Sunday, February 6

I Am a Celiac -- Okay, I admit it!

Dear Diary, 2004 I was diagnosed Monday and it’s Wednesday. Today I’m sleeping, because I expended all my energy yesterday being mad. "I am a celiac." Why is it phrased that way? Doctors don't say, "You are a cancer." "You are an irritated bowel". (However, my children have been telling me that for years.)

I can’t explain, even to my closest confidant, my husband, Mr. Darcey, the frustration I feel when I'm starving in the grocery store. I am hungry and I can only drool on the heated deli food case while I gaze longingly at platters of stomach cramps de jour. I wander past the cereal, snack, chip and bread aisles, past Little Debbie diarreah and Hostess bloatess.

Disease can be a very lonely thing. Where does one turn for solace? We turn to others who are experiencing the same--friends and support groups with people who advise me, yet aren’t sick of hearing my same complaints over and over. I phone a friend, (cell a celiac) and I hear the reassuring voice reminding me that, "Think of the efficiency of shopping only the produce and meat aisles."

"Popular health guru's have advised us for years to shop only the periphery of the store. We shouldn't be eating anything invented since 1950 anyway. All healthy people should avoid the canned, processed, boxed food in the middle aisles."

I love that voice of reason that brings me back to reality. They do say "You are a diabetic." So, I wonder if this grammatical reference is reserved for food diseases that are chronic or incurable?"

Will I let celiac rule my life and decide who I am?!!! Yup, looks like I’m well into the angry phase.
Dear Diary, I guess it's better than my previous diagnosis, "You are a hypocondriac". Today, I'm sleeping it off. T.

Reality Bite: If I have to be defined by what I eat, I wanna be "Thunder Down Under," a chocolate brownie, with icecream and hot sauce dripping off. (This is a GF dessert at Outback Steakhouse. I'm moving there. Yum!)

No comments: