"Divine Redemption: Miracle Healing Against All Odds"

[My grueling battle with life-threatening Hepatitis C, and the Angel(s) who completely healed me]

The Dilemma

In early January 2020, I had been on the streets a little over a year. I was tired, run-down, helplessly addicted to shooting meth & heroin, had abandoned all sense of dignity, and was clinging to life by a thread- I just didn't realize it yet. As I wandered Austin, TX like a lost soul trying to navigate the darkest pits of hell, little did I know, the wheels of demise were beginning to churn my life towards an ever approaching date of expiration, something I knew could eventually happen, yet was never actually expecting.

[Me] in August 2020, weighing 160 pounds, resembling a skeleton of who I once was.

Sitting at an impressive 160 pounds soaking wet, cheeks sunk-in like a zombie extra on "Fear the Walking Dead", I was literally a shell of myself(healthy me weighs in at 250, 10% body fat). I had very few accessible veins left in my arsenal, I was constantly catching a cold, and my stomach- oh my stomach- effervescently throbbed, and burned like someone was fileting my insides in a 1000 degree furnace. My urine was consistently brown, my eyes were an off-yellow color, and I had serious dizzy spells, which reminded me of my football concussion days. I had grown to understand and discern when my body was just worn-out from all the drugs, abscesses, and beat-downs I had endured, but this was something I had never felt before. In addition to the physical ailments, I was thrown into a tail-spin of crushing depression, severe panic attacks, and suicidal ideations. These seemingly came out of nowhere. The whole point of chasing these highs on the street was to avoid all those feelings, which up until this point, I had been doing fairly successfully. Yet for some reason, I couldn't shake these symptoms like I normally could. They were here to stay.

The Reckoning

One random Tuesday, I started running a fever. Being the responsible addict that I was, I re-upped my supply of dope, broke into an abandoned car, and decided to "sleep it off". Previously, when I would start feeling flu-ISH, a few hours of solid sleep would do the trick. However, this time, after sleeping 3 straight solid days in my gym parking lot, in an abandoned car, I woke up worse than when I laid down. "Well Fuck me running!", I yelled, drawing raised eyebrows from passerby's(assholes). I wasn't mad that I was sick, I was mad because I knew now I would have to go to the hospital, and unless they had some recent policy changes, I wouldn't be able to shoot my Schedule 1 narcotics while there. But, the thought of me being found dead in a damn hooptie-ass car OUTSIDE my gym had way too much irony embedded in it, being that healthy me could usually be found INSIDE the gym on any given day between 4-8pm. So, I swallowed my junkie pride and called my Mom.

[Gym] parking lot off Anderson Lane in Austin TX where I slept in an abandoned car for 3 days straight, slowly growing more sick by the hour.

At this point, Mom had come to accept that whenever she saw me it would be painfully evident that I was not doing good, and usually would proceed to be really really dramatic about "how hard it was" out here. Yeah, no shit. Regardless of how difficult it was, I was choosing to be out there, its not like I was the Apostle Paul being oppressed in Ancient Rome or anything. However, this time, when she picked me up and felt my head- she was scared. I could see it in her eyes, which really freaked me out. My Mom doesn't get rattled easily. When its crunch time, and it's goin-down(I'm yelling Timmberrr), Mom operates like Michael Jordan in the NBA Finals: smooth, calm, and always delivers(unlike "the King" in Los Angeles). But when I saw the panic in my Mom's eyes, reality struck me. Had I crossed that imaginary line that I knew was coming, but never believed would actually catch me? I felt like the little boy who playfully tests the grey area until he realizes its no longer a game and he's in trouble, at which point he panics and cries, "I'm sorry, I'll never do it again!" My life flashed before my eyes.

The Nightmare

Upon arriving to the Urgent Care center, a very professional, articulate, fine-as-hell Doctor(laddyy), casually walked in and gave the whole, "What's the problem", spiel, at which point I told her my symptoms, what I was up to, and where I had been. She wasn't fazed, being that I'm sure she just assumed I was a product of my raging addiction, and needed some anti-biotics. She pulled out her stethoscope, and a few "hmmm's" later, her demeanor began to change. She then felt my head, and let out another, "oh wow". "Oh Wow? We're not off to a great start here," I thought. Finally, she pulled out her thermometer put it under my tongue, and proceeded to look me dead in the eye's exclaiming, "Ok, you need to go to the Emergency Room right this second, you're temperature is 103 degrees." Now, if I'm being completely honest, what I heard was, " Hey you are sick enough that once you get to the hospital, they are gonna offer you Morphine, Dilaudid, Oxycodone, and maybe a lap-dance or two!" Hell Yeah! Let's go Mom I'm ready! If you're a normal person, you're probably scratching you're head right now, but if you're a fellow addict- you're without a doubt laughing you're ass off, because you know exactly what I'm talking about!

[American Medical Association] guidelines for when a fever becomes lethal. On the day I went to the ER, I had a 103 degree fever, and had been slowly building up to that for 3 days.

We make it to the Emergency Room, at which point they admit me faster than Jack Nicholson gets admitted to Laker games, taking me all the way up to the "yeah you're fucked" floor, with the elderly dying people. They immediately pump me full of fluids, give me IV anti-biotics, and yes, a beautiful, blissfully euphoric shot of morphine. I learned that the trick is to not lie, be overly honest about how much of a junkie you are, tell them exactly how bad it is, and surprisingly, hospital staff are usually willing to help you feel comfortable while you're fighting for your life in a hospital bed. Honesty, what a concept. At this point I was all smiles, due to being more high than the rising national debt, which was quite puzzling to everyone except myself. That changed though, when suddenly I noticed a consistent stream of people coming to visit me. Not just Mom or Dad, I'm talking my Mom's friends, my Aunt's and Uncle's, something that was unusual as me being hospitalized as a result of my addiction had become quite normal. I then realized, oh shit, they must know something I don't know here. Am I seriously dying?

The Diagnosis

They didn't have any "secret information" regarding my health, they were however way more appreciative of my dire situation than I was. I'm pretty sure my Mom let everyone know, "Hey this COULD be the end." How selfish of me to have put them through that emotional hijacking. The Doctor's were running test after test, blood draw after blood draw, and couldn't for the life of them figure out what was wrong with me. I didn't have the Flu, Meningitis, Pneumonia, Ebola, nothing. Do you remember in late 2019, when a few dipshits in China thought it would be cool to sell Pangolins in outdoor markets? Seriously what the fuck is a Pangolin. Turns out, as I would discover a year later, during a similar hospitalization, they couldn't figure out what I had because the United States hadn't yet experienced the hell that we came to know as "Covid-19." It makes perfect sense now. Homeless, intravenous drug-addict, no hygiene, no food, always sick, etc. I was the perfect candidate for Covid-19. The funny thing, which is exactly how God tends to work, is through all that rigorous blood testing, the doctor realized that my liver enzymes were completely off the charts for what was considered normal. A normal liver enzyme value is 0.0 to 0.8, and anything greater than 0.9 is considered positive. My liver enzymes were greater than 11.0, THIRTEEN times the normal range. I'll never forget hearing those wretched words, "You appear to have tested positive for Hepatitis C." Although they gave the typical lawyer styled response of "we can't promise anything but to be sure, go get confirmation", I wasn't really listening because in my heart I knew without a doubt it was true. Again, it made perfect sense. My stomach pain, my dizziness, the fact that when I didn't have any syringes to use I would go up under a bridge and find dirty ones, literally sticking them in my arm. That right there is enough to make most people sick. Not me, not addict's, that's just another necessary casualty we endure to get our fix.

[Parmer Lane & IH-35] bridge where I would often troll for used needles on the ground, the likely cause of my Hep C diagnosis.

If you are a seasoned intravenous drug addict then you are far too aware of the likelihood of being infected with diseases such as Hep C, if you continue using long enough. It's just inevitable. If you are smart enough to not have shared needles, then you still have to deal with the Russian Roulette style roll-of-the-dice we play simply by the nature of injecting drugs ourselves. In the perfect world, we

would alcohol swab our veins, use fresh needles every injection, properly apply our tourniquets, and so-on. However, even in the perfect world, we would then have to deal with that same inevitable dice-roll of hoping our dope isn't ripe with bacteria, which, if you do methamphetamine, is virtually impossible. I mean shit guys, they make meth out of paint thinner, match heads, fuckin-a. BUT, this ain't the perfect world, so why even worry at all?

The Life-Sentence

Hepatitis C is a viral infection that inflames the liver, and in the most extreme cases, causes irreversible damage which leads to cirrhosis, putting someone's only remaining lifeline in the hands of a rarely acquired liver-transplant. Imagine putting your liver in a skillet, and sauteing it nice and slow. Depending on how quickly the infection progresses, it can be quite painful. Unfortunately, most people don't begin to have symptoms until some noticeable damage is done. It's transmitted from contaminated blood, which makes intravenous drug users particularly susceptible due to the common practice of sharing needles, as well as using dirty ones too(something I did on the regular). It sounds crazy, which it is, but then again, intravenous drug-addicts are not thinking rationally, they are merely trying to survive.

[LabCorp] follow up blood test that essentially confirmed I had indeed been infected with Hepatitis C. A normal enzyme level is measured between 0.0-0.8, and anything over 0.9 is considered positive. Mine were measured greater than 11.0 - THIRTEEN times higher than the normal value. I got these lab results on December 24th, 2020, Christmas Eve, also the same day my first Nephew was born.

Think of it like me going to the grocery store to buy food for my only child. The store represents the dope house, the food represents the actual dope, and my only child represents my drug habit. My child MUST eat everyday at all costs, just like my drug habit must be fed lest I go into serious physical withdrawals. One day, I have no money to buy food for my child, money representing my usual supply of syringes. What am I going to do? Go home and tell my child, "Sorry bud, tough shit?" No, I'm going to do whatever I have to do to feed him/her. This is where the compromise happens. I am now stealing food to feed my child(drug habit), stealing, representing finding dirty needles or sharing previously used needles, fully aware of the risks I am taking and the potential exposure to a vast array of consequences(disease). Make a little more sense? Again, in the perfect world, we would never steal, never use drugs, and certainly never put our health on the edge of disaster right? If anyone is currently living in a perfect world, call me I'd love to discuss joining your group. The harsh reality is yes, I did this to myself, it was totally avoidable, and it didn't have to happen. But it did. If I were to ask you for the definition of "Insanity", I would bet all of my neighbors cats(way too many) that you would reply, "Doing the same thing, expecting a different result." What I have come to firmly believe as the definition of insanity is, "Knowing the result, yet doing IT anyway," which exponentially sums up my life as an addict.

The Realization

So, there I sat on Christmas Eve 2020 waiting for Santa-Clause's lazy ass to come down the gentrified Air-BNB chimney on our vacation to Dallas, awaiting the birth of my Sister's first child, my first nephew. The sober house I was currently living in kept calling me asking when I would be back, "advising" me to check-in with them every time I took a piss, something I grew to loathe more than Texas A&M sports as a whole. There's this phenomenon with freshly sober young men in Oxford Houses where they derive all their self-worth and identity from being the self-designated "hall monitors" of everyone else's recovery, I get it I have been there too, but, "today ain't the day bitch," I said as a sinister smile broke across my face, knowing they would shut the hell up and quit trying to hold me accountable like they were rightfully supposed to. I tended to think the rules didn't apply me. I also tended to be bigger, more boisterous, and less worried of altercation than most as well, which I have to say, really added value to my life, boosted my self-esteem, and enabled me to build solid, healthy relationships! If you knew me back then, you are laughing your ass off right now. I was just a really big kid with tons of anger, living in a man's body. As I wallowed in self-pity, trying to figure out why in the world Hepatitis C picked ME to victimize, for the first time in my life- I couldn't hide from my fear. I cried myself to sleep that night, staring down the harsh reality of the excruciating journey I knew awaited me. How am I ever going to ask a Girl out now? How am I ever going to tell my family? How am I not going to blow my fucking brains out due to the hellacious level of depression, sadness, and regret that just came crashing in "like a wrecking ball?"(Miley). Oh yeah, "HOW THE FUCK AM I GOING TO AFFORD TREATMENT!"

The Hypocrisy of American Healthcare

Up until 2011, if you were diagnosed with Hepatitis C, you're only two treatment options were Protease Inhibitors and Interferon. I'll spare you the details, but any regiment of these medications has been described as a "cousin" to chemo-therapy, at least that was how it was described to me. Essentially, the meds slowly sucked the life out of you, but in the process, they slowed the progression of the virus and prevented you from advanced cirrhosis and further liver scarring. As far as actually curing someone of the Hepatitis C virus, according to [nih.gov], "complete eradication of the Hepatitis C virus from Interferon-alpha monotherapy is 8-9%", so chances are not good, to say the least. The toll this cocktail of drugs takes on the body almost makes it not appealing to even try, in my opinion. However, in 2011, hope was born! Until people saw the price tag associated with "hope".

[Harvoni] manufactured by Gilead Sciences INC. became the first FDA approved drug specifically meant to CURE hepatitis c, boasting a 99% cure rate. This revolutionized the medical community's treatment of hepatitis c, and brought much needed hope to those who, up until then, were given a likely eventual death sentence later on in life from the virus. The price tag? $84,000 for 30 days worth of pills.

In 2011 Gilead Science Inc introduced "Harvoni" to the pharmaceutical market, a fully FDA approved combination of ledipasvir/sofosbuvir, which completely CURES 99% of patients. Not slows down progression of the virus, not stops the virus from replicating- it COMPLETELY ERADICATES THE VIRUS. This was huge, to say the least. Up until this point patient's had to chose between either withering away until they die, OR, withering away while being treated with draconian drugs wishing they would die. People were ecstatic, and rightly so! The problem was, unless you're a spoiled-rich asshole- you couldn't afford to even buy a few pills. The total cost for a full regiment of Harvoni, the total cost to virtually guarantee you don't eventually die from Hepatitis C- $84,000. That's over $1,000 per pill. Now, before you look up the names of every Gilead Science executive in 2011, and promptly pull out your voodoo doll, just wait there's more.

[CDC] acknowledges that out the millions of Americans infected with Hep C, virtually none who are un-insured, as well as few who are insured, are able to access life-saving treatment.

Luckily, insurance coverage is available. See, they aren't so bad after all! Oh yeah, MOST INSURANCE COMPANIES DON'T COVER YOU FOR THIS DRUG(s). Here's what happens: 1) You call your insurance company and tell them your situation, and 2) They deny you. At this point people quit fighting, which is what the insurance companies count on. However, some people go scorched-earth and call back , fighting harder than an old-Baptist Woman at the Greater Mount Zion Ebeneezer Baptist Church. This is when the insurance company doubles-down on there answer, claiming, "We need to see that you are in advanced stage cirrhosis before we can cover you!" In other words, "hey bud you're still alive, come back when your almost dead." Now, this is where those remaining people quit, again, what the insurance companies count on. However, most people don't realize they have one very big card left to play, something that make's America so great, the "I'm gonna sue you, your mother, your father, your dog, your God, your refrigerator, etc, if you don't quit fuckin' me around here,", card. THIS is where you get their attention. If you have reputable coverage, from a reputable insurance company, this is the moment when they will start talking to you. Because the truth is, no insurance company wants to go to Federal Court over a lawsuit that they wont provide life saving medication to a dying person. There will be more negotiations, but I have seen people successfully get what they need, by refusing to let Big Insurance and Big Pharma jerk them around. But, you're in for the fight of your life, I promise. Now, if you are part of that other group, like myself, who was a full-time addict that didn't even have food, much less HEALTH INSURANCE, you were left to figure that shit out for yourselves. Good luck!

The Miracle

[Greg Jeffries] founder of the Australian based, "Tasmanian Hep C Buyers Club", who singlehandedly made meds available to me for under $1,000, that cost over $80,000 in the United States.

After nearly a year of hiding, running, and doing my best to block-out the inevitable fate which surely waited me, I couldn't run any further. I was sick. I could feel it everywhere, every day I woke up. I was completely unproductive, depressed, suicidal, and physically miserable. At this juncture, my Mother encouraged me to just "see what other treatment options were available." I wasn't sick enough to qualify for Non-Profit organizational help, and I wasn't rich enough to have private health insurance which excluded me from getting meds the normal way. Yet again, I was stuck, or so I thought!

One day I google(word-for-word), "motherfucking hep-c treatment available outside of communist America(at least I wasn't angry right)", thinking I was cute, and going to show google how mad I was. Immediately, "Greg Jeffries, Hep C Buyers Club of Tasmania", pops up on the screen. Don't ask me why adding "motherfucking, and communist America", into my google search(that I had done tons of times), suddenly provided this Angel in disguise. I had searched before, and never even come close to something like this. A spark of hope ignited my spirit. I chased lead after lead, convinced that at some point I was going to hit a dead end, or have a phone conversation with some Nigerian pirate asshole posing as this Greg Jeffries guy, waiting to troll me for all my money.

[Web-Site] that Mr. Jeffries subtly advertises his organizations services, the same web-site I found that day. At this point I had no other options other than to trust that God led me here for a reason, and to see it through.

Surprisingly, that didn't happen. After a few painless emails, and a few quick reference checks, my parent's agreed to send this complete stranger(who lives in Australia)$1,000, taking his word that he will send me these meds that will save my life. What could go wrong? A lot could. But nothing did.

The Cure

[Greg Jeffries] holding the exact meds that he made available to me for $1000, which were only available in the United States for upwards of $84,000.

In late 2021, I started taking a generic version of Sovaldi, the exact same generics I wasn't able to access in the United States. The total regiment was 2 pills everyday for 4-6 months. Initially, the meds took a toll on my body. I had no energy, no charisma, and I felt worse than before I started. However, unbeknownst to me, this is a common sign that the drugs are actually working, and your system is accepting the treatment, from what I was told at least. A month into the treatment, I felt alive again! I had not thought so clearly in years, my anxiety escaped me, and I had energy that I forgot I used to have. I realized that this fairy tale ending I never imagined would ever be possible, was unfolding right in front of me. Upon completion of any Hep C treatment, its advised to wait 6 months before going to get a confirmation blood test as sometimes the virus does come back, although its very rare. So, I waited. I waited some more. Then like a classic addict, I procrastinated, and waited a little more, absolutely terrified that this was just some kind of placebo-effect. Finally, I grew some balls and went to get the lab test done. There was something about knowing I was either "fucked", or "good-to-go", that made this moment much easier than I realized. I figured that, "either way, I gave it my best shot."

The Gift I Never Deserved

Sadly, my lab-results said that not only was I not cured, the virus was worse than before I started treatment. Yeah, oh well. If you know me, your laughing your ass off right-now, again. Who writes a bad-ass blog post full of inspiring stories, divine miracles sent from above, underground Dallas-Buyer's Club style stealth operations, just to say, "Yeah it didn't work out man, we tried though!"

[LabCorp] blood test that confirmed I was indeed cured of Hepatitis C.

On August 14th, 2022, I was officially deemed Hepatitis C-free, completely cured of the illness that I bestowed upon myself, used as best as I could do destroy my life, and fought tooth-and-nail to make the final horrid chapter of my depraved, selfish existence. Thankfully, for reasons I will never know, God's plans were way stronger than any of mine, and he refused to let me kill myself, no matter how hard I tried. For these reasons, it's my duty to share stories like these, stories of healing, stories of long-odds which were somehow defied yet so undeserved, stories of my life, and the story of how God, my family, and complete strangers refused to give up on me, even when I gave up on myself.

[Spencer Brooks Otto] 2023