I farted. I am alive.

During today’s 6pm yoga class, I farted out loud during half pigeon pose and laughed. The fart confirmed that my lower digestive system works and that I’m not constipated. I will admit that I am happy nobody assisted me during the pose. I am also happy that I farted at a yoga studio and not during a meeting at the Pentagon. Regardless, it was an awesome, empowering experience.

This isn’t the first time that I was happy to experience a bodily sensation. After leaving the hospital in 2002 post-splenectomy with “stabilized” portal vein thrombosis, I was excited to poop. It was great to sit on a toilet by myself, think about things, and have a wonderful release at the end of the experience (sometimes a long process requiring me to tilt my hips forward and backward till I built up the strength to expel feces). I was excited to see normal colors and no blood. I knew good things were ahead.

I recently had a rude awakening that dredged up these memories from the past and made me aware of how much I have forgotten about living with chronic illness and being grateful for life. About four weeks ago, I started itching like crazy, couldn’t sleep at night, and convinced myself that I had scabies. I immediately called the doctor thinking I need to get better soon so I can assist and teach yoga class this week. The doctor initially thought I developed a new allergy, but realized based on labs that something was wrong with my liver.

Things are still vague after weeks of scans, tests, and multiple appointments with specialists. My initial diagnosis is primary sclerosing cholangitis, which is a condition more common in white guys (not short indian females). Since I do not fit the profile, my hepatologist thinks I may also have also autoimmune hepatitis. The doctor scheduled a biopsy to confirm the diagnosis. Based on internet research, it seems like the treatment path could be a mixture of prednisone/azathioprine with potentially needing a liver transplant in the future. The pewter lining is that there’s an excellent prognosis for PSC patients who get a transplant. Heck, maybe we’ll be able to 3-d print a liver soon!

The weird thing is that this sort of feels like a rehash of 2000. Back then, I was 17 years old and was diagnosed with my first chronic health condition - autoimmune hemolytic anemia. I was diagnosed about 4 weeks before starting college at Carnegie Mellon University. I was excited to go to college, and had the attitude that nothing was going to stop me from starting school on time with the rest of my classmates. I was going to graduate from Computer Science with honors (HA…more like barely pass, but more on that later) and work on Wall Street and make a ton of money and take over the world and sickness did not fit in the plan! Anyway, after a whirlwind couple weeks of appointments, hospital stays, and new drugs, my counts increased enough so I could relocate to Pittsburgh and continue my treatment at Childrens Hospital of Pittsburgh.

The staff at the hematology/oncology center (nurses, doctors, lab technicians) was amazing and incredibly supportive. They tried to calibrate my drug doses (prednisone and at times azathioprine…yep same drugs) to not impact my exam schedule. They accommodated my class schedule and squeezed in appointments once or twice a week. I distinctly remember sneaking away from campus for those appointments on the 61 A/B/C buses and hoping nobody noticed my band-aids in class afterwards.

It was a weird time…I created my own version of normal to cope with the situation (duh of course it’s normal to go to the doctors between humanities electives and programming class because it gives my brain time to switch from left to right…or is it right to left?) while moving through the motions of a standard college experience. After the surgery, and PVT complication, I spent 6 months in recovery after which I was re-defined as “healthy again, minus the chronic portal vein thrombosis which may result in esophageal varices – i.e. if I randomly spew blood, I should go to the hospital and have my vessels repaired.”

It took me a while, through some therapy and extensive self-reflection, to mentally recover and find a new passion for service. Physically, I have been pretty stable since 2002 minus a small blip a few years ago when I developed slight varices that quickly shrunk after banding. Up until four weeks ago, I had pretty much reverted back to the pre-2000 ignorant, blissful mental state of “normal.”

Right now, I am just am grateful to breathe. I am grateful for my family and friends. I accept that change is inevitable, and that at the end I will be alone. I see great things are ahead.