Scott’s Healing Journey — Part 4: Turning Point

Before the Second Specialist: When the Numbers—and the Direction—Changed

Scott’s Healing Journey reached a critical turning point before we ever met with a second transplant specialist — and the bloodwork showed it first.

By the time we were waiting to be seen by that second transplant specialist, we already understood how serious Scott’s condition was.

We had sat across from a transplant doctor. We had heard the words no one ever expects to hear. We knew that transplant listing was still on the table, even as Scott’s labs were beginning to improve. There was no denial during this period — just a steady awareness that things could still go very wrong.

At the same time, we could see changes in Scott — in his energy, in his presence, and in small but meaningful ways that weren’t easy to explain yet.

The bloodwork confirmed it.

On paper, the direction had begun to change.

This part of Scott’s Healing Journey documents that window — exactly as it unfolded — before we had answers, before we had confirmation, and before anyone told us recovery was even on the table.

A Decision We Knew We Couldn’t Reverse

Very early on, both of us knew we could not return to the first liver transplant doctor.

That decision wasn’t made lightly.

We understood his credentials. We respected his training. But we also knew that if this truly came down to life and death, we couldn’t sit back simply because someone had an impressive degree. We had to advocate for Scott. We had to ask harder questions, challenge conclusions that didn’t sit right, and explore every avenue available to us.

He was firm in his conclusions. He refused to order genetic testing for hemochromatosis. He told us improvement was impossible. The tone wasn’t cautious or open-ended — it was definitive.

Before Scott became nearly non-communicative, he made it clear that he agreed. He did not want to go back.

That mattered to me. I carried that decision forward when he no longer could.

Around the same time, we reached out to Houston Holistic. They told us they had experience supporting patients with severe liver dysfunction. We were able to get in before Scott’s most dramatic decline.

From that point on, his care — both conventional and supportive — centered on close observation, frequent labs, and doing everything we could to reduce the burden on a body that was clearly under extreme stress.

Going All-In to Reduce Inflammation

We felt this period required an all-in approach — at least temporarily.

Partial changes left too much room to slip back into foods Scott had always loved — foods we believed were driving inflammation at a time when his body could least afford it.

So we removed what we could, as completely as we could:
sugar first, then gluten, white bread, and refined carbohydrates — while allowing thoughtful transitions when his appetite and cravings demanded compromise.

This wasn’t about perfection.
And it wasn’t about permanence.

It was about creating a protected window — a stretch of time where inflammatory inputs were reduced while his body was trying to survive something enormous.

Scott’s appetite was minimal. Some days he barely ate. But cravings still appeared — especially for sugar.

I focused on nourishment his body would actually accept: keto cream cheese fluff, low-carb protein smoothies, occasional low-carb peanut butter and jelly using sugar-free jelly, even keto pound cake as a stand-in for bread when that was the only way calories would go in.

At the same time, Scott began sleeping far more than he ever had before. He had never been someone who slept much, so it was unsettling to watch. We didn’t know whether his body was shutting down or repairing itself — only that something significant was happening beneath the surface.

When the Numbers Spoke Clearly

What happened next is simply documented fact.

Before we ever sat down with the second transplant specialist, Scott’s bloodwork didn’t just begin to improve.

It shifted.

The Scope of What Was Failing

At his worst, Scott’s labs told a frightening story:

• Total bilirubin (normal ≤1.2) — reflects how well the liver clears waste) peaked at 7.6, then 6.3, 6.0, and 4.2
• Albumin (normal 3.6–5.1) — a protein made by the liver that helps keep fluid in the bloodstream dropped as low as 2.5
• INR (normal 0.9–1.1) — shows how well the blood clots rose to 1.6, indicating impaired clotting
• Platelets (normal 140–400) — cells needed for clotting and bleeding control fell to 83, then 102, then 126
• AST (normal 10–35) — a liver enzyme released with liver injury climbed as high as 107
• ALT (normal 9–46)— another enzyme that rises with liver stress or damage rose to 87
• Sodium (normal 135–145) — low levels can worsen fluid retention and ascites dropped to 131–133
• MELD score (a composite measure of liver disease severity and transplant priority) reached 26 on a scale of 6–40; many transplant centers begin evaluation around a MELD of 19.

And not in just one isolated marker — across the full picture of liver function. These weren’t borderline numbers.
They were the numbers of a body under severe, systemic strain.

And Then — Slowly — They Changed

Within roughly a six-month period, and before the second transplant specialist ever evaluated Scott, his bloodwork began to shift.

Not all at once — but consistently, across markers that had previously been moving in the wrong direction.

• Bilirubin fell steadily, reaching 1.8, then 1.3
• Albumin climbed from 2.5 → 3.1 → 3.6 → 3.7, eventually reaching 4.1
• INR improved from 1.6 → 1.4 → 1.3 → 1.1
• Platelets recovered into the 130s
• AST and ALT trended down into near-normal ranges
• Sodium stabilized back into the mid-to-high 130s
• MELD score dropped from 26 to 16

All of this happened before the second specialist appointment, which took almost seven months to get into.

Scott was still fragile. He had lost ascites weight and appeared thin and weakened. But the trajectory had changed — and the evidence was there in black and white, in the labs themselves.

This was especially striking because we had been told by the first transplant specialist that improvement was impossible.

What we didn’t yet understand — and what many patients aren’t told — is that certain underlying issues can be missed if they aren’t specifically tested for. Even when standard iron levels appear normal or near-normal, iron overload can still be present if ferritin and iron saturation aren’t checked.

At the time, we didn’t have that diagnosis yet. We only had the data in front of us — and month after month, that data continued to improve.

I held my breath through every blood draw. I watched the numbers line by line. I Googled what it meant when each one was high or low, trying to understand what his body was telling us — because most doctors don’t have the time to walk through every marker or explain how they all work together, especially if something isn’t wildly out of range.

And when those numbers kept moving in the right direction, it brought comfort — not relief exactly, but reassurance that Scott’s body was responding.

Holding Hope Without Losing Reality

There was never a moment when I didn’t understand the stakes.

I knew it was possible this could still be his time — and if it was, I would have had to surrender to that truth.

But I didn’t feel that it was.

So while we stayed grounded in the data, we also chose how we lived inside the waiting. We believed Scott was well, even when his body didn’t yet look that way. We spoke as if recovery was already happening. We gave thanks for his health and healing before there was proof on paper.

That didn’t mean ignoring reality. It meant refusing to let fear be the loudest voice in the room.

I supported his body the best way I knew how. I watched the labs carefully. And at the same time, we embodied the belief that his body knew how to heal — and that it was doing so, even if we couldn’t yet see the full picture.

When the numbers began to reflect that — steadily, undeniably — it confirmed something we had been living into all along.

That shift — measurable, documented, and deeply felt — changed everything about what came next.

Coming Next Part 5: When Hope Became Measurable→

You can view Scott’s full bloodwork progression and MELD score changes here → Scott’s Bloodwork Timeline

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