green gene

A few weeks ago I got a phone call that took me by surprise. It was the life insurance company that we had applied for coverage through. The insurance rep. started out with the good news: Tim’s application was approved and he would be receiving a policy in a few days. My application, on the other hand, was not being approved by the underwriters, and I would receive a refund of my application fee!

My first assumption was that it had to do with my diagnosis of depression, but even that didn’t seem quite right. Since a depressed person is statistically at risk for committing suicide, can’t the life insurer simply not cover such a death by adding a “no coverage for suicide” rider? Of course. Instead It turns out that my liver enzymes were unusually elevated. They were high enough that the insurer didn't want to take the risk that I may have some life-threatening illness. I was stunned by all this, since I’ve never given my liver much thought, and even more surprised when the rep. advised that I should get myself checked by a doctor asap!

So, I followed the advice and went straight to the M.D. who prescribes my anti-depressants. Couldn’t the drugs be messing with my liver? He figured not, but said I better find a GP doctor to follow up with. Luckily I had just scheduled an appt. with a doctor who is a woman who supervised me at a clinic I worked at in the early 90s. I really like her, and especially trust her because she went to med school in her forties and therefore has some life experience behind her doctoring as well. Her clinic re-checked the labwork and did an ultrasound of my liver. The ultrasound was fine, but the enzymes are still wacky. I’m scheduled to see a gastro doctor at the end of March, and if I start having any major pain I’m supposed to call for help.

All this is more mystifying than scary to me. It is also pushing some of my buttons about growing older and not being the picture of health that I imagine myself to be. It also forces me to face the reality that my mom had a liver disease called Primary Biliary Cirrhosis. I’m not psyched to find that I might have inherited this bizarre disorder, and I wish my mom were here so I could ask her some questions about it. One more crappy "con" to having a parent die before her time.