How Did I Get Here?
Announcement:
Thank you to everyone that read my first post and especially those who reached out. I am doing ok. That picture on instagram was from my first day in the hospital. I have been in the hospital six times in the last 3 months but am currently home fighting this disease. My reasons for starting this blog were simple: Keep family and friends up to date on my progress and to get some things off my chest by writing about them. My intention was not to write a cliff hanger episode straight out of Ozark’s. If it came off that way I genuinely apologize.
So, back to the question: How (the f) did I go from working my first big event for my dream job to being in the ER with an incurable disease in 24 hours?!
May 2010:
I just graduated college, had the world by the balls and my final weekend in Dallas was going to be capped off by being in a friend’s wedding on Saturday before moving back to Austin the next day to start my life as a real life adult. What a treat. Or so it looked like on paper. I was supposed to meet the rest of the wedding party at Jake’s for burgers and beers at lunch before we all headed to the hotel to get our tuxes on. Out of nowhere before I left the house I started sweating and my heart was pounding out of my chest. I sat down took some tums and turned the AC to 68 expecting to feel fine in 20 minutes. 20 minutes goes by and it’s only getting worse. I call my best friend and tell him to come over. He walks in my front door on Asbury St and I said “Mitch, I think I’m having a heart attack.” God bless him, he stayed with me for the next 10 hours telling me everything was ok, that I was having a panic attack. Long story short, I had to call the groom and miss the wedding, but most importantly I found out what a panic attack was. From that day on I have battled anxiety and panic attacks. They show up out of nowhere and completely disable you. You know in the back of your mind this is temporary but that doesn’t do ANYTHING to stop the freight train coming at you. I have had them in airports, while driving to lunch on a Tuesday and even waking up to one. I wouldn’t wish them on my worst enemy.
I went to therapy, read books, I even went to a hypnotherapist to get rid of them. Nothing worked. Nothing worked because I went at it half ass. I didn’t alter my lifestyle at all. I kept eating like shit, not exercising besides playing basketball once a week and I kept drinking on the weekends like I was 19. For years I ate breakfast tacos, pizza and burgers like it was my job. I always joked with friends who worked out that I don’t run because I get tired and I don’t lift weights because they get heavy. Good line (shoutout Charles Barkley who coined it) but not the way to go through life. And as anyone whose ever met me can tell you I loved me some cocktails.
I always rationalized how much I drank because all my friends did the same. Tailgates, happy hours, late nights all involved a LOT of booze. And I was always the life of the party. My anxiety attacks got so bad I used alcohol to self medicate sometimes. Literally the worst thing someone with anxiety should do is to drink, especially in excess. On top of this viscous cycle of super highs followed immediately by super lows little did I know I was destroying the most important organ in my body. On July 6th of this year after a long weekend of celebrating the birth of America (and Joseph Goddard SHOUTOUT), I decided I needed a break from alcohol and maybe a permanent one. The next two months I felt amazing. Clear mind. Good sleep. Anxiety level way down. Literally two months to the day later having not had as much as a beer I am diagnosed with cirrhosis of the liver mainly caused by alcohol.
For the next 6 weeks or so I was so ashamed, angry at the world, and most importantly anger with myself for this happening. I caused it. I’m a piece of shit. Every doctor’s visit just felt like a judgmental interrogation about my past. Not only was my body eating itself alive, these doctors and nurses kept asking about my past and telling me I should have drank less. Finally at a doctor’s appointment I snapped and said “I get it! I can’t change the past but I’m here now, what the fuck do I do to get better because this ain’t helping.“ The next day I switched doctors and thank god I did. I went to this guy’s office, showed him all my blood tests and he said something I’ll never forget, “I’m not going to sugarcoat this, your body is in bad shape BUT it can be fixed. If you do everything I tell you, which will be anything but easy, you have a chance to beat this and start a new, healthy life.” It was clear, I needed a liver transplant.
More to follow.
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