By Carlos Bruno, as told to Hirania Luzardo
I’ll never forget that moment in my early 30s when my wife and I were expecting our first child. It should’ve been one of the happiest times of my life. Instead, my body felt like it was falling apart.
My upper abdomen was swollen and painful. No matter what I ate, I couldn’t digest it. The acid reflux was constant. My skin was dry and tight despite drinking water throughout the day. I felt fatigued, scared, and confused. Something was wrong — and deep down, I knew it.
Not in my wildest dreams did I imagine the diagnosis would be metabolic dysfunction-associated steatohepatitis (MASH). I’ve always been active. I played sports, I didn’t drink, and I didn’t have diabetes, high cholesterol, or high blood pressure.
I thought I was healthy, but my habits told a different story. I’m Venezuelan, and living in Miami meant being surrounded by strong, sugar-packed Cuban coffee and pastelitos — pastries loaded with even more sugar. My wife’s family is Cuban, and our meals included cooking with fat, eating donuts for breakfast, and serving rice, beans, chicharrones (crispy, fried pork skin), and processed foods.
My Job Was Breaking Me Down
My job was also my silent enemy. As a cameraman, I spent long days on set, running on stress, and eating whatever food was available. I couldn’t keep a regular meal schedule. I didn’t realize that the way I worked was slowly breaking me down.
When my son, Maximiliano, was born, I felt an overwhelming mix of joy and guilt. I wanted to be fully present for him, but my body was letting me down. I knew I couldn’t show up the way I wanted.
Luckily, my primary doctor is one of those who truly take the time to listen. Thanks to him, I started to understand what was happening to my body.
He prescribed omeprazole (Prilosec) for my acid reflux, but it didn’t help.
The only way I can describe how I felt is like being drunk 24/7. My face was flushed, I was bloated like a balloon, and every joint in my body ached. I started having trouble breathing at night and had to sleep on my back to catch my breath. I snored constantly. At 5' 7”, I weighed almost 200 pounds. My body was screaming for help.
I Felt Like Just Another Number
Two months later, frustrated and fatigued, I went back to my primary doctor. I told him, “This isn’t working. I can’t live like this.” He referred me to a gastroenterologist.
The specialist confirmed I had MASH. That was it. No follow-up. No treatment plan. No MRI. No liver biopsy. He gave me a quick pat on the back and told me to stop eating bread, flour, sodas, sugar, and beer. Then he moved on.
I walked out of that office with more questions than answers. I didn’t know if I felt relieved to finally have a name for what was happening to me — or crushed that the doctor didn’t seem to care. I felt like just another number with a diagnosis that no one took seriously.
At home, things weren’t easier. Despite my worsening condition, nothing changed in life or in our kitchen. I tried to alert my family to make them understand how serious this was, but I realized I was alone in this boat. No one was listening. That silence hurt more than anything.
Over the next six months, I hit the heaviest weight of my life: 212 pounds. My breathing got worse, and depression set in. I had to talk to my boss because I couldn’t keep up with the physical demands of my job as a cameraman. The gastroenterologist prescribed some medication for fatty liver, but I don’t even remember its name. It didn’t work.
My frustration with gastroenterologists reached its peak. I saw three different specialists, and instead of feeling better, I felt worse. None of them gave me real guidance.
The only one who truly supported me was my primary doctor. He told me that if I committed to real lifestyle changes, my body could heal.
My Son Became My Motivation
At some point, my biggest worry wasn’t even me — it was my son. He would eat donuts every morning, and my family would always find excuses. “If you can’t eat the donut, have a pastelito,” they’d say. They didn’t understand that this wasn’t just about me. It was about changing everything for everyone.
Then came the turning point. One day, I looked at myself with kindness, compassion, and a determination I hadn’t felt in years. I told myself, “You need to find a way out of this darkness.” I made that promise for me and for my son, who was almost 5 years old at the time.
It was a moment of truth — a moment of self-awareness. I had to rebuild my habits from scratch. It felt like being born again.
I stopped trying to convince my family and focused on what I could control. I started cooking with my son and turned it into something fun. It even brought me back to my roots, reminding me of how my dad used to cook for us in Venezuela.
Here’s what helped me as a parent:
Bring your kids into the kitchen. Let them wash, mix, or serve. Pride makes healthy food exciting.
Use simple language. You don’t need to explain everything at once. Small conversations build trust.
Model the behavior. They’ll follow what you do more than what you say.
Celebrate wins. A new healthy recipe or an active weekend counts. Make it fun.
This isn’t just about managing MASH. It’s about building a legacy of health for my son and for myself.
Little by little, I started to feel better. My weight dropped from 212 to 180 pounds.
My son is now 10. I don’t talk much to him about my condition. Instead, I try to lead by example and teach him healthy habits through what we do together. I chose to change my life — and his too.
We cook together. We exercise together. We talk. We laugh. I’m 45 now, and I want to stay healthy for him.
From One Father to Another
When I started this journey, I wished I had heard from another father living with MASH. Support is critical. This condition comes with emotional and physical challenges that most people don’t see.
I’m not taking any medication right now. Sometimes it’s hard to live with a condition that doesn’t have a specific cure. There are days when I feel down. But most days, I remind myself that the best medicine is weight loss, a healthy diet, regular exercise, and avoiding alcohol. Those choices give me a better quality of life.
My recovery has been slow but steady. I’ve maintained my weight, and I feel stronger. I’m proud of how far I’ve come.
If you’re reading this, perhaps you’re a father who’s worried about passing this condition to your children. Maybe you feel lost in a web of doctors and still don’t have answers. I’ve been there.
The best medicine is knowledge. Your kids will follow your example. The MASH diagnosis changed my life. I want you to know you’re not alone. This journey isn’t easy, but it’s possible. Start with one change at a time.
Cook with your kids. Move your body. Ask questions. Advocate for yourself. The choices you make today can shape not only your future, but your family’s too. If I could turn my life around, you can too. Your health matters — for you and for those around you.
