The Six Month Milestone

Here I am, unbelievably, at the 6 month post treatment milestone. For those you who have been through treatment either yourself or with someone you know, you probably know the swirling mass of emotions that accompany the wait for the blood work results.
In my world, everyone I know who did not maintain SVR post treatment found out at the 6 month follow up, hence the term "Milestone"
Naturally I am a bit anxious. Really I just want to know. In times of uncertainty people often declare that even bad news is better than no news.
Having had the kind of childhood that was frequently wrought with elements of unpredictability and a fair amount of instability, I developed the coping skills of magical thinking and a personal type of superstition as an attempt to predict and control my environment. Hoping for the best while preparing for the worst can be a reasonable adaptive technique, and yet is subject to the individuals state of mind and sense of self at the time. If I were feeling unworthy, down on myself and resigned to a life of struggle, I would spend far more time preparing for the worst. On a particularly optimistic, self confident day I may dare to hope for a positive outcome-because I may actually believe I deserve it.
In the real world however, even though a positive attitude can boost the body's healing processes the bottom line is either the treatment works or it doesn't. By now my body has made that decision and the only way it can tell me is via the results of my blood test. I have an appointment on Wednesday Aug 3 to have a discussion with my Nurse Practitioner, my blood and me. Until then I have no control or influence over the outcome.
I know that ultimately I will be okay no matter what the results tell me. My blood work has been returning to normal and I assume that means my body is functioning as it should be. My physical and emotional health continue to improve and my memory and cognitive functions are reasonably acceptable for someone with my history. My health is good enough that if I am faced with the decision of another attempt at treatment I can probably wait a few years. I have a wonderful supportive partner, a beautiful and funny family, a few good friends and 2 dogs and 2 cats who grace me with their company. I have hobbies and activities that I enjoy and I feel that now and then I am able to contribute something useful and meaningful to society. All in all life is pretty good and I am grateful for the people animals and opportunities that I have. Regardless of the test results I am a pretty lucky woman.

Image courtesy of i RainbowCupcake via photobucket

http://s495.photobucket.com/home/iRainbowCupcake

2010-2011 Jennifer Hazard

Eeeeee OOOhhhhh Teeeeeee

This title violates all the blogging rules of making your tile "searchable" and "drawing in the readers interest", unless of course you have experience with treatment and you know that it means...END OF TREATMENT!
Can you tell I'm just a little bit happy?
I was thinking back to when I first started out on this long bumpy fog covered road, with only bits and pieces of a road map, like something a pirate would bury, hiding its elusive treasure.  I found support systems online, The Hep C Nomads, Hepatitis Advocacy, The Liver Foundation, Facebook groups and more. I read posts from people who were where I am now, finally, blessedly at the end of the road and slowly coming out of the fog. I felt happy for them, and proud for them that they had made it through 48 weeks of basically being a stranger in your own body. But I found it nearly impossible to picture myself at that point, emerging from the place I was in, a place that felt out of time, out of sync with the rest of the world; a strange kind of limbo where nothing feels real. I could not see the end from "in there"
I read the words of encouragement from others who had made it through to the other side and even though it seemed so far away I was glad for the voices from the other side, the hope and strength they offered. I will always be grateful for everyone who has been with me on this journey. People in other countries who I have never met in "real life" who have given so much of themselves when they were so sick it was hard to even sit at the computer long enough to post. This is an amazing community and I intend to stick around to give back what I've been given, not out of obligation but of gratitude and great respect for everyone who travels this journey together holding hands through the fog.
I think I'm going to go shed a few tears now :)
Thank You all so much, words cannot describe what your support has meant to me.
Peace and Love to you all!
Jenny



© 2010 Jennifer Hazard

My walk to the store as a metaphor

Wind chill minus 9, snow piled 3 to 4 feet high in some areas and I’m out of food and cigarettes. This means a walk to the store is inevitable. Here in the final weeks of treatment and have so little left to give, physically. I become exhausted and achy after the most routine activity, doing dishes, cleaning up around the house, taking the dog out. Needless to say I’m not thrilled about the thought of this walk. I postpone for an hour then realize the sun is heading west. It will only be colder after dark, and the patches of ice will be undetectable. So I “buck up”, eat some Cheerios with ensure and bundle up warmly. My son and his dog accompany my as we set out on our arctic journey. The dog, Mitzy, is half husky and tolerates the cold, my little dog; a Shih-tsu/terrier mix stays home. When I first step out into the frigid air my muscles tighten, I brace myself. A block from the house, I’m short of breath and want to sit down. Since I know that’s not an option, I take a deep belly breath and pace my steps. My muscles start to relax. I can feel my blood flowing I start to adjust to the cold (as much as anyone can at that temperature). The corner store is only 4 blocks away but on some treatment days it feels like miles. By the time we’re halfway there I’ve got a decent pace going, my son and I are talking and laughing, Mitzy is happily trotting along picking up scents to see who’s been around.

I hang in there quite well and although the sun is sailing toward the horizon it is bright and feels warming. The corner store is a fairly typical urban corner store. Narrow aisles are lined with cluttered shelves containing products arranged in no particular order. If you can find it, you can fulfill most of your basic needs whatever they may be. Along with milk, bread and basic family needs like diaper, toilet paper, 7 day candles and mouse traps you can find herbal “all night long” potion, rolling papers, whatever clever novelty gift is being used to make crack pipes and pretty much any kind of liquor you can imagine. It’s always an adventure in cultural irony.

By the time we get home I’m tired, but it’s a good tired. The kind of tired you feel when you’ve accomplished something, not the kind of tired you feel when you’ve been lying around the house with no motivation or interest. I know that kind of tired all too well lately. I realize I enjoy the other kind of tired. I appreciate it.

I know a four block round trip walk isn’t exactly Olympian, hell I used to walk miles a day no matter what the weather; but everything is relative. Today overcoming my resistance “bucking up”, doing what I had to do and enjoying it felt like a Gold Medal achievement.

© 2010 Jennifer Hazard

New Year, No Pressure

 Happy New Year!!

I've been "writing" my New Years blogs in my mind (yeah that's how I roll) all week. This time of year I like to take stock of the past year, do a little self inventory as they say in recovery, and then think about what I'd like to see happen in the upcoming year. You might notice I don't use words like, “goals", "life plan" or "resolutions". I never really learned about the concept of "goals" until later in life and for some reason (unfamiliarity? Corporate overuse?) the word still makes me bristle a bit.

In keeping with the recurring theme of irony that is my life, it was about the time that I began to internalize the concept and actually create some goals that life yanked the tablecloth out from under my neatly arranged plans like a second rate magician trying unsuccessfully to pull the tablecloth from under the china. My finely laid table was a shambles of chipped china, scattered silver and spilled glasses. Like most survivors I know how to pick up the pieces that are still useful, repair what I can and discard the rest.

Resetting my table is pretty much the forte, and maybe that's why I have always avoided planning ahead. I'm certain that there are many people out there who will insist that recurring chaos is the result of poor planning rather than an excuse for it and they are probably right, and yet so am I.  If I've learned one thing in this life it is that seemingly paradoxical truths can exist and be valid at the same time. On a good day life is a theater of the absurd in my eyes, on a bad day well; let's just say I lose my sense of humor at times.

As far as resolutions or goals, I'm functioning on a pretty primal level right now. Goal 1) Eat more than once a day. Goal 2) Get out of bed every day. Yeah, ambition is not high on the list right now. On the other hand I have accomplished several things I probably would not have if I'd been working full time. I have two regular blogs that I do a fair job of keeping up with. I have been designing my own website which is actually finally presentable (see link at bottom of page). I've done a lot of crafting and artwork I've always wanted to do. I've gotten to know many people online in various communities who share many of the same interests and concerns that I am passionate about. And I've spent a lot of quality time with my family both human and four legged.

The Big question mark hovers over the statement "after treatment..." It's difficult to even visualize that place, the place that exists beyond treatment like some kind of magical isle that disappears into the mist. As synchronicity would have it I recently stumbled across a post by one of my fellow Hep C bloggers that pretty well sums up the mists that obfuscate the future and allow us to cherish each day as it is. I hope you will enjoy reading it as much as I did http://ianquill.blogspot.com/

© 2010 Jennifer Hazard

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check "em out, I'd love some feedback.


Thank You and have a blessed and healthy 2011!!!

Thanksgiving and all that

Hello everyone,
I hope you all had a pleasant holiday however you choose to acknowledge it. As always my kids and I did ours on Wednesday then they go to their Dad's on Thursday. We had a nice meal and I was having a "good" day in terms of energy level. My son prepared nearly the entire meal and my daughter did all the cleanup. I started to protest but it occurred to me that for all the bitching I do about lack of support for people on treatment I should just relax and be THANKFUL that they did all the work. One family tradition we have is that as we sit down to eat everyone lists things for which they are thankful, and I was truly thankful for my family. They don't always get it when I'm exhausted or sick, but how could they really? they are 17 and 19 as I recall at that age one's capacity for empathy is still developing. In fact I believe that although the seeds are planted in early life, empathy is a trait which develops over an entire lifetime-hopefully.
Today was not such a good day, I felt terrible all day, neck ache, headache, nausea and just generally feeling out of it. It seems to go that way, a good day or two followed by feeling like crap. I'm in my 9th month of treatment now and starting to feel very toxic, and really have had just about enough. But two months to go and it will be over; then begins the 6 month trial period to see if I attain SVR. I honestly try not to have too many expectations one way of another. We hear a lot of people talk about the power of positive thought in the healing process and although I do firmly believe this myself I find it difficult to apply specifically to healing my Hep C. I feel that, for me, it's probably more productive and healing to maintain positive perspective in general and that will extend to my physical well being. I tend to get a bit obsessive and if I were to spend hours sitting around focusing on my liver, I think it would do more harm than good. But that's just me, and my way of doing things. Other than coping with side effects and participating in education, support and advocacy (mostly online) I try not to think about it too much. I don't countdown the weeks until EOT I couldn't even guess how many shots I've done (although I could figure it out if I wanted to) and even following my lab results I only pay attention to what is absolutely necessary.
This process of managing side effects is enough of a task all by itself, as far as the rest, what will be will be. Because this is such a difficult process and for me the sides have been pretty bad, I appreciate having a day to remind us to focus on things for which we are Grateful, it's good practice for every day!
© 2010 Jennifer Hazard

I am not Immortal.....

...at least not in the flesh. I won't preach on the afterlife, we all have our own views on that. Fortunately I'm pretty comfortable with mine.
The more time I spend with doctors, taking meds, experiencing side effects from meds and learning about this disease the more my inner teenager is forced to relinquish her firm belief in immortality. Funny because in many ways I was always a rather neurotic kid. I was terrified of illness and death and yet I lived a life style that tempted harm on a pretty regular basis.There came a point in my life when this paradox suddenly made sense. I perceived my actions as some kind of protective ritual for me, a way of knocking wood. You see if I challenged Death and won, it meant two things: a) My existence was validated, I obviously deserved to be here, and 2)I didn't have to feel so vulnerable to every potential disease, accident or fatal mishap that I had spend my childhood obsessing over.

One thing the young and daring fail to realize is that although they may survive one incident and lived to see the sunrise the next day, "validating your existence" and all that; there is a good possibility that something could come back to bite you in the ass 30 years later. For some of my friends it was HIV, then AIDS, most of them are no longer with us. For others it was overdoses, car accidents, liver failure and other alcohol/drug/brain damaged induced mishaps. You can only tease Death for so long before He gets weary and drops the old sickle on your head.
Others of us do the best we can, struggling along, eating healthy, taking vitamins, exercising a little, trying to maintain some level of sobriety and, like me, doing battle with the sneaky little virus that that set up shop in my liver some 30 years ago.

So, no, we are not immortal, but some of us are the "lucky ones" and we have the opportunity to appreciate life and to cherish the time and the people we have been blessed with.

© 2010 Jennifer Hazard