Regeneration, and a milestone of my own creation

Over recent months, a song has has rolled through my mind repeatedly. I've gone to sleep with it playing on my internal FM, and I've woken up other times to find it running loose in there like a cheeky streaker on an 80's football pitch. In a funny way it's been quite comforting; a wry inward smile at the good I know lies ahead, but that simply hasn't materialised so far. Let's talk about cell turnover...

Promises, promises

When you stop drinking you'll lose weight, they say. Your inner glow will return. You'll look years younger. Articles on the internet and quit lit will tell you all about the physical manifestations of not poisoning yourself any more, and about how effortless it will all be. Within weeks, no less! It sounds pretty great.

A few months after I stopped drinking, I realised that all the good external stuff I'd been promised simply hasn't happened yet – and that's when this tune started hoving through my consciousness.

Listen here, you...

Uploaded by 453 1701 on 2014-12-25.

Not a master of subtlety, my mind sometimes. But it made me smile, because I knew my Biology and that the man would come around eventually.

It's about time

When I first drew a line in the sand on my drinking, I didn't count the days – or plan to. It was simply a case of, 'Not today, thanks.' Rinse and repeat.

Then some months clear, through a series of unexpected events, a day tracker took up residence on my phone. (How and why is a song for another time...) Since then I've observed the number increasing with some interest.

A self-imposed biological milestone

Some celebrate with the chips of conventional wisdom, at the conventional beats of the sobriety drum.

I was waiting on 150.

It's said that liver cells have an average shelf-life of 150 days. It's also said that the liver is the only visceral organ in your body that can regenerate itself. So from a certain point of view, after 150 days my liver could have – via the miracle of cell turnover – recovered itself from the massive chemical injury I had bestowed on myself.

Would those pretty quit lit promises come true then? I was curious, excited, and a little nervous. As someone who literally never wondered this about my virginity, I surprised myself by wondering if I'd look different when faced with my reflection after 150 days.

At around 90 days, this was what an independent doctor said of my blood work:

Which was a fair cop, really. because at the moment I stopped drinking, the klaxons were blaring about my blood work results. This starship was very much on red alert.

150 days came and went. The mirror showed very little difference. Shatner's wistful vocals were running riot on the regular, though. It all truly hadn't happened yet, and my subconscious wasn't going to let me forget it.

You get what you need

When you stop drinking, things start to change for the better. Some of it happens within days, some within weeks or months. Incrementally, steadily, things get brighter.

You may read those articles on the net, or the quit lit, and put together a list of mini revolutions that you're personally hoping for. You might also have some expectations on whenabouts they'll all come to fruition. I did. What I hadn't realised when I lit upon 150 days for cell regen to work its magic, was that the slow healing of my Ehlers-Danlos would extend to my liver's reset button, too. Because of course it would.

Here's what an independent doctor said about my blood work after about 175 days:

In the clear. Flying colours. A-okay. Winner, winner, chicken dinner – though hold the gravy, I do have to watch my triglycerides.

Inside out

All that external stuff about losing weight, looking younger and glowing up? As always, I'll be crushingly honest: it simply hasn't happened...yet.

I didn't get what I wanted. I got something better: I got a liver that hasn't given up on me, and a new hope from the inside out. I got renewed mental clarity and alacrity, better sleep, miles better pain management, and a thousand other beautiful, wonderful changes that you can't detect from how much adipose my frame is carrying, or from the quality of my complexion.

Now the interior has finally reforged, I am starting to notice little changes in my tired shell, too.

Perhaps all those times I literally apologised to my liver out loud were worth something? Or maybe it's the 200 days of dedicated self-respect I gifted to myself?

Either way, I ain't going back. Little by little, I'm being remade. Thanks, liver. You're the absolute best.