Cirrhosis?
Me too!
No oe wants to be here. But if you are - you’re not alone
Welcome to Diagnosis Cirrhosis
If you’re here, a doctor probably said ascites and you thought, is that a Greek island or am I in trouble? Spoiler: it’s the second one
There’s only one rule around here: the words, “I did this to myself”, or any other creative variation. is strictly forbidden.No one would do this on purpose, not if they knew better.
There is no hierarchy in hepatitis (yes all liver disease is hepatitis).. No matter what train we took to get here, we’re all at the same station (that means this is a judgement and stigma free zone!)
Nearly a year and a half ago, I was 33 years old, sitting in the office of a doctor I had just met, hearing words I had never heard before… minimally comprehending that my life would never be the same again. In fact, it had been changing slowly, over years, and I didn’t even realize it
At the time I thought it was a death sentence… but it’s not, it’s a life sentence
The radical realignment: labs, scans, low-sodium math. sobriety side quests. and symptom surprises nobody puts in the brochure
Not medical advice—just one patient sharing her heart, story, battle wounds, successes, unsolicited advice and a little levity
A Cirrhosis diagnosis is not a plot twist. It is a full body record scratch — no pun intended
Whether your liver is pristine, pissed off, or pining for a playbook… you’re in the right spot
For the most part I’ve led a fairly unremarkable life. I used to work in corporate strategy—building models, pressure testing outcomes, and convincing myself that if you ran enough scenarios, you could control what happened next.
…Then I got cirrhosis.
Correction, I got acute chronic liver failure. Turns out I’d had secret cirrhosis for awhile - undiagnosed autoimmune hepatitis. Here’s the stats from my rookie year: MELD: 30, bilirubin: 12, 14.5L of ascites, grade 2 varices
For someone wired like me, the loss of control wasn’t just uncomfortable. It was catastrophic.
And then, somewhere along the way, it became cathartic.
I learned a lot about perspective, and about not always being prospective. About what it means to be scared, and what it does not. I spent more time crying in my car than actually driving it.
Then, in early 2026, I found what I had no idea I was even looking for: community.
Diagnosis Cirrhosis started as a way to make sense of that shift. A place to test the waters of being unabashedly myself for the first time in my life. To put my heart out there and see if there were any bites. To share all the liver health knowledge my loved ones were too polite to admit they were tired of hearing.
The tone is honest. Sometimes dark. Occasionally a little unhinged. Always vulnerable.
If you’re here, you’re probably trying to figure something out, for yourself or for someone you love. I can’t fix that part.
But I can make it less confusing, less isolating, and a little more human.
And if nothing else, I can at least explain what the hell your doctor just said.
So, what’s my story?
For the most part I’ve led a fairly unremarkable life. I used to work in corporate strategy—building models, pressure testing outcomes, and convincing myself that if you ran enough scenarios, you could control what happened next.
…Then I got cirrhosis.
Correction, I got acute chronic liver failure. Turns out I’d had secret cirrhosis for awhile - undiagnosed autoimmune hepatitis. Here’s the stats from my rookie year: MELD: 30, bilirubin: 12, 14.5L of ascites, grade 2 varices
For someone wired like me, the loss of control wasn’t just uncomfortable. It was catastrophic.
And then, somewhere along the way, it became cathartic.
I learned a lot about perspective, and about not always being prospective. About what it means to be scared, and what it does not. I spent more time crying in my car than actually driving it.
Then, in early 2026, I found what I had no idea I was even looking for: community.
Diagnosis Cirrhosis started as a way to make sense of that shift. A place to test the waters of being unabashedly myself for the first time in my life. To put my heart out there and see if there were any bites. To share all the liver health knowledge my loved ones were too polite to admit they were tired of hearing.
The tone is honest. Sometimes dark. Occasionally a little unhinged. Always vulnerable.
If you’re here, you’re probably trying to figure something out, for yourself or for someone you love. I can’t fix that part.
But I can make it less confusing, less isolating, and a little more human.
And if nothing else, I can at least explain what the hell your doctor just said.
So, what’s my story?