"I knew It, I knew it, I fucking
knew it"...Even so, being told it
nearly made me faint. She, my
GP, In her sweet voice told me, "Well, I
know you know it really, but I
have to tell you that your results
are positive. Hepatitis C
Positive'..."
I'd got away with HIV and I knew I'd never get a second chance. I was sure that I'd be Hepatitis C positive. How could I have ever got away without catching either of these vicious, horribly retributive diseases?.
I'd done it all and, I'd had all the rest. All the STD's. Clap, clap, and more clap, applause even; Vag. warts, NSU's, chlamydia, cystitis, and the ones I've forgotten. I've had injecting abscesses which were deep enough to disappear a Primary Health Care Nurse.
I've had shots of penicillin, thick as custard, and cures worse than the disease. Luckily most of the evil hugs gotzapped. But Hep C's a new one forme. Back to the 'scaries', how things werewith HIV ten, fifteen years ago. It was about a year before 1 really tookmy diagnosis on. I mean, I had no way to relate to it. I fell generally OK. I seemed to have a lot of small, nameless illnesses, headachy/belly/lired muscles fuzzy headedncss. Bu t no real illnesses. I just didn't feel good enough that I could energetically go off and do all the things T wanted to do. Go to work, fuck off to Am*dam for the weekend, go off with me 'ole man for a few days, go to an interesting conference in Manchester or somewhere. Phew, just too knackered. And eventually, mega knackered.
So, finally, in need of some real medical information I went to my GP to be stapled into the system. I was pessimistic, but thought that with results ofsome blood tests thai would be that. But, the reality ain't so. The going to the GP, for me anyway was a like being given the card which says 'Go straight to Jail', but my card said, 'Go to jail and then go straight back to start and start again. Do not stop going back to start. I went to the blood takers with a sheaf of multi-coloured bits of paper. Luckily there I learned a new trick. The blood taker looked at my sad, hiding, veins andsuggested (hat he would do all my blood taking with babyblood taking equipment. It was brill, I mean brill, blood flowed outta me for the man with not even a bruise. No pain, no bruising, but not suitable for all I understand. But for me, spectacularly easy.
The results were mildly interesting, but nothing of any great importance or interest.
Time passed and I was called for an Ultrasound test. A bit greasy and squclchy, but not unpleasant. There they saw something weird wrong with my gal bladder. So ...next appointment was for a CAT scan. It was so comfy and warm and cosy and womb like. UUUUUuuuummmmm. Within a second I was gouched out. I was floating sweetly when a voice came booming through asking me to keep still if possible. Yea, I know. When I gouch I jerk and twitch.
Finally they managed to diagnose a mysterious prob with my gall bladder that caused them some confusion, andas far as I know is still undiagnosed, a mystery. I don't really care at this point.
Again, time passed and I got on with all the things I could though I was always short of energy. I made a trip to Holland to see my Dutch family, son and grandson. Spent much of my time at home feeling happy and contented, writing, drawing, and generally feeling happy and occupied. As long as I wasn't called upon 10 be energetic. Even being up early, or walking a short'ish distance became out of the question.
Time carne for further tests. I went through the whole rigmarole again, bloods, ultrasound, pushing prodding and poking. All me bloods showed the same again, nothing much new except a spot of cylorossis, but not much to write home about. Other health problems kicked in.
Asthma started to cause me difficulties, and occasional stunningly painful crunches to do with my back. My back is either totally OK, or I'm on the floor writhing in pain and am then flat down shrieking in pain, immobile for a while and getting aquainted with the dust balls under the furniture. Usually I'm back on my feet in a month or so. He Ho.
What more. What more I can do? I can get another set of blood tests; I can get another ultra sound. I've been offered a 'down the gullet camera' thingy. But even the thought of it makes me gag. I could have another snoo/e through the CAT scan tunnel. I could even get someone to poke me in the side with a vicious hook to hoik out a nibblet out of my liver. It may grab an ill bit, or it might grab a pulsating alive and viable chunk. It's pure luck.
Or I could start on the road to applying for ‘The Cure', You know, and I say all the following with major respect to those who have taken up the option, but 'The Cure' according to my info and according to my age and length of probable infection would mean jumping through major hoops to get.
The info I read informs me that the cure is extremely expensive and utterly horrible, like double flu for about a year. It seems that forty percent drop out 'cos of feeling so ill and apparently only approx forty of those remaining on the medication get a good result. I dunno. Liver transplant. Well, naah, I wouldn't even get a nod towards getting on the list, I'm a much too naughty chick for that. Had the virus for too long.
So, there I am. Like I said, it's like the card ... go straight back to 'go' and keep on going round and round. Blood tests, ultra sound. CAT sean, mebbe a biopsy: blood tests, ultra sound. Pussy CAT, a kick in the side; getting my knickers all greasy during another ultra sound, pussycats etc etc.
Occasionally they tell you something like 'Did you know that your haemo-gobhns are interacting with your corpuscles'. Welt well, I wonder, is that good or bad? And then have to try to get the answer quickly down on paper as the words wash over me like gobblty gook, and I leave, again not knowing if I'm better or worse.
My final word. Thank all the powers and my special guardian angel thai I've managed to remain viable for as long as I have. Further to that I've had a rnega good run, and meanwhile the circle keeps on turning. Amen.