Obviously, one thing that is vitally important in any relationship is support. This is even more true when your partner has Hep. There is however, a fine line between support and smothering as I have found out.
Mr C was told by his consultant that he had to adopt a very healthy lifestyle - plenty of exercise, a strict diet, no alcohol (maximum intake of 1 pint a month). Since we've lived together, Mr C has lost over 1.5 stone in weight which is due to me only cooking healthy food and cutting right back on snack foods. He is fine with the diet, mostly. Every once in a while he craves pepperoni pizza. Not a good meal for someone with a sick liver really but he feels like he has to have he things from time to time. We reach a compromise, he can have the pizza if it's thin and he eats plenty of salad with it. That way he gets his pizza fix and I don't feel so bad for letting him have it as it's balanced out a little with the salad.
I tend to play the bad guy in our relationship. We have a lot of fantastic friends who we love to spend time with. Unfortunately, that time tends to be weekends or evenings at gigs or other events where alcohol is served. Even something as simple as having friends over for a meal can lead to frustration because Mr C is a social drinker. Booze for me is simple - I can take it or leave it. According to Mr C, I am odd because I drink alcohol because I like the taste not the effect it has on me. To be fair I never get steaming drunk anyway, just a little merry tops. But Mr C drinks because he enjoys the effect. It's only when he has a few drinks inside him that he can relax around people and let all his Hep worries go.
So now's the part where I end up being a bitch. Do I let him carry on downing pints or do I gently remind him that the booze is doing him more harm than good? We go out with a 3-4 pint limit. I know it'd be pointless asking Mr C not to drink, he'd rather not go out at all. We went out recently for his birthday, just a nice night out with friends - a meal then a few drinks in the local pub. Well, that was the plan. We staggered home at 4:30am. Mr C had drunk a ridiculous amount, despite me voicing my concerns every time he went to the bar. At one point I was in tears, practically begging him to stop. He made it quite clear it wasn't my place to say how much he should or shouldn't drink. That I ''have no idea what it's like to live with a terminal illness''. Exactly. I have no idea what it is like, I can only begin to imagine. What I do know is that I have to watch the man I love damage himself and lessen the time we will have together. That my little girl adores him and has called him Daddy for the past year, that she is going to have to be told at some point that her Daddy is dying.
I keep thinking that if it was me with Hep C, I'd be doing everything in my power to lengthen my life and improve my quality of life in the long run. That's what I like to think I'd do...but when it comes down to it, I don't know how I'd react to it at all. I might be like Mr C and think fuck it; I'm only on this earth once and my life has been cut short as it is, I'm going to enjoy every second I can.
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