Hepatitis C: Decision Time
Today, I visited with "Dr. Scott" and we discussed the likelihood of my having to enter into chemotherapy for treatment of Hepatitis C (HCV).
Gosh, how I dislike those words: chemotherapy ... Hepatitis C. Strange, though, that they do not seem as dark today as they did even a day or so ago. I believe I am drawing strength through the prayers of others, and through my own prayers.
I looked at my notes and discovered that my first visit with him was on December 4, 2000, just days after the diagnosis of HCV was confirmed on Nov. 29. In some ways it seems like an eternity ago, which is appropriate since it seems like better treatment options are taking forever to materialize ... and there are people out there who definitely do not have that much time. (I pray I'm not eventually one of them.)
Given the side-effects of current treatment options, I wish advancements would spead up some.
I've put it off this long for a variety of reasons, the biggest reason being that my viral load was not yet high and we were waiting for better treatment to emerge. In 2003, Scott told me, "Bud, I don't see anything new coming down the pipe in the next five years." Still, he said I could wait a year. So, I did. The treatment, while improved since 2000, is still nasty and lengthy.
In March 2004, it seemed the viral load went up a bit more. So, we decided to wait six months and confirm the trend using the same lab, because different labs report the viral load in different ways. Much to my dismay, the report confirmed the trend, and I sensed decision time was upon me -- and things got a little dark in the spirit.
I went to Ripshin for the weekend, spending time with my family. Thankfully, I serve a church -- Green Meadow United Methodist in Alcoa -- that also believes in serving its pastor. The Rev. James R. Green, a wonderful retired United Methodist minister in my congregation, served on Sunday morning. About the time the church was preparing to enter into worship, I walked Ripshin Lake Road and prayed, mostly thanking God for saving me. There were many times that he could have allowed me to die in my own foolishness, but in his grace he let me live. Because of that, I was given a wonderful wife, children, salvation, vocation and ministry. I prayed in thanksgiving, working my way toward surrendering this to him. I would like to say I have already achieved that, but that would not be the truth. I can only trust that in his sanctifying grace I will be able to do so.
Today, Scott and I concluded that the time for me to enter into treatment is now ... well, after I get some failing bridgework done. (The bridge is another testimony to my misspent youth.) He doesn't think a couple of more months will make much difference. I have an abscess beneath the bridge that has to be cleared up before doing the treatment because the chemo knocks down your white blood cells. He also believes I need a flu shot, but getting that will be difficult these days.
Waiting too long to begin treatment will risk my falling into decompensated liver disease, at which time it will be too late to do treatment.
While waiting for treatment to begin, I will be preparing my game plan ... the first play of which involves continued prayer and a trip to The Healing Room, a place that keeps coming in various conversations. I thank God for my doctors, all of whom are professing Christians. I believe God does heal miraculously ... sometimes in that incredible instantaneous way, but also through his wise and discerning servants. Before leaving Scott's office, I prayed for him and my other doctors.
I have also come to realize that healing is not just physical healing, but spiritual wholeness ... and that is part and parcel of this journey of faith.
Grace and peace ...
Gosh, how I dislike those words: chemotherapy ... Hepatitis C. Strange, though, that they do not seem as dark today as they did even a day or so ago. I believe I am drawing strength through the prayers of others, and through my own prayers.
I looked at my notes and discovered that my first visit with him was on December 4, 2000, just days after the diagnosis of HCV was confirmed on Nov. 29. In some ways it seems like an eternity ago, which is appropriate since it seems like better treatment options are taking forever to materialize ... and there are people out there who definitely do not have that much time. (I pray I'm not eventually one of them.)
Given the side-effects of current treatment options, I wish advancements would spead up some.
I've put it off this long for a variety of reasons, the biggest reason being that my viral load was not yet high and we were waiting for better treatment to emerge. In 2003, Scott told me, "Bud, I don't see anything new coming down the pipe in the next five years." Still, he said I could wait a year. So, I did. The treatment, while improved since 2000, is still nasty and lengthy.
In March 2004, it seemed the viral load went up a bit more. So, we decided to wait six months and confirm the trend using the same lab, because different labs report the viral load in different ways. Much to my dismay, the report confirmed the trend, and I sensed decision time was upon me -- and things got a little dark in the spirit.
I went to Ripshin for the weekend, spending time with my family. Thankfully, I serve a church -- Green Meadow United Methodist in Alcoa -- that also believes in serving its pastor. The Rev. James R. Green, a wonderful retired United Methodist minister in my congregation, served on Sunday morning. About the time the church was preparing to enter into worship, I walked Ripshin Lake Road and prayed, mostly thanking God for saving me. There were many times that he could have allowed me to die in my own foolishness, but in his grace he let me live. Because of that, I was given a wonderful wife, children, salvation, vocation and ministry. I prayed in thanksgiving, working my way toward surrendering this to him. I would like to say I have already achieved that, but that would not be the truth. I can only trust that in his sanctifying grace I will be able to do so.
Today, Scott and I concluded that the time for me to enter into treatment is now ... well, after I get some failing bridgework done. (The bridge is another testimony to my misspent youth.) He doesn't think a couple of more months will make much difference. I have an abscess beneath the bridge that has to be cleared up before doing the treatment because the chemo knocks down your white blood cells. He also believes I need a flu shot, but getting that will be difficult these days.
Waiting too long to begin treatment will risk my falling into decompensated liver disease, at which time it will be too late to do treatment.
While waiting for treatment to begin, I will be preparing my game plan ... the first play of which involves continued prayer and a trip to The Healing Room, a place that keeps coming in various conversations. I thank God for my doctors, all of whom are professing Christians. I believe God does heal miraculously ... sometimes in that incredible instantaneous way, but also through his wise and discerning servants. Before leaving Scott's office, I prayed for him and my other doctors.
I have also come to realize that healing is not just physical healing, but spiritual wholeness ... and that is part and parcel of this journey of faith.
Grace and peace ...
