Good mornings don’t usually start with this sentence, but here it is: I can walk today. And that alone makes it a good day.
If you watched or read my earlier updates, you know yesterday was… eventful. I couldn’t move my right leg, I was peeing every two minutes, and at one point a nurse solved the problem by very efficiently removing my pants for me. As it turns out, all of that had a very real—and very positive—medical explanation.
And honestly? I love it.
The Backstory: Five Years of Fluid and Drainages
A little over two years ago, I had a procedure called TIPS (Transjugular Intrahepatic Portosystemic Shunt). In simple terms, it’s a bypass—a tube placed through the liver to relieve dangerous pressure buildup. When pressure builds up too much, fluid (ascites) accumulates in the abdomen instead of circulating properly.
For me, that meant drainages. Twice a week. For five years.
In one week, my weight could jump from 160 pounds to 180 pounds. Then it would drain back down. Over and over again. I’ve joked that it was like getting pregnant twice a week and then immediately delivering. Funny analogy, brutal reality.
The first TIPS didn’t work. Seven months later, it was adjusted. Still didn’t work. It was eventually declared a failure—something that happens to about one in a million people. I happened to be that guy.
What Changed This Week
While the doctors were in there during this latest procedure, they decided to take another look at the TIPS. And somehow—against all odds—they fixed it.
It’s now working.
That’s why I was peeing nonstop.
They also gave me Lasix, a diuretic, which turned my kidneys into absolute overachievers. Years ago, before all the drainages started, I was that guy who couldn’t hold it and had to find a wall or a bush immediately. I remember thinking I’d have a hard time explaining myself to a police officer if one ever showed up.
Turns out, my body is finally doing what it was always supposed to do: flushing fluid properly instead of storing it in my abdomen.
The Numbers That Matter
Here’s the part the doctors were genuinely excited about.
There’s a pressure measurement they use with TIPS. Anything above 10 is bad. It means pressure is still building. I was sitting at 15. That’s why nothing was flowing.
After the fix?
I’m down to 5.
Five is considered excellent. You don’t get zeros. You don’t get twos. Five is “thumbs up across the board.” The doctors called it an amazing result. Going from 15 to 5 is almost unheard of.
Miraculous might not be an exaggeration.
They’ve already noticed my stomach going down. All scheduled drainages have been canceled—for now—to see if this holds. They’re weighing me constantly. Watching closely. Carefully optimistic.
Blood Thinners, Clots, and What Comes Next
The blood clot that caused so much concern? It’s gone.
Completely gone.
But there’s still healing tissue and scar tissue where it was, and scar tissue triggers the body’s instinct to clot again. That’s why I’m on heparin right now—essentially a strong blood thinner—to prevent new clots from forming before my transplant on February 23.
I won’t go home with pumps. Instead, I’ll be doing injections until surgery day. It’s not ideal, but it’s manageable. And if this gives me a better 37 days leading up to transplant, I’ll take it without hesitation.
Perspective Changes Everything
Going through something like this changes how you look at your body. Your health. Your habits.
It’s easy to take life for granted when you feel invincible. Eat whatever. Drink whatever. Party hard. Sleep later. I did all of that. I don’t regret the experiences—they made me who I am—but I won’t take my body for granted again.
Food matters to me now. Cooking matters. I’m learning to make healthy meals that are fast, real, and actually enjoyable. I don’t even use a microwave anymore. I might start sharing that journey too.
Because if there’s one thing this experience keeps teaching me, it’s that small changes add up—and your body remembers how you treat it.
Battle Scars, No Belly Button, and Humor Still Intact
I’ve got bruises. Discoloration. IV battle scars. Red palms. And yes, still no belly button. That was removed after pressure caused fluid to come out of it years ago.
When people notice, I usually tell them I’m a clone and the real human is at home. Now I’ll need a new explanation for all the blueness. Suggestions welcome.
Some things don’t change, though. I still joke. I still laugh. I still find joy where I can. Because even in a hospital bed, even with scars and IVs and soggy toast, life is still very much worth enjoying.
The Bottom Line
The TIPS is working.
The clot is gone.
The fluid is flushing.
I’m peeing like a racehorse—and that’s a very good thing.
If there’s one takeaway from all of this, it’s simple: don’t take your life for granted. Not your health. Not your time. Not the people around you.
I’ll keep sharing. I’ll keep documenting. Kicks, giggles, and real insight—because if this experience can help even one person understand their body or rethink how they treat it, then it’s worth every update.
More soon.
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