Can Someone Tell Me What I’m Doing Wrong?

I’ve started dreaming about poop. Is my body trying to tell me something? Or is it just my brain’s way of dealing with a 7-year long condition? They say you should write down your dreams, so maybe I’ll start diarizing, not only my symptoms and diet, but also the  “consistency and texture” of my  reveries.

My consultation with the gastroenterologist is fast-approaching. My regular doctor has already warned me about her bedside manner, but as long as she doesn’t tell me having diarrhea twice a day, every day for seven years isn’t so bad, and that I’m not a teenager anymore and can’t expect my bowels to funtion like they used to, like my last gastroenterologist said, her and I will get along just fine.

As usual I’ve been trying to be a good little Celiac lately, eating my cardboard and Styrofoam, fruits, veggies, salmon, chicken and nuts, but as usual each day is another diappointment as my symptoms persist.

I’ve had to accept that some of the things I thought I could eat may be the culprits. So, today, I swear off avocado. Sushi has been a saving grace, but they put avocado in just about everything. One of the hardest things about being a suspected Celiac is having to become one of those “special needs” diners. From now on I’ll have to ask for my rolls sans the blessed green fruit.

As I try to weasel out all the culprits, I will use this blog as my food diary: banana, Fruit To Go, unsalted rice cakes…so far so good, or so I hope.

Tomorrow I may have to swear of my wine, but tomorrow is another day, and not today.

For the last time, I’m not a hypochondriac anorexic!

Yesterday I went out for lunch with a dear, and normally sympathetic, friend of mine who said he thought I was a hypochondriac because I said I couldn’t have one of his fries, even though I was so desperate for one that I’d be willing to poke his eyes out if he got in my way. “It’s just one fry…just a potato,” he said. “You should just tell yourself you can eat whatever you want.”

I’m not afraid of potatoes per se…But I am afraid of what might happen to my innards if I eat something that came from the same fryer as his breaded chicken tenders.

I’d been stubbornly telling myself I could eat whatever I wanted for many years. It took me a long time – seven long years and many disturbingly unpleasant hours on the throne – to get to the point where I could accept that maybe I had a serious problem. It wasn’t until this year, when unpleasant turned to the scary sight of blood in the toilet, that I finally got it checked out. A naturopath did some blood work on me and told me that all indications were that I have Celiac Disease.

I know a lot of people would say I shouldn’t trust a “quack” (’naturopath’ even comes up in my spell check as a word that does not exist), but it was the first time I actually had someone who had an answer that made sense.

That was in February, and I’ve been trying to go off gluten ever since. I say ‘trying’ because it’s a helluva lot harder than it sounds. There’s gluten in EVERYTHING, or at least everything I was fond of eating.

For the first month I felt so much better, and even had some small miracles. It had been so long since I’d had a normal bung that I’d almost forgotten how joyous it could be. I was just starting to feel like I had the hang of it when I started to relapse…I’ve been having problems again the last two months.

The relapse led me to say “F*ck it” and defiantly chow down on onion rings. My rationale was that if the condition was coming back even on the gluten-free diet, then I’d need to get the definitive endoscopy, in which case I’d need to go back on gluten. That was premature, since my consultation (ie: small talk followed by finger up the butt) isn’t until late July, and the actual biopsy who-knows-how-long after that. Believe me, I suffered for my defiance, and have vowed never to eat onion rings again. (At least not until a week before the definitive tests).

Since then I’ve been trying to be a good little Celiac. But it’s hard. When I’m out with friends I just want to be a normal person, so every now and then I eat something I’m unsure of. I just can’t bring myself to ask the server to investigate every little ingredient. I’ve paid for my laziness…Most recently after eating with the friend who thinks I’m a potato-fearing hypochondriac.

I wish this condition was all in my head. I really do. I wish I could will it away and manipulate my bowels into playing nice with A&W. I’ve tried and failed. Whatever is wrong with me, it’s shown me who’s boss.

So now I wait for the biopsy, get over my ingredient-inquiring laziness, lean on friends who believe in Celiac, and grieve the loss of onion rings. I’m sure the fun is just beginning.

Here’s to your health,

Heather