thankful for her being as stubborn as I am. She really believed it was my pancreas despite all the other tests being negative but I began to see her frustration with it as well. She said that she wanted to try one more thing before referring me to a specialist. Let me back up a second, I talk in lots of medical terms lately and have become very familiar with my abdominal area and any and all tests involving it.  This time they wanted to put another tube into my throat, this time with an ultrasound monitor on it, to further look at my pancreatic area.

One more time...with feeling!

This one seemed a bit more serious and I actually was feeling a combination of hope and fear that this would find out a) what was wrong and b) that I wasn't crazy. Well, I am crazy but that's another rant for another time. Thus I digress.  Once again they wheeled me in, numbed my throat, put me to sleep and once again, I remember nothing but the nurse saying something followed immediately by waking up in the recovery room. It was really quite odd to just lose pieces of my life like that. After trying unsuccessfully to wake me up a few times, the doctor gave up and the nurse was there when I came to. She told me that they found out that it was chronic pancreatitis. Then my girlfriend  wife walked in and apparently, I say apparently because I don't completely recall bits and pieces when I come out from anesthesia, I raised both hands in the air and said

Me: "We have a winner!"

She: "What is it?"

Me: "Chronic Pancreatitis

Nurse: That means you can't drink anymore

Me: Does that mean I can't drink anymore?

Nurse: Yes

Me: Well, it was a good run

And I have not had a drink of alcohol since. 950 days as the New Year rings in.

One thing this has not taken and will not take from me is my sense of humor. When it does, it means I have given up. And anyone who knows me knows that I am nothing if not stubborn. And so the journey began from there. I don't think I truly and immediately grasped the meaning of my situation until I went back to the doctor (to whom I repeated the "we have a winner" speech) told me what this diagnosis meant going forward. Words like, no cure, rest of your life, take all these pills every day, rest of your life, don't drink anymore, rest of your life! Those words echo in my head, every day, they consume me at times. In those moments my sense of humor is gone. I want to give up. I want to give in. I want to just lie in bed and let it win. Take medicine, do nothing, be on disability and basically become little more than a shell of who I used to be.

But in those moments, I hear the echoes of my mother’s voice in my head when she told me "You control the disease, do not let the disease control you, this thing does not define who you are and you cannot let it, or it wins" Stubborn I am and I don't like to lose. Rest of my life?? Bring it on!

Epilogue: I am now entering into second full year and 3^rd year in general of this and I think that things have leveled off to some extent. After my diagnosis my gastroenterologist said that this disease is a long, lifetime journey and that I hadn’t even began to crawl yet (this was 6 months in when the pain had started to ramp up to the levels that its at now). And in the beginning, it actually was tolerable. From May to say Sept/October my life wasn’t near as disrupted as it has become. I was eating fairly regularly, barely having any flares or adverse effects. Then somewhere the switch flipped. It didn’t feel like it was built up to, it just seemed to hit me one day. That’s when I ended up on the Oxycontin (which is now Morphine..most know my thoughts on this) and the Vicodin became more prevalent. I think that throughout 2012 I have mastered the art of crawling and even pulling myself up onto the furniture. I have come to acceptance phase of things I believe. My life is a routine, mostly out of necessity thanks to the bipolar aspect and my general medical needs at given times.  Those who know me will understand the fact that I have to set alarms in order to remember to take medications, that is when pain or symptoms don’t dictate that I have forgotten. When in school I have certain days that things have to be done, granted procrastination plays a part but I still get things in on time and my GPA is sitting solidly in the mid-3.0s (not perfection, which some of you also know is something I strive and chastise myself for; a procrastinating perfectionist is what I call myself). Basically, as the title of my blog so eloquently states..there is a madness to my methods and if you stick around and pay attention, you will see and understand. Thank you for taking the time. 

The Chronicles of Biff - Chapter 6 - 06/14/12

**You may want to pack a lunch, this may take a minute or two**

Over the past 2 years I have to come to realize that my disease is very enigmatic in its genesis, cause and treatment. There is no set medication or therapy or restriction or procedure that can, completely, cure it. If you look up any number of sources online or talk to any doctor who knows their stuff (as my previous doctors did) you will see this. Basically there are two things that are consistent across the board. 

1) Alcohol will make it worse even if it isn’t the cause (which it is in my case) and 

2) the recognized treatments are no alcohol, modified diet and dietary restrictions and pain management. That’s it, cut and dry.

I have many new friends on here who are also sufferers of this and who feel my pain figuratively and literally and some of them have taken steps to alleviate it by having a procedure called a Total Pancreatectomy with Auto Islet Cell Transplant (or TP/AIT) which basically removes the pancreas and hence the source of the pain. It requires a lot of maintenance, so I understand and I just don’t think I am ready to take that step yet.These same friends and others on the numerous message boards and groups that I am in, have told horror stories about doctors not believing them or ordering unnecessary tests or accusing them of just wanting pain meds or it was all their head; I couldn’t fathom that because mine were so awesome.

My main doctor, Dr. Molly Imber, believed me from the beginning that something was wrong and, according to my gastroenterologist Dr. Teresa King, was very stubborn and determined to figure out what was wrong. Once diagnosed she did whatever she could such as finding what meds and such worked. If something went wrong, I’d go in, she would listen to me and answer my questions and concerns and then give me options on what to do. It was a rhythm we got into; a general health check and how the pain levels are. If stable, forge ahead, if not consider options including increase or change in pain medications.

But since January I have been forced, thanks to health insurance premiums being beyond ridiculous, to use the VA for my treatment and meds basically since I can. So I figure that I go in, they look at my previous records, do whatever verifications that they need to do and continue treatment because for the most part it was working. Sadly, that was not to be the case.

The first thing they did was to change one of the meds, the Oxycontin that had just began to work because they, in their words, use another med (Morphine) for pain management and do not believe in the other. Okay, fine. I am open minded to this so if it works, fantastic. But deeper analysis and probing showed me that they actually may be concerned with the addiction factor of the Oxy so they try to get people off of that and on to other stuff. Fine, I’m flexible. Whatever works. Then I go to their “specialist” who proceeds to ask me questions like this is my first rodeo. So I patiently, gritting my teeth, answer his questions. I show him my massive folder of medical documentation and he proceeds to look at one test and one set of notes and then orders a, seemingly, unnecessary test and then says he wants to prescribe an “alternative” pain medication to try and get me off the other long-term one mentioned above.  I am all for trying new things in addition but I see no need to mess with a working formula if the parameters are comparative.

Now today, when I call in because I am having further issues with the pain and want an appt as I did in the past, the nurse proceeds to lecture me about “masking the pain with pills” and that there are other things that can be done like diet. I stated that I understood that but I wanted to talk to him about it. She says I need to talk to above mentioned clueless specialist as well as talk this alternative medication (which was actually never dispensed). I would’ve sat and debated more but I was tired, frustrated and of course, flaring in pain by that point. Needless to say I now understand, in a small way, where my new friends were coming from.

I do not like having to be on all these pills, especially the pain ones and if there were another way to make my life more comfortable (and keep all my innards intact) then I would do it. But they work. They make my days tolerable and my life some semblance of livable. And when it comes right down to it, that is basically all the treatment that can be given. Manage pain, aid in digestion, modify and follow diet and most importantly do not drink.  I do all of this. I know all of this. This has become a major part of my life so I am familiar and aware, and lately it seems more so than my new medical “professionals”. 

Now don’t get me wrong, I am thankful that I had the VA to fall back on. Its is coverage, treatment and medications at a relatively low cost. I know that there are those out there who would like/need any kind of coverage. So I am completely and totally appreciative of that. I guess I was spoiled and the salad days are over, so to speak (no mom, I’m not eating salad yet even though I should)

Just another day in the life..

Thank you for indulging me in this rant.

8.5.7

44 and Counting

Upon hearing my diagnosis one of the first things that I, apparently (I was still “influenced” by anesthesia) said was...

“Well, it’s been a good run”  Indeed it has.

As I stare down the barrel of my mid-40s, I get reflective both in nostalgic remembrance and in where the fuck did the time go.  I have a lot of memories and subsequently a lot of stories. Someone once told me that you could bring up damn near any topic and I would have a story for it. From skinny dipping in Utah to storming the castle at Edinburgh, it has been a ride.

Recently though a couple of very close acquaintances brought up some points that had not crossed my mind yet ring very true.  One stated that when my symptoms first appeared, my life was at the best point that it had been at in quite awhile. I had a great job, a girlfriend, a stable living situation and inner peace with myself, my past and my future.  She then went on to state that what if my body was holding things back while I dealt with them and once things were stabilized, it couldn’t hold them back anymore. My body wanted to make sure that I was at a good point and had experienced life. And as my other dear friend stated “At least you got to live a full life before this”,

Truer words were never spoken. My life has been a figurative and literal journey of memorable proportions. But don’t get me wrong, this doesn’t mean that I’m done. Not by a long shot. I have not given up, I will not give up. Not now, not ever. Anyone who knows me knows that I am a stubborn one and I am not going to let my body’s shortcomings stop me from doing the things that I am still able to do. Yes I do have limitations but they are hurdles not roadblocks.

I have often said that life is one long fun road with occasional serious off ramps. I say this mainly because I think that some people take life too seriously and you have some fun

“Life moves pretty fast, if you don’t stop and look around once in awhile you could miss it” – Ferris Bueller’s Day Off

So as I move into my mid-40s, I see this as more of a turning point. I’m not done living yet; I don’t even think or feel like I’m halfway done. That long road of life may now be under construction, but it is not approaching a dead-end; it is simply a detour and rebuilding towards a different path. I may get frustrated, I hate road construction, but I will try to keep it moving forward. Like a cyclist, I have people along the way cheering me on. The road may be going downhill, but I’m picking up speed.

“What a long strange trip it’s been” –  Truckin - Jerry Garcia. (The Grateful Dead)

 Indeed it has.

8.5.7

The Chronicles of Biff - Volume 5 - 05/14/11

Prologue: Thank you one and all for taking the time to listen to my rants

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The rest of my life.

I swallow 27 pills a day just to make it through yet that is the hardest one to swallow. I’d like to think that I’m only halfway through my journey and it sucks to think that this illness will, in some way, control the remainder.  I try to make light as much as I can by cracking jokes about it, naming it or finding humorous aspects of it at least. But when you strip it all down to its core, I’m scared and angry.

I’d like to think I have the patience of Job but when it comes to this, my temper shows up in earnest. Most of you don’t see it and that is on purpose. This is my battle, my struggle and I don’t think you all should be exposed to every aspect of it.  Maybe that is selfish of me.  To a person, you all have been amazingly supportive and helpful. I don’t think I would have made this far with my sanity as in tact as it is, without all of you. But frankly there are some aspects that I keep to myself. When it boils right down to it, it’s a war that I have to fight and deal with. And it sucks. Majorly. More than anything I’ve ever dealt with and I have dealt with a lot.

There are times when I breakdown, I cry, I scream, I pound my fists. I want it all to just stop. I wonder why me. It’s not pretty when I do and very few of you have actually seen it happen. I keep that to myself. I know you all would be there for me if it did happen around you and would do what you can to make it easier and for that I am eternally appreciative. But I still feel like I am burdening people when I do.

I am horrible at asking for help, I am a horrible, stubborn patient. Just ask Melissa. There have been 2, possibly 3, separate instances where I probably should’ve gone to the hospital. She thought so, my doctor concurred after the fact but I just didn’t want to. I thought it would pass and I’d be okay eventually. It did and I was. In retrospect I should’ve. Why suffer when I don’t have to. In the future I will. But I hope there will be no future of needing to.

I go to the doctor at least once a month just to check in. There really isn’t much she can do for me though. Here is a typical appointment:

Dr: How have things been over the past month?

Me: Some days good, some days bad.

Dr: Is it more good than bad or more bad than good?

(Insert which side of the spectrum it falls on)

Dr: Well, we have the same options to manage the pain, higher of this or this or more of this or this

Me: Let's do this and this and see what works.

(writes prescription)

Lather, rinse, repeat. She has told me that the visits are not a waste of time. I know she feels as helpless as I am frustrated but there really isn’t much more that can be done. Her primary role is to help make the pain manageable and give me the chance to get as much out of life as I can.

The rest of my life.  I am slowly working on accepting that fact.

The Chronicles of Biff - Volume 4 - (written 03/17/2011)

Approximately one year ago today, Biff first reared its ugly head. So do I regret that green beer and the shot of Jameson one year ago today? Absolutely not. Why you ask? Well sit a spell and let’s talk about it.

Everybody has regrets; we wouldn’t be human if we didn’t. That decision we made that seemed to make sense to us at the time but in retrospect, turned out not to be so wise. While it’s true that hindsight is 20/20 think about it; while the decision may have been regretful you have to look at the big picture to truly see its impact. Many a pot of gold has arisen from some bumps along life’s path.  Be honest, would you really take back that one drunken night if it meant that you wouldn’t have that friend that has stuck with you through thick and thin ever since? There are jobs that I regret leaving, places that I regret moving from and friends that I regret leaving but time and age has shown me that I wouldn’t be exactly where I am now, if I hadn’t made those decisions when I did. One thing that people forget nowadays is to take life as a Monet; see the big picture.

I have made the joke more than once that I regretted and would give back every drop of alcohol that I ever drank in exchange to not have to feel like I do on a daily basis. Then I pause, both thoughtfully and for dramatic effect, and say “Nahh, I’d only give back half for half the pain”. I have far too many good memories, good times and did indeed make some good friends during times that involved alcohol of some sort. Anyone who has spent any time around me at all has probably heard me spin some yarn about a drunken adventure I had. Be it doing 26 shots of Apfelkorn (a tasty apple-flavored German liqueur) and having a two-day hangover or being advised by a friends mom that she didn’t know D & D meant drunk and disorderly.

I can’t remember at what age I had my first drink of alcohol. I’m sure it was somewhere in my high school years and earlier than I probably should have. And throughout life, I never was a heavy, at one sitting, drinker. Sometimes though, as in my case, it’s the body of work not the individual moments that will do you in.  Frankly I’d say the number of times that I drank more than 6-8 drinks at once is much lower than most would expect for 20-plus years of drinking. I was a social drinker. I would hang out at bars or with friends and drinks would almost always be involved. Did I think that drinking almost every day was a problem then, not at all. Do I think so now? Honestly I’d say that despite the circumstances, the jury is still out. Most of you may respond to that with

“Seriously? With all the pain that you go through daily, all the pills you have to take, the drastic lifestyle change and all the “whining bitching and moaning that you do on here? How can you say the jury is still out?”

And I would reiterate, through a wincing pained smile, that these things are a part of life. Decisions are a part of our every day and each one we make affects our lives and the lives around us. Call it a kind of butterfly effect I guess. Look closely every little thing you say and do. Analyze its impact on your own life and the people around you. Change one little thing in any aspect and the whole balance of your existence is modified ever so slightly. Put enough of those moments together and you start to lose memories and pieces of our lives.   If we regret those decisions that resulted in something with an immediately negative connotation, then we’d probably shelter ourselves from that reality of life that surrounds us.

So, looking back one year now, do I regret anything I did in my life up to that point? Absolutely not. They are what gave me the wonderful family, amazing friends and endless memories that I hang onto now when I need them most.

Thank you.

The Chronicles of Biff - Volume 3 - (written 11/16/2010)

 I try not to sound melodramatic, that isn't nor ever has been my nature, Sometimes though, my words may come out as such. They are just my true expressions of what is bouncing around in my head, this is my avenue for letting them come out and play for a bit. I do hope you take them as such. Some days I will write more than others, frankly because some days I have more energy and a clearer mindset than others. Now on with the show..

Right now, I am in the greatest battle of my life. I fight everyday with all my energy to make it through as normal and easy as possible. It is tiring, it is draining and its flat out no fun. But battles are something I have grown accustomed to, I have been through some figurative and literal battles. With Veteran's Day come and gone, I was given cause to reflect back to a simpler, younger time in my life as we are want to do often, I want to recall one of the more memorable, positive ones.

It all started with a cake. I don't even remember the reason for it.  On a warm August morning in Las Vegas, like any other late summer day in the desert, I followed my normal routine. Wake up late, rush around, stop for coffee and a Big Gulp and hit my desk with a minute to spare. I had my own office so no one would really know if I was late or not but the days I did happen to be late were the days that someone was looking for me. Ain't that always the case?

As I stopped for my coffee, a headline in the Las Vegas Review Journal caught my eye "Iraqi forces advance towards Kuwaiti border". Well that sucks, I think with a degree of sarcastic sensitivity, but I'm here safe in the USA so go me. I get to my desk and begin my daily routine of doing paperwork for the first hour and a half before doing anything resembling productivity. You see I didn't schedule appointments or do much more than brainless, necessary busy work until about 9 or so. Most people in the office would not even approach me until they were sure I'd had at least one cup of coffee. Around 10, the rumblings began. People milling around with minor urgency, some hush-hush phone calls for the higher-ups and then around noon the information trickled down to us; they were deploying (or sending) a group of people from our base to some undisclosed place for some undisclosed reason. I was still wondering how this impacted me when our boss stated that were sending 3 people from our office to go. You now have my attention.

Now comes the cake. In selecting who was to go, our boss had to balance knowledge and experience of personnel for both the mission and the office. Being the most experienced of the lower tier I was right in the middle, but figured they would keep me back (wishful hoping is more like it) but he said it was down to 2 of us; myself and my co-worker Joe. I suggested a coin flip which did not meet with as much humor as I expected. When the boss said he was considering me because of said experience, Joe began to protest saying something like "Cmon man, why can't I go" as he walked backwards and sat right in the middle of a cake we had a birthday in the office. "THAT is why you are not going, congratulations Jerry" Great, thanks for that Joe. And for the record, yes he's on here and will read this and agree with and corroborate most of what I am saying. If not,Joe and Moe, that's how I remember it.

I could go on about the Desert Shield/Storm experience for pages and pages but that is not wholly the purpose of this rant. Needless to say that 18 hours later, I was sitting on a plane bound for Myrtle Beach, SC then to parts unknown (they never even told us as we took off from Barcelona headed there and I'm not wholly sure I ever really knew where we were). My attendance at The World's Largest Beach Party, as I affectionately called it, lasted from early September 1990 until about mid-March of 1991 (wow it has been 20 years). During that time I learned to play Spades, played a lot of Boggle and Rummy, did a lot of training and about once a night or so, awoke to Saddam's scud alarm clock.

I sometimes don't feel like I really "fought" for my country as much as I was just holding down a place for America's security. When I came back, the first thing my grandfather, may he RIP, did was to sign me up and take me to VFW. Being a veteran himself, he beamed with pride as he introduced me around to the other veteran's. A part of me didn't feel like I really belonged there, I mean these were guys that were in armed combat, stormed hills and beachheads and protect forts and outposts. I played games, trained a lot, killed flies on guard duty and wrote a lot of letters. However one of the WW II veterans put it in perspective for me. He said "You signed up to defend your country, you went halfway around the world to defend your country and put in the same position as us, you have done the same things we did"  He did have a point.

I wear my veteran's status with pride. I still have my uniform and yes it still fits, I'll get some pictures sometime to prove it. I wear it from time to time in remembrance of my service, of those good, simpler times and and to prove that no matter whether the battle I'm fighting is against a foreign enemy, a 10 of spades or a chronic illness, I am a fighter and I am a soldier and I always will be.

Thank you for taking the time once again.

The Chronicles of Biff - Volume 2 - (written 11/02/2010)

Apparently Biff likes ice cream. Who would have thunk it. He also likes Count Chocula, Double Stuf Oreos and lemon drops. This is a good thing because I do too.

I think one of the biggest casualties in this whole thing has been my appetite.  When I first when to the doctor about this around the end of March, I weighed a svelte 195 lbs, more than I had weighed in a long while. This was probably due to the new anti-depressants that I was taking. Once the cramps and pain started kicking into full gear, the weight started dropping. At my lowest point, right around diagnosis time at the end of May, I was 176.

Try the new pancreatitis diet plan and watch the pounds just melt away.

The lbs were slowly dropping off with each doctor’s visit and new test. First came the sonogram checking my pancreas (just the surface) and found nothing. That was followed by an endoscopy looking for ulcers or infections, nothing, the a CAT scan looking at my pancreas again, 0 for 2 on that one and then a nuclear gall bladder scan (which was really cool because I got to see my gall bladder glow) which resulted in no answers either.  By this point it was going on two months and I had resorted to Web MD, and Mystery Diagnosis for any inkling of an answer.

By this point I was seriously starting to wonder if this was all in my head. All of the tests were showing nothing and there were no physical symptoms to justify what I was feeling. I began to wonder if I was really stuck with this until it "passed” or just stopped as suddenly as it started. My doctor/savior was still curious and undaunted in her quest to get answers. I was and still am very thankful for her being as stubborn as I am. She really believed it was my pancreas despite all the other tests being negative but I began to see her frustration with it as well. She said that she wanted to try one more thing before referring me to a specialist. Let me back up a second, I talk in lots of medical terms lately and have become very familiar with my abdominal area and any and all tests involving it.  This time they wanted to put another tube into my throat, this time with an ultrasound monitor on it, to further look at my pancreatic area.

One more time...with feeling!

This one seemed a bit more serious and I actually was feeling a combination of hope and fear that this would find out a) what was wrong and b) that I wasn't crazy. Well, I am crazy but that's another rant for another time. Thus I digress as I usually do.  Once again they wheeled me in, numbed my throat, put me to sleep and once again, I remember nothing but the nurse saying something followed immediately by waking up in the recovery room. It was really quite odd to just lose pieces of my life like that. After trying unsuccessfully to wake me up a few times, the doctor gave up and the nurse was there when I came to. She told me that they found out that it was chronic pancreatitis. Then my girlfriend walked ib and apparently, I say apparently because I don't completely recall bits and pieces when I come out from anesthesia, I raised my hands in the air and said

Me: "We have a winner!"

She: "What is it"

Me: "Chronic Pancreatitis

Nurse: That means you can't drink anymore

Me: Does that mean I can't drink anymore?

Nurse: Yes

Me: Well, it was a good run

One thing this has not taken and will not take from me is my sense of humor. When it does, it means I have given up. And anyone who knows me knows that I am nothing if not stubborn. And so the journey began from there. I don't think I truly and immediately grasped the meaning of my situation until I went back to the doctor (to whom I repeated the "we have a winner" speech) told me what this diagnosis meant going forward. Words like, no cure, rest of your life, take all these pills everyday, rest of your life, don't drink anymore, rest of your life! Those words echo in my head, every day, they consume me at times. In those moments my sense of humor is gone. I want to give up. I want to give in. I want to just lay in bed and let it win. Take medicine, do nothing, be on disability and basically become nothing more than a shell of who I used to be.

But in those moments, I hear the echoes of my mothers voice in my head when she told me "You control the disease, do not let the disease control you, this thing does not define who you are and you cannot let it, or it wins" Stubborn I am and I don't like to lose. Rest of my life?? Bring it on!