In honor of Liver Disease Awareness Month, writer and American Liver Disease Foundation board member Dawn Weinberger shares her story of her very personal experience with the illness that nearly took her husband's life.

I don't know why the news we received three years ago that my husband, Carl, needed a liver transplant came as such a horrifying shock. It's not like we didn't know he was chronically ill. We did. In fact, we had been dealing with his various health issues for the duration of our seven-year relationship. But a transplant? It sounded so radical. So bizarre. And so, so scary.

Turns out my head had been in the clouds for quite some time. Sure, Carl had complained of occasional itching, fatigue and unexplained weight loss (classic liver disease symptoms). His blood work revealed impaired liver function, and at one point his doc even gave him a diagnosis -- primary sclerosing cholangitis, an autoimmune disease that damages the liver's bile ducts.

Ignorance Is Bliss
I didn't really understand the significance of this PSC diagnosis, and I definitely didn't know a thing about the liver. I mean, I knew everyone had one -- but I had no idea that it played a key role in detoxification, metabolism and numerous other crucial bodily functions. And besides, his every-now-and-then itching seemed like small potatoes compared to the interdeterminate colitis (this is what they call it when they can't decide between Crohn's disease and ulcerative colitis) he had been suffering with since the age of 12.

So what if he had to say no to wine and cocktails (even one small glass of wine left him feeling tipsy and almost instantaneously hung over)? When the colitis was under control, we were happy.

Things Turn Ugly
But then, in the summer of 2006, the episodes of itching and fatigue started to increase. New symptoms appeared. Symptoms like excruciating abdominal pain, fever and chills. Sometimes, he was in such pain that he canceled plans and avoided social engagements (soooo not like him). "Dawn, I'm going to stay home, but you go ahead and go," he would tell me, to the wedding, the birthday party, the game night. Sometimes I went, but more often than not, I stayed home with him. We would watch DVDs, play Scrabble and make up silly songs about our cat, pretending that nothing was wrong, that life was normal.

One morning, in early October, I found him peering at himself in the bathroom mirror.

"Do I look yellow to you?" he asked, pulling his eyelids back. "I think I'm getting jaundiced."

Ever in denial, I refused to acknowledge his yellow tinge.

"You look fine to me," I declared, pointing out that the yellowish paint on our bathrooms walls might be causing a reflection or something.

"No way. I'm definitely yellow," he replied.

Almost a Death Sentence
His gastroenterologist broke the news a couple of weeks later. His blood work looked worse. He ordered a liver biopsy (which confirmed that the primary sclerosing cholangitis had already done pretty significant damage to his liver) and informed us that a transplant was the only option. In a matter of minutes, his health problems went from "troubling" to "without a liver transplant, my 35-year-old husband is going to die."

I was devastated and frightened, but we didn't have time for a pity party. We had to get on the transplant list. We had to learn what to do about scary new symptoms, like bile duct infections, portal hypertension (extremely high blood pressure in the portal vein) and ascities (accumulation of fluid in the abdominal cavity). Most importantly, we had to avoid the worst case scenario.

By early the following summer, Carl was living on borrowed time. He looked like he was dying, and frankly, he was. He was skinny, weak, tired and yellow (bright, bright yellow). When we went out, people stared. Some assumed his disease was self-inflicted; others simply felt sorry for us. We were facing an enormous challenge, but our medical team and our faith gave us hope.

Getting Our Lives Back
Finally, in June 2007 (just when I thought it was never going to happen), he had his liver transplant evaluation. This is where medical professionals examine your entire life with a fine-tooth comb so they can decide whether you are a good candidate for transplantation. Fortunately, it turned out that he was not only a good candidate, but a great one. On August 7, at 3:15 a.m., the phone rang -- they had a liver for him. 18 hours later, he was in surgery, and at 8 a.m. on August 8, his surgeon came to the waiting room to tell me the surgery was complete. Everything went well, and Carl was on the road to recovery.

More than two years have gone by since his transplant, and Carl is doing well. Other than the huge scar on his belly, there is no evidence that he was ever sick. Sure, we have other concerns now -- like his compromised immune system, his extremely expensive anti-rejection medication, and the very unlikely chance that something could go wrong with the new liver. But all in all, everything is great. We couldn't have asked for a better outcome.

I'm now a self-declared advocate for liver awareness. I want to tell people about their livers -- what they do, why they are important, how to take care of them. I cringe when I see people exposing themselves to harmful chemicals without wearing mask, downing fistfuls of pain killers (even over-the-counter meds can be tough on your liver) or drinking excessive amounts of alcohol. When I see a yellow tinge to someone's skin, or if a friend complains of itching and fatigue, I'm immediately concerned, hoping and praying this won't be the next person to be diagnosed with PSC or a similar condition. It's not all that unlikely -- liver disease affects one in 10 Americans. In our case, it wasn't preventable. But sometimes it is, which begs the question, "Is that sixth beer really worth it?"

Probably not.

For more information on liver disease, visit http://www.yourliver.org/