I'm a construction foreman. Foundations, flatwork, curb and gutter, whatever's poured. I'm 47. I've been doing this since I got out of high school and I would rather be doing it right now than typing.

Two years ago I found out I have hepatitis C. Since January I've been on 48 weeks of treatment for it. My wife Renee says I've told the whole story to every man on my crew, the guy at the parts counter and the lady who cuts my hair, and that I might as well put it on the computer and save my voice. So here it is.

[Renee: He's leaving out that three guys on his crew went and got tested because of him. I'm putting it in.]

Renee helps. You'll see her in the square brackets. I'm told I can't take them out.

Up top I'll say what I'll say all through this page: I'm not a doctor. See yours. This is just what happened to me and what I've learned.

On this page: The Letter | What Hep C Is | Who Should Get Tested | The Treatment | Working Through It | Help | Week by Week

The Letter

In the fall of 1997 our church had a blood drive in the fellowship hall. I'd given blood maybe five or six times in my life, whenever somebody asked. Got my cookie and my orange juice and went back to work.

About three weeks later a letter came from the blood bank. It said, more or less, thank you for donating, your blood tested positive for hepatitis C antibodies, we can't use it, you shouldn't give blood again, and you should see your doctor. I read it three times standing at the mailbox. I thought hepatitis was something you got from bad oysters. (That's hepatitis A. I didn't know there was an alphabet.)

I didn't feel sick. I'd never felt sick. I was pouring concrete fifty hours a week. That's the thing about this virus, and why I'm writing this page: you can have it for twenty years and feel fine.

My family doctor ran his own tests and they came back the same, plus a test that showed the virus itself was in my blood. He sent me to a liver specialist. I figured that meant driving to Denver every two weeks. Turns out Dr. Peters is right here in town, thank the Lord.

How I got it. Probably from a blood transfusion. In 1975 I rolled a pickup in a snowstorm on the road between here and Laramie, and I broke a lot of things and lost a lot of blood, and they gave me several units at the hospital. Back then nobody tested blood for hepatitis C, because nobody had found it yet. They didn't identify the virus until 1989. Blood banks started testing for it after that, and the testing got a lot better in 1992. So anybody who got a transfusion before 1992 got blood that wasn't checked for it. That was me.

[Renee: And it doesn't matter how a person got it. Nobody should have to explain themselves. Some people got it from drugs when they were nineteen and haven't touched a needle in thirty years. Same virus. Same liver. Same respect.]

She's right. Put that in bold if you want, Renee. You know where the button is.

What Hep C Is

Plain as I can make it, from what Dr. Peters and the nurses have told me and what I've read:

Who Should Get Tested

Talk to your doctor if any of these is you:

• You had a blood transfusion or an organ transplant before 1992. Car wreck, surgery, childbirth, anything.
• You've ever shared a needle, even once, even a long time ago.
• You've been on kidney dialysis for a long time.
• You've had a needle stick at work, like nurses and EMTs.
• You've had a blood test that showed something off with your liver and nobody ever figured out why.

It's a blood test. They take a tube from your arm. That's it. If you don't know, find out. I'd rather know at 45 than at 65.

The Treatment

The biopsy. In the summer of 1998 Dr. Peters wanted to see how my liver was doing, so I had a liver biopsy. They numb a spot on your right side and take a tiny piece of the liver with a needle. Over in a few seconds. Then you lie on your side for a few hours so it doesn't bleed, which was the worst part, because I'm not good at lying still. Renee brought crosswords. The results showed my liver had some damage, not the worst, and Dr. Peters said he wanted to treat it now, while it was in decent shape.

What I'm on. It's called Rebetron. It's two drugs together: interferon, which is a shot, and ribavirin, which is capsules. The combination was approved in 1998, and from what I understand it works for more people than the shots alone did. Because of the type of hep C I have, which is the stubborn kind, Dr. Peters put me on the full 48 weeks. I started on Monday, January 11, 1999.

• Shots three times a week. Monday, Wednesday and Friday nights, right before bed. It's a little needle, just under the skin, in my stomach or my leg. Lori, the nurse at Dr. Peters's office, showed me how and watched me do the first one. I've been stuck by worse things on a job site. The first one I did alone at home took me ten minutes to get my nerve up. Now it takes about thirty seconds.
• Capsules every day, morning and night, with food.
• Blood tests. Every week or two at first, then about once a month. They watch your blood counts, because these drugs can knock them down. Mine dropped in March and Dr. Peters cut back my capsules some. That's normal, they tell me, and it's why you get checked.

How it feels. I'm going to be straight, because I wish somebody had been straight with me.

Shot nights are like getting the flu on purpose. A few hours after the shot I get chills, then aches, sometimes a fever. That's why I take it at bedtime: I sleep through most of it. The next morning I'm dragging, but I'm up. The first month was the worst. My body got used to it some after that. Ask your doctor what you can take for the aches. Don't just grab something off the shelf, because your liver has to deal with everything you swallow.

Tired. All the time. Not sleepy tired. Bone tired. Like you've worked a double when you've worked a half.

Short fuse. These drugs can make you irritable, and they can bring your mood down. Dr. Peters warned us both about this before I started, and asked Renee to keep an eye on me. I'm glad he did.

[Renee: He was a bear. A sweet bear. But a bear.]

In March I got low. Real low, not like me. I didn't want to get out of the truck at the end of the day. Renee made me tell Dr. Peters, and I'm glad she did, because they've got ways to help with that and they helped. If you're on this treatment and you feel like that, tell your doctor. Right away. It's the drugs, it's common, and it's not a weakness. I'd tell any man on my crew the same.

Other stuff. My hair got thinner (I didn't have a lot to spare). Dry skin, itchy. Trouble sleeping some nights. Food tasted funny for a while. None of it's fun. All of it's temporary, they tell me.

The halfway test. At week 24, they tested my blood for the virus itself. None found. That doesn't mean I'm cured. It means it's working, and I keep going. They test again at the end of the 48 weeks, and then again six months after that, and that last one is the one that counts. Renee and I went out for a steak anyway.

Working Through It

I didn't take time off. That's not bragging, and it isn't for everybody. Some people can't work on this stuff and there's no shame in it. Here's what made it possible for me:

• I told my boss and my crew the first week. The boss said "do what you have to do." The crew said "can we watch you do the shot." No, you can't.
• I let the young guys carry more. Daniel and Omar have backs that are twenty years newer than mine. I run the job and I check the forms and I let them do the heavy lifting. Should've done that years ago.
• Monday, Wednesday, Friday shots means the Friday one hits me Saturday morning, and I'm off Saturday.
• Early pours. In summer we start a pour at first light anyway to beat the heat. By two in the afternoon I'm done, and I'm done.
• Water. A gallon jug in the truck every day. Dr. Peters's orders, and it helps.
• Ten minutes in the cab. When I hit the wall I sit in the truck with the door open for ten minutes. Nobody says a word about it. Good crew.

One of the three guys who went and got tested after I told everybody has it too. He said I could put that on here as long as I didn't say who, so I won't. He's seeing a doctor now. He's fifteen years younger than I was when I found out. That's the point of this whole page right there.

Help

Your doctor. I'll say it one more time. If you've got any reason to think you might have this, go get the blood test. If you have it, find a doctor who treats a lot of it.

The American Liver Foundation. National group for people with liver disease, including hep C. They have information you can understand, and they can help you find a doctor and a support group near you.

A support group. There's one that meets once a month at the hospital here. I went twice. I'm not a support group man, but it helped to sit with eight other people who knew what a Friday night shot feels like. One fellow there was done with his treatment and showed up just to tell us it ends. It does end.

Week by Week » All 37 weeks so far, a line each. Renee says it's the only diary I've ever kept.

Folks who've stopped by:


Questions, or you're on the shots too and want to compare notes:
[email protected]
I read my mail on Sundays. Renee reads it the rest of the week.

I'm a concrete man, not a doctor. Talk to yours about anything on this page.
Last updated Sunday, September 26, 1999