Day 3 Morning Hepatitis C — A Self-Centered Asshole Stirs

Yes, I am a self-centered asshole, and the realization that I have to deal with this disease is inflaming that aspect of my disease. The two central fears that give power and thrust to my disease of mind, body and soul can be expressed simply; 1) I will not be taken care of and I am doomed, and 2) I am unlovable and I will not be loved and I will die alone. Together, these fears reverberate in my mind like pinballs bouncing off the bumpers, setting off the bells and whistles, the clangs and the clacks that strangely enough, rarely lead to action in response. In fact, all the noise and the madness tends to result in a certain malaise and ennui and inaction as I become a couchaholic and sink into the leather folds of this doom.

Without question, if I am to survive and if I am to move forward with any degree of confidence and follow this path to eventual health and recovery, I cannot be a body at rest. I must follow the basic laws of physics and believe that a body that is in motion stays in motion, avoiding te trap of inertia. It is amazing how many of these thoughts, although they have risen before in different forms and guises, were triggered by my experience at my home group last night. In Alcoholics Anonymous, a home group is exactly what it sounds like; the weekly meeting that you consider your home and your safety net. My home group is a large men's stag in Los Angeles where the anonymous participants have centuries of accumulated sobriety and have learned to walk the walk on a path of wisdom and grace. Mostly. But they are a loving and kind bunch and willing to help.

And many of them have gone through the crucible of Hepatitis C infection and treatment so they had many opinions and ideas, basically leaving me in a state of semi-confusion and a touch more fear. I mean, I know I am going to get a second opinion, but I am not confident what I will do with it if it differs from the first. After all, this morning I received a call from a nurse at Kaiser Permanente, letting me know that the further blood tests revealed that Hepatitis C and not any other liver disease is the cause of my inflammation. They have no doubts about what I should do next... but I am the Hanged Man from the Tarot Cards, left looking for a sense of equilibrium while hovering upside down over this life. Not quite as fey as the picture in the card and the world is not quite as Arcadian, but you get the point. I have such a dominant tendency towards inaction and indecision, and such traits are nothing less than deadly from where I presently hang and what is needed in order to move forward without the burden of such noise and the endless prattling of my fears. In other words, I must move...

Day 1 Hepatitis C — Consequences of My Past Addiction and the Challenges of My New Reality

July 26, 2011

My name is John Lavitt and I am 44-years young and I will not hide behind the veil of anonymity and I will simply be myself in this forum of expression because this is my story, my reality, my life.

Since 2003, I have known that there were physical consequences in regards to my past addiction to heroin and cocaine beyond the external damaged I did to the fabric of my life and the pain I caused my loved ones. After going through a medical detox, I learned that I had tested positive for Hepatitis C. What was so ironic was that I only used needles once; I smoked the drugs because I was gun shy to say the least when it came to needles and blood. The one time I shot up at a friend's house in 1999, I stupidly shared a needle with a young woman, thinking that cleaning it with hydrogen peroxide and sterilizing the needle would protect me. I do not remember the woman's name, and I later came to refer to her in a cruel manner as the bitch who gave me this disease. I recall her as a desperate woman with two kids and a drug addicted husband on the run. I do not even remember her name, and I hope she is okay and sober.

Something I have learned in the course of my own journey is that nobody's suffering or misery does me any good or makes my life any better. I honestly wish happiness and success for everyone because such a wish realized would only improve and brighten the world. I made my own choices and so bitterness is not a desolate road that I choose to walk on today, cold and shrouded in darkness. I have so very much to be grateful for in this life, and I choose to embrace the beauty and wonder of a future imagined.

It is winter in the picture above and snow is on the ground and adorning the trees and there is a turn at the end of a road that leads into the unknown. This is my unknown that became a reality today.

So what happened today, you might ask, and I will tell you even though I still feel more than a bit shell-shocked and overwhelmed and downright scared. After having blood taken just under two weeks ago for a series of tests, I went to Kaiser Permanente and met with a liver specialist whom I now know will be my doctor and an essential part of a challenging journey that has just begun. Dr. Wu let me know that my liver showed signs of inflammation and the Hepatitis C viral count, the viral lode in my blood was elevated. Since I have been infected for about a dozen years, these two markers mean that I need treatment. The details of my treatment will come later and the many difficulties I will face, but it will not be easy. Even with the new cutting edge cocktails of new drugs, interferon remains the primary treatment and the side effects are brutal. These side effects include consistent flu-like symptoms, particularly during the first months, and a tendency towards triggering depressive episodes.

Since I have had a history in the past of clinical depression and take the anti-depressant Wellbutrin on a daily basis, these side effects can be quite dangerous given such a personal history. In addition, since I have genotype 1a, the treatment is least effective for me and the duration is extended and intensified. Although I have only a 60% chance of the treatment actually eradicating the virus from my system, I have to be on the treatment program for a duration of 44 weeks or eleven months. This means almost an entire year of being vastly under the weather without any guarantees beyond the flip of a coin.

Okay, I know I sound a bit depressive right now, but I am actually smiling as I write these words. I cannot change the reality of this reality. There are no do-overs in life and I must accept the consequences of my past actions and the cost of my addiction. I will do my best to be positive as I present a somewhat daily account of what happens next and the progression of this treatment process. Please forgive me if I veer into indulgence and ranting and absurdity because I know the fear will take me down those paths. But I will try to side with the spirit and embrace the faith that everything will be okay.

Sweet dreams on this first night and may we walk together, hand-in-hand, with grace and kindness, laughter and love, and the dream that one day you will hear that I am healthy and back on track.