And this is The End

The end to this story at least, of the The Girl with the Hep C Eyes. Realized it this morning while out on my run: my Hep C Eyes are no more. It was good though, for me as Ample. I found a lot of new voices, mine included, and I can't say thank you enough. I mean: Whoa! My little blip of Hep C, the discovery, the decisions, then the treatment, the wait, and now SVR (still so amazing). They were all tremendous, monumental, course forming events for me... and I put them here and you came, and you witnessed, and you helped me through it. Thank you (times a gazillionmillion).

I'll leave this blog up for a little while. Not sure if it could help anyone (don't want to clog up the blog-o-sphere), but Hep C is still pretty huge, and way too undiscovered, so I want to keep my girlie voice out there a bit longer, loud and clear, to proudly define the meaning of effort and victory, of wonder, discovery, and letting go. All attributes I needed everyday while on treatment, lessons I learned and relearned, over and over. Whew.... what a trip, damn happy I beat that train. It can be done.

So if you've just come to this blog because of some connection with Hep C, then please check out the links, reach out for help, and rest. And if you're the one who actually has the virus, then do the same times a milliongazillion. Take a breath. You can do it. Really.

Well, thank you again. I'm gonna miss those Hep C Eyes in some ways. Many ways. Funny how this feels. Ah well. Good bye.

Damn, I am happy

I ran 3 miles,
while everyone slept,
watch the sun rise,
choosing each step.
50 more years,
I feel I've been given,
maybe even more,
since now I am driven.
So on with my day,
home finally alone,
hours to float,
new freedoms to roam.

SVR

I'M CLEAR!!!

I'M CLEAR! I'M CLEAR! I AM CLEAR!!!!!!! Un-De-Tect-Able!! BAM BAM BAM!! I'm clear. No more virus to be found, never to hurt me or slow me down in the least bit ever. Totally by surprise! I retested just three days ago! Was totally unprepared. Thought I had a week at least to chill. Then BAM!!!! Whooooo Hoooooooo! Holey Crap. Holey @#%@#$ Crap. Wow. Wow, wow, wow. W-ow-ow-ow! Whew! Holey #$%@. Totally by surprise.

Well sort of, you see, I was out doing work stuff with my daughter at the new office building (totally separate story, so anyway) I get home and there's a message on the phone. Two actually. The first, my best friend, asking me to call her if I get home before 5:30. It's 4:40. I think: cool. Then there's this next message. And first there's a long long pause, I began to think it's a hangup, then ta-da! There's my doc's voice: Hi, [Ample]. This is [the doc]. Please call me. I have results for you. (blah blah number number). You'll be happy.

Holey Crap! Right? It's only been three days. How can this be??? Do I call her? Do I call my friend? Can I do this? First I check on my daughter, I even tell her the doc message deal, but she's watching TV, totally distracted, says she's hungry. OK. I grab her the left over cantaloupe. Then it starts to rain and I remember my windows are down. I stop to go do that. More little things, over and over, up and down, back and forth, phone in hand, never ready to dial the number.

And it's the doc's cell phone number, can you believe that? She's off of work on Friday afternoons, yet here she is, on my answering machine saying she has the results.... and that I can call her. Should I call her? Holey crap. I think I am going to throw up.

4:51, phone in hand. I'm shaky, can't sit down, can't stand up, can't hardly breathe. Stomach hurts. Face keeps contorting with waves of fierce tears. I grimace, then relax, grimace, then relax.

4:53, OK, I'll dial..... yep...... Grimace, OK, grimace, OK..... ring, ring, ring, ring, ring, ring, ring, ring, ring (forever!)

doc: Hello?

me: Hi [doc], this is [Ample].

doc: Something, something, was hoping it was you. Something good news. Something test results. Your virus is undetectable. Something, something about how amazing it was to get the test results back in just three days and how she's never seen that before. Something, something. You are a free woman. Congratulations.

me: Ok. Wow. Thank you.

I think that's pretty much all I could blubber out. Not so silent tears were rushing much faster than I had anticipated. Much deeper in belly source. Quick goodbyes were initiated by both, then I stood on the back porch and whoosh..... made it to the chair and let myself dive, head first, more and more I wanted to feel it, say it, believe it: I am clear. I cursed and laughed, then cried and sobbed, and shook and rocked and rocked and wailed something new. Then in walks my bean, my wonderful bean.

She jumped and hugged, and cheered and laughed, and moved on, as did everyone else, so quickly. And the earth kept spinning. And the clouds parted in spectacular ways. And the colors brightened. And I kept throwing out the trash in my head, over and over, small moments, so I could be here, present. I want this, nothing else. What a great time. To be here. And free. And SVR.

I'm SVR. Holey crap. I really am. Really.

la la la

la la la life continues
la la la this is fine
la la la verdict pending
la la la nine days time

No news

Can you believe it? No news because the wrong test was completed: Hep B by mistake. The Lab's snafu (lab form said Hep C plain as day). My doc was beside herself, near to tears. She understands the weight of this moment, the build up, the surge of anticipation now stalled. She's waiting to know too: did this treatment work? How many times must she ride that roller coaster. I could only laugh with relief. Laugh and laugh and laugh. At least it's not bad news, I kept saying. I mean hey, this could be MUCH worse. Much, much worse. And it's not. So I gotta give more blood. So I gotta wait 7-10 more days. Whatever. That's no big deal. Again, at least it's not bad news, crushing news, news of failure, news of deathly viral return!!! Nope, this is just fine.

So, I said I could handle any kind of news over the phone. So no more trips to town. That's fitting actually. It's how I learned of my original viral load (11, 700, 000), of genotype 1b, over the phone. That's when I finally accepted the viral's existence. Do I remember that call well. Hey! If she calls on the 28th, it will be exactly 2 years from beginning to end. Weird!!! Wow!! Wouldn't that be cool!! Oh I hope she calls then!

Ah... life is so unpredictable isn't it. What a crazy trip. Just gotta love the newness. 10 more days, 10 more days, 10 more days...

Back and Ready

Back and I hardly thought of the doc's appointment looming over me, tomorrow, bright and early. Must have been all the fun, long lost friends, and big trees (love, love, love the Redwoods), or maybe I'm just unbelievably confident about the whole thing. Either way, I had a blast. Even the city life was good for the first three days (apparently my max). Such culture, fulla drama, but all the people crowd my karma (see City Poems).

I'm just a happy space freak I suppose. Space on this planet, that is. And space I found, among the Redwoods. And bliss, and peace, and great wonderment, and anger... at stupid, greedy adults who have selfishly sawed downed 95% of these majestic beings. And then there are the litter beasts (damn it they are everywhere). How many cigarette butts did I pick up? How many empty beer cans? How many wads of gum? Unbelievable. We did what we could every where we went (my bean's a litter cleaning fiend as well). But the peak of the trip, the grand finale, the ultimate crescendo, was the night at the fire tower (Bear Basin Butte Lookout, of the Smith River National Recreation Area). Just us (hubby and bean), at the top of a long, long, long mountain road. No electricity, no running water, I could live there for months at a time. Spent many moments daydreaming of just that.

And home again now, I've allowed myself to daydream all afternoon about tomorrow. Allowed my mind to fill with images of perfection. Then of how to, how to, how to. Than back to center, over and over and over again. I wouldn't want to miss this once in a life time affair.

I have my picture planned out and a few questions for the doc written down (pretty sure I'd forget them in the glow of all the excitement). Questions like:

1. Will I ever be tested for Hep C again? And if so, how often?
2. Does this mean I will never see you (the gastro doc) again? In other words: will the future tests, if any, be completed by my primary?
   
3. And finally, is this the end?

I plan on sending flowers. Thought about bringing them. But what if the news is bad: oh, the virus is back, well.... here's some flowers. Nope. I don't think so. But I will send flowers later. Over all, the doc/me relationship's been pretty good. My "doc" (actually an A.R.N.P.) was as great as any involved pharmacist could be. I have tons and tons of respect for her, but that's really all it was. The rest of "treatment" was done my me, with lots of help from the universe, certain close friends (blogging buddies and favorite cousins included here), parents, the bean, and my hubby.

Holey crap..... the news better be good. Wish me luck. Please.


(added later) answers to questions: 1. only if I want to; 2. either/or, my choice; 3. yes, this is SVR.

City Poems

3rd day:

City, City,
what a pity,
I can not stay.
Gotta go,
brain tells me so,
my heart she knows the way.
To the hills,
clean air to fill,
my lungs of city dust.
Was fun to see,
street life of thee,
but hug a tree I must.

4th day, angst reflected:

Eyes of many,
space for few,
tongues aplenty,
chomp bits then poo,
lines soar up,
to crowd the sky,
hurried bees,
say: yours is mine.

upon return to the city:

Glowing fog,
or is it smog,
at night they look the same.
Web of lights,
obscure the sights,
no stars to show the way.
Traffic signs,
confusing lines,
my heart is sinking fast.
Desire to flee,
is grasping me,
tomorrow home at last.

tried to write a poem about the beloved Redwoods. Tried for days actually, but it kept turning out angry:

Little Redwood sapling,
how will you fare,
with such evil minded monkeys,
demanding their share....

or

Little Redwood sapling,
will you survive,
thousands of years,
past when I die....

Oh well.

Done and gone

Blood given, turned in, to be searched for any living, hidden, remaining, virus. But can't they look at it all? That's such a small sample, what if it's just not in that place, at that very time when you poked it? Ah well. Why do I need someone else's proof, right? Ah well (not a substitute for "All Well").

Well now I'm off. To San Francisco and around. 10 days of new moments. Will be fun.

DON don DON don DON don

Lab forms are ready so I guess I am too.

DON don DON don DON don

Waiting with relief

Lab forms forgotten
never sent
by the docs
repeated calls
two days worth
but phone lines "down"
new office snafu
OK
Got till Thursday
to get contact
to go back to town
to give the blood
before I'm off to Cally
for 9 days
back just before the appointment
which could only happen if
phone lines work
OK
Actually a bit relieved :)

Labs tomorrow

I keep forgetting I'm doing my labs tomorrow. Really, I keep forgetting, then BAM, it sneeks up on me, right out of the blue, WHOOSH "labs tomorrow", WHOOSH "labs tomorrow", WHAP with the realization that I am almost done. Finie, maybe forever. Whoa-ho-ho, really? Could I be? Done with the virus before I ever felt it? Done with labs? Done with doctor visits? Done with worry? WHOOSH, WHAP, WAM..... wow.

6 month closing

Have started a new fast,
but not before I canceled all superfluous subscriptions,
and erased my name from calling lists,
and purged my closet and the bean's drawer,
filling four bags to Goodwill,
and not before I rawed my diet for two days,
skipping cookout delights,
then ice cream,
not even a taste,
now finally I can fast.