I just had my appointment. I waiting at Shoppers to get some prescriptions filled so I’ll keep writing.

That appointment exceeded my expectations — by a very, very large margin. I just had a conversation with my doctor that I expected to be having 1–2–3 years down the road from now. It was a conversation that he says that he has with only one in a hundred people that he‘s told my brand of bad news to.

Here’s the good news:

• My kidney function is now normal. That’s massive news considering that when this all started he kept telling me how damaged my kidneys were and how kidney disease was going to be a part of my life.
• My heart is starting to work properly again. It’s not fixed by any means but there are no concerns about me dropping dead for no reason anymore. I’m showing little to no signs of heart disease anymore.
• My cholesterol is now well below normal levels instead of the “what the fuck?!” levels from before. We’re cutting the medication for this in half with the hopes of dropping it completely in three months.
• My blood pressure is way, way down. It was at “you’re fucking dying” levels and now it’s at “man, you should maybe pay attention to that once in awhile” levels. I’m not out of the woods there but I’m well on my way. He gave me hope that by mid-late summer we’ll be able to cut that medication out completely.
• We’re completely dropping one of my meds today — and the best thing is that it’s the big one. This is the med that was used to manage the really big health problem. My blood sugar levels are well below those of a normal person and drastically below where I started. As a result, we’ve cut out the medication that was used to manage it. My doctor says that now there are no signs whatsoever of having diabetes.
• Today was supposed to be the appointment that we were going to start me on some pretty heavy heart and kidney medication. Medication that would hopefully start to fix everything and save my life. Today was supposed to be that day. That’s what he told me five months ago. Neither medication is needed anymore. At all. There’s no need — my body has fixed itself.

And now the bad news.

Just kidding. There wasn’t any.

We’re scheduling more blood work and testing for about three months from now. Those results will tell me whether I can stay off the meds that we’re cutting. It’ll tell me if we can cut the others out completely.

I can’t believe it. I can — I’ve worked my ass off to get here — but I can’t fucking believe it.

The main takeaways from the appointment were; his constant use of the words awesome and normal, the fact that he told me that he no longer has concerns about me dropping dead randomly, that I’m taking huge steps in the right direction.

He told me 5 months ago that most people he tells my news to end up doing very little to fight it, to change, to reclaim their lives… to live. He couldn’t stress enough to me today how much it meant to him to see someone actually do something about it.

Five months ago my doctor told me that it’d be a wonder if I lived to see 40. I’m 32. I wasn’t going to live to see my daughter graduate high school, let alone start high school. He expected me to drop dead from a heart attack or any number of things long before that. That lit a fire under my ass like you wouldn’t believe.

Today, he told me that if he was seeing my current numbers for the first time with no knowledge of my history that he’d have very little concern for my health. He was astounded at how much progress had been made in just five months. Like I said, I wasn’t expecting to be having this level of conversation with him for another 1 to 3 years. Cutting out medications? Having stats be in the normal range? Not having a time limit on my life span? Fuck, those are the things that dreams were made of.

Five months ago my doctor gave my life an expiry date. Five months ago I said, “Fuck that.” I did something about it. I could have turtled and accepted the terrible news and packed it all in. The long and short of it is this — I’m going to fucking live. You’re all stuck with me for a lot longer. Suckers.

First and foremost — there’s no way that I could have done this alone. I’ve had an amazing support system; my wife, friends (both new and old), and family have been amazing. I couldn’t have done it without each and every one of you.

Despite all of the astoundingly good news — the main thing for me to remember is that this is all just the start. It’s the tip of the iceberg. I still have a very long way to go. I can’t stop. This is the beginning of something bigger and better.

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