Angie . 7/2/26 Angie . 7/2/26

My Theory of Relativity

Maybe this is my theory of relativity.

Not Einstein’s.
Mine.

Delivered, ironically, by relatives.
Because there is a specific kind of measurement only people who knew you before can take.

Angie . 6/27/26 Angie . 6/27/26

The Faces of Cirrhosis

But I think the most important line is this:
I thought I knew a lot about cirrhosis until I met the faces of cirrhosis.

And that is the part that changed me.

Not just the science.
Not just the labs.
Not the whole awful alphabet soup of trying to understand a disease that can rearrange your life without asking permission.

It was the faces. The people. The stories.
The way one diagnosis can hold a thousand different lives inside it.

Angie . 6/26/26 Angie . 6/26/26

What Are You Afraid Of?

Tell me.

What are you afraid of?
What is your biggest fear?
And is it still the same?

I’ll tell you mine.

Angie . 6/25/26 Angie . 6/25/26

The Strange Exchange of Being Seen

Sometimes a sentence from someone else’s life that rearranges the furniture in your own brain.

That is one of the more unexpected gifts of vulnerability: it grows your mind.

It lets you see the same disease, the same grief, the same fear, the same impossible appointment, through someone else’s eyes. It lets you take a brief, awkward spin in someone else’s grippy socks. Someone else’s oversized Crocs because their feet do not fit today. Someone else’s version of the hallway, the waiting room, the scan, the call, the sentence they still cannot say without changing the subject.

And suddenly your own experience has more dimensions.
Not because someone else’s story replaces yours.

Because it widens the room.

Angie . 6/24/26 Angie . 6/24/26

Idols of March

March did not feel like a month this time.

It felt like a changing of the guard.

Not loud.
Not cinematic.
Not a clean before and after.

Just a quiet shift in authority.

Angie . 6/7/26 Angie . 6/7/26

Sitting at the Table with an Empty Plate

I used to say cirrhosis was the club nobody wants to be in.
And over time, I realized that's only half true.

Because the funny thing about cirrhosis is that it's actually a club almost anyone could join.

Not medically. Socially.

But cirrhosis asks for something much stranger.

It only asks people to participate in restraint.

Angie . 4/30/26 Angie . 4/30/26

Still? …ness

But for me, April was stillness.

Not peaceful stillness. The kind that hums. The kind that waits.

Waiting on results. Waiting on answers. Waiting on interviews. Waiting on some version of news always haunting the horizon.

That is one of the strangest parts of living with cirrhosis. The disease is always waiting. Waiting to progress. Waiting to stabilize. Waiting to surprise you. Waiting to see what your body does next.

And somehow, it makes you wait with it.