My name is Amanda, and I am 17 years old. I actually, and honestly just went online to do research on hepatitis C, for a 10 page report I have to do for my college english class. My dad contracted chronic hepatitis c about 6 years ago. He has never, and will never again be the same father- or even close, at that matter. I have two little brothers, and a mother working full time, who has rumatoid arthritis and polio in her right foot. At 11 years of age, I was a mother of three...my two little brothers and my father. I had to tell my father to shower, wash his clothes and bring him food. I will never have a father to take a picture of my brothers and I before a school dance, or to have talks with my boyfriends about how they better keep their hands of of me, or play football or baseball with my brothers, or even to watch movies and cry with. I love my dad so much, that I can never give up on him. I want to scream out in anger sometimes, because I feel like God took away our father...."Why my dad"? That's what I always ask God in my prayers at night. He never answers, but I figure if I keep asking, maybe one of these days, he will answer. My dad got hepatitis at work. He worked at Lanternman Developmental Center , a mental disability facility. One day, a client punched another client in the mouth-well, it turns out, that the client he had punched had hepatitis c, but after the first client punched the second client, who had the viris, my dad tried to intervene, and he got punched next. After that day, he slept for months. We had to force him to eat, and call in his work for him. My mom broke down in helpless tears quite often, but she still, to this day tries to hold strong. I fed my brothers, washed the clothes, vacuumed (occasionally), did the dishes, and made sure all the homework was done. My little brothers would often ask me "Amanda, what's wrong with daddy, he won't play this game with me"? You see, my dad used to be the athletic type- the kind of father who would race his kids to the car after grocery shopping....but it's hard to remember what my dad used to be like. Memories have faded away to the point that I barely remember what my dad used to be like. I came to realize...this is life. At this point in my life, what choices do I have? I'm still daddy's little girl...daddy just has a little rain cloud over his head, but I will always continue shining down on him, adding some light for him to see at the end of his tunnel. As long as this story may be, and as little time you may have, there is a point. Never give up hope and faith. In fact, I encourage you from a 17-year old girl, to a/an "X" person (probably older than me) to just always remember, when you are lying there helpless "IT COULD ALWAYS BE WORSE", and that is a promise! If it were not for the grace of God, my father would have shot himself- guaranteed. Every sunday morning, we try to go to church as a family, if my dad is not too tired, or not in too much pain. If you haven't already, turn to God for advice. Ask him why he did this to you, because there is a reason for everything. And always remember, you are far from being alone!

Sincerely, Amanda, seamndy5@aol.com

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