I’m currently at the National Liver Gathering in Pittsburgh, PA, sitting at a table for The Liver Circle, sharing my story and learning about the growing problem of fatty liver disease and other solvable challenges tied to liver disease. As I meet people who have touched or been touched by liver disease, we trade stories of struggle and survival.
In some ways, I’m an oddball. I have a reputation for keeping my native liver in a jar of denatured alcohol on a bookshelf at home. Most people never get the chance (or the desire) to take home an organ that was damaged beyond repair after a transplant. But fate, providence, and a little salesmanship got me my own private memento
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Last night, someone asked how I feel when I look at my old liver. Floating in its jar, dissected, hardened, and exceedingly non-liver-like, it stirs up many feelings. One I was surprised to share is compassion. I feel bad for how I mistreated it. I also feel gratitude for the work it did for me, over 500 functions, for more than 40 years. And that, in turn, gives me gratitude and appreciation for my new liver.
When I told my new friend this, my right hand found my scar and hovered over my midsection, right where my liver lives. I patted it the way I might pat my son on the head and said, “I am so thankful to this liver. He is my friend.”
I wasn’t being silly. I was serious and sincere.
Back in my room last night, I realized what a gift this whole experience has given me. It has made me more embodied and more aware of the systems of my body. Ultimately, it has helped me make friends with the body I am.
We are somatic creatures, yet so many of us live almost entirely in our heads, as if they were distant from the rest of us. My liver pilgrimage has helped me break free of that illusion. As I befriend my body, I’m growing in integrity and wholeness.
For that, I am deeply grateful. And I ask you, dear reader—have you found ways to befriend your body? Don’t wait until you have a health crisis to make you connect with your body in more meaningful ways.



