My Time in Prison and the Battle with My Fatty Liver Condition

I’ve always lived on the edge, never following the rules society laid out for me. Running with the wrong crowd, finding myself in situations where the law was the last thing on my mind—that was my life. But I never thought the reckless choices I made would lead me down a path where my own body would betray me. Now, I’m staring down a diagnosis that has shaken me to the core—fatty liver disease, scarring, and a slow, painful road that might end in cirrhosis. This is my story, not just about prison, but about my struggle with my health, my mistakes, and the fight I now face every single day.

I spent years behind bars, paying the price for the choices I made. Prison is a place where time stands still, and yet your body keeps moving forward, deteriorating in ways you don’t even realize until it’s too late. I thought the worst of my problems were behind me when I walked out of that cell, but I was wrong. My liver had already started falling apart long before I did.

"I thought prison would be the end of my suffering—but it was only the beginning."

Back in the late '70s, I spent time locked up for things I’m not proud of. Life behind bars isn’t easy, and sometimes you do things to survive. I remember the makeshift tattoos we’d give each other, the dirty needles passed around. I didn’t know, back then, that something as simple as that could ruin my life decades later. I left prison thinking I’d escaped, but what I didn’t know was that Hepatitis C had been festering inside me for years.

It wasn’t until much later that I found out. About ten years ago, I went in for a liver function test. The doctor told me my liver was a “bit fatty.” I shrugged it off, thinking it wasn’t a big deal. But I kept hearing the same thing from other doctors—my liver levels were “a bit high.” They told me not to worry, but something didn’t sit right with me. Eventually, I went for more tests. That’s when they told me what was really going on: Hepatitis C, most likely from those dirty needles back in prison.

"Finding out I had Hepatitis C felt like a life sentence all over again."

I was embarrassed. How could this have happened? I wasn’t some junkie on the street; I had just made a stupid mistake trying to survive in prison. But it didn’t matter. The damage was done. My liver was scarred beyond repair, cirrhosis setting in. They told me I’d probably had it for over 30 years without knowing. My first thought was, “Will this kill me?” I was terrified, thinking my time was running out. And the worst part? The treatment for Hep C was something I could never afford. $80,000 for the course of medication. Being on disability, I had no idea how I’d ever get the help I needed.

That’s when I started doing research, trying to figure out how to save myself. I stumbled on natural remedies—apple cider vinegar, lemons in water, milk thistle. I blended kale, Brussels sprouts, broccoli, and spinach every day, hoping it might slow down the damage. But no one could give me real answers. I kept thinking, Does cirrhosis always mean cancer?

"I’m fighting every day, but the battle feels impossible."

It’s not just about the physical pain, although that’s there—my belly swollen from an enlarged liver, my energy sapped to nothing. It’s about the mental weight of it all. The guilt. The shame. I thought I could outrun my past, but it’s caught up with me in ways I never expected. I’ve started a group on Facebook for others like me, people with damaged livers who need support. I’m not giving up, but I’m terrified of what’s coming. The thought that my liver could give out, that I could end up with cancer—it’s too much some days.

I know there are others out there who feel like I do. Lost. Helpless. Angry at the world and at themselves. I just want people to know that this isn’t the end. Cirrhosis doesn’t have to be a death sentence. We can fight this. We can learn to take care of our bodies, even when we feel like it’s too late. I wish someone had told me that before.

I’m holding on to hope, but the fear is always there. If you’re reading this and you’ve made mistakes like I did, don’t wait. Take care of yourself now, before it’s too late. I’m still fighting, and I’ll keep fighting, but I can’t do it alone. None of us can.