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