My face is red and puffy. My eyes are swollen. If you saw me, you’d swear I’d just heard some horrible news. Something like: “Target just burned down!” or “No one else volunteered, so we made you room mother!”
But really I got a call I’ve been waiting for since I was diagnosed with hepatitis C in 1997– the call that I never thought would come.
After countless shots and pills and pokes and prods and prayers (especially prayers), I just heard that my latest test showed no traces of the virus.
I’ve now been virus-free for five years, and I’m considered CURED.
I never spent much time contemplating this day, fearing that thinking about it would prevent it from actually occurring. However, in the back of my mind I suppose I figured the news would engender a “WOOSH” of relief and an immediate feeling of peacefulness and serenity.
Instead, I’m just having a hard time grasping the concept that the ordeal is over. It’s like I’ve been carrying around a heavy suitcase full of liver trouble and now it seems so much a part of me that I’m having trouble letting it go. Maybe I can’t really believe I’m permitted to let it go.
I haven’t even made any phone calls yet– delivering wonderful news while alternately sobbing and sniffling seems ungrateful.
And I am very, very grateful.