When The Treatment Is Worse Than The Disease
I have a dear friend who has Hepatitis C. He went through interferon treatment, which is considered the gold standard for hepatitis C treatment, last year. The side effects were severe but it didn’t kill his disease and he will undergo an experimental protocol in January.
His wife, an even dearer friend, lived through hell during his treatment and now she has to return.
All I know how to do for them is be there when it starts. I will to walk through hell with them. They would do the same for me.
Ironically, they will probably have to one day. My better half has tested positive for Hepatitis C. I am just grateful that his viral load is still low enough that the doctors recommend against the interferon treatment; instead they are waiting, watching.
It is bad enough that these two men, so full of life and benevolent mischief, have this disease that wants to kill them. Yet, to add insult to injury, all four of us are recovering addicts. You’d think we had walked through enough hell just surviving addiction, getting clean, and finding a new way to live.
I feel so powerless, so inadequate. I want to scream. I want to fucking punch something