My Liver (and My Doctor) Are Telling Me to Get My Shit Together

I don’t know exactly how to categorize this news—maybe that’s why I’m writing about it. A bit ago, I got a note from my doctor that my bloodwork showed high liver enzymes. That led to an ultrasound last week, and today, I got the news: mild to moderate fatty liver disease. The good news? It’s early. The bad news? My body is waving a small but increasingly insistent flag that says, "Hey, get your shit together."

It’s a weird shift. For a long time, improving my health was about self-improvement—getting stronger, feeling more capable, making sure I didn’t get winded carrying groceries up the stairs. Now it’s different. Now it’s less "making sure I feel good in a t-shirt" and more "preventing the slow decline of my corporeal form." And that, dear reader, is a reality check.

So, what’s the plan? Honestly, I don’t have one yet. I’m still very much processing. More aerobic movement seems like an obvious step, and one my doctor emphasized. My diet is already decent enough (aside from a deeply concerning dependency on Starbucks nitro cold brews and their breakfast burritos with their 13 unhelpful grams of saturated fat). The big question is alcohol. I don’t drink like I used to—thankfully—but when I do, I tend to binge. Three, four, sometimes more drinks in a single outing. For someone with a liver already sending up warning flares, that’s... not great.

I’ve had a complicated history with alcohol—at one point, I was drinking a lot more than I should have. These days, I’ve been using my "in my cups" rule to keep myself in check, capping myself at three drinks. But now, I’m wondering if even that’s a good idea. Maybe I need to rethink my relationship with alcohol entirely.

I always hear about people getting some kind of wake-up call that pushes them to change their habits overnight. This isn’t quite that dramatic. But maybe that’s the problem—it’s not an emergency, it’s just a gentle nudge that says, "Hey, stop treating your body like a frat house." And yet, that makes it easier to ignore, which is exactly how things get worse.

And here’s where the fear creeps in: What if I mess up? What if I start strong and then, as life inevitably throws curveballs, my motivation tanks like it has before? Historically, whenever my routine gets disrupted, my health goals are the first to take a hit. And this time, my liver is officially on record asking me not to fuck this up.

So, fine. Message received. I don’t have all the answers yet, and I’m not going to pretend I do. But I know this: ignoring it isn’t an option. The real work starts now, whether I feel ready or not. If nothing else, putting this out into the world makes it real. And maybe that’s the first step—acknowledging it, owning it, and figuring out where to go from here.