March 2006 Archives

I am so, so happy.

I am home from a day at work. I am going to cook my very first meal since I've had this job. For a girl who has always loved cooking, it's been way too long. But I have my very first home to come home to, and it has a lovely kitchen. I've gone to the store and bought everything I need to make a new recipe out of my new cookbook. I'm going to play good music, light a candle, look pretty and professional and all the things I want to be, and I am going to fill this place up with goodness.

Want to know one more thing that makes me happy? I'm happy I can be happy. There's not one ounce of me who says, "Yes, it's great, but I'm alone." Yes, I'm alone. It's peaceful. It's freeing. I don't have to be alone tonight, but I'm making a positive choice to be. And did I mention I get to cook?

Did I mention my gluten plan? The idea was to cut gluten from my diet and see if it I noticed any difference at all, and then if I still suspected a gluten intolerance I'd schedule bloodwork. (I have no health insurance, you see.) Problem is they don't recommend you eliminate gluten before getting the blood work done or your the telltale antibody levels may be low, so I decided after I scheduled my bloodwork I'd go on a Wheat Extravaganza as a sort of insurance for positive test results and as a final blowout before being formally mandated a wheat-free diet for life (if the results are positive). A sensible plan, yes, with this exception: I don't want no bread no mo'.

Last night I ate out, and because I intend to schedule bloodwork now that I have three relatives with the disease--not to mention that it is an embarrassing pain in the butt to eat out gluten-free--I ate some things containing wheat. I had a glorious crab/carmelized onion/spinach white pizza, and pear crisps (on phyllo dough) and a chocolate-filled calzone.

On the drive home, I didn't feel well. All those old feelings of unpleasantness I usually have after eating returned [cut details], and by the time I got home, I had to run straight to the bathroom. Although I suffer these symptoms throughout every day, the past four days without them emphasized to me how very miserable they are. I don't want to live that way anymore! In fact, it's pretty surprising just how many "symptoms" I deal with every day. It was eight years ago when I remember the symptoms first becoming problematic, and I suppose if I hadn't eased into how bad they've become over these years I could never deal with it. I don't want to live like that anymore. I don't want any more nights like last one. I want more meals where I eat and nothing happens except I feel comfortably full. I want less time spent in my bathroom. Less pain and discomfort.

Which reminds me--I have an appointment to make.

Mom IS gluten intolerant. I knew it!

Now I need to go get tested. Gluten-free living is hard, but also an adventure! (If testing reveals my gluten-free dieting was needless, at least I will have gained a genuine understanding and sympathy I can extend to my mom and future clients.)

I loved this part of mom's email:
"The dermatologist said I might want to schedule a consultation with a dietitian at the hospital, but I told him my daughter was a dietitian and I had discussed it with her." Darn skippy!

Yesterday was Gluten-Free Day #1, not counting the big bowl of mixed grain cereal I was eating when I got Mom's email. It was a day in which an amazing amount of bread was shoved in my face and wafted under my nose: two loaves of my favorite bread at Tony Roma's and a loaf of Cuban bread at work, all offered to me repeatedly. I sadly declined. I went to a party later in the evening and brought corn tortillas so I could avoid the flour ones, then decided to skip the meat, too, in case the seasoning contained gluten. I opted for a glass of wine over a beer, but I would have done that anyway. When I went home, I made sure my vitamin and other supplements were each gluten free. Not even a trace of gluten for me! I sat down with a glass of water and was on my way to bed when suddenly I recoiled in horror: A cookie was in my mouth! Half-eaten, I dropped the thing. What was I thinking? Nevermind, I know what I was thinking: "Ooh, look! The package of homemade chocolate chip cookies Mom sent home with me!" In one fell thoughtless swoop I ruined my nearly gluten-free day. Doh. What an idiot!

So today is day #2 of gluten-free eating. So far, at 9:30am, so good. I know it is too early to say this but I can point to some significant changes in my symptoms yesterday. Perhaps it is just a coincidence.

I am having a mini-freak out here.

My mom has recently developed an unusual "rash" on her hands which has not been diagnosed by three physicians and has not improved by five+ medications over the past month or two. However, the most recent doctor said his best guess as to what's wrong with her is dermatitis herpetiformis. In my brief and sporadic internet access while home with her I learned just enough to tell her that dermatitis herpetiformis is associated with celiac disease, or gluten intolerance. I proceeded to both admonish her to try eliminating gluten from her diet and teasing her about an allergy to gluten. I remember discussing a life without gluten with her, in which she said she could give up bread but I said I couldn't imagine such a life. Secretly, I felt sorry for her. And when we talked about my mysterious digestive issues, I thought nothing of it.

Today Mom emailed and said that the symptoms of celiac disease sound just like what I have. In addition, it is genetic--so if she has the gluten intolerance I've been convinced that she has, then I'm far more likely to have it, too! All that teasing I did about her and gluten has come back to bite me in the butt. Mom added that our aunt was just diagnosed with this, so it does indeed run in the family to some extent. It's estimated to be found in 1 in 133 people, and that's quite a lot.

As I read Mom's email I had a feeling about this. If instincts and Spidey-senses could be trusted I'd know that this is what I have. Scientifically reading up on it, it very strangely does encompass all the symptoms I've been experiencing. It just encompasses everything.

I suppose I should see a doctor and get a diagnosis, but I don't like the idea of paying for doctor's visits and lab work out of pocket. I may have to, though. Worse is the idea of a life without gluten, which would mean a life without wheat. Me, the biggest advocate of all for (whole grain) wheat! How ironic would that be? How could I possibly live a life without my favorite food group?

(On the positive side, I can serve as my own dietitian!)

I got up this morning and hung up my new fabric shower curtain with hooks. I've never had hooks before, only the $.97 plastic rings, and I only recall buying one shower curtain ever, over five years ago. It was dictated by price, and this one was dictated by taste. It's pleasing. I put John Mayer in the DVD player, an emotional association for me of happy times at home on sunny days. I lit a candle and took a bath in my master bath's "soaking tub". I do not need to keep repeating that I've never had these things before. The water was barely warm, but when I got out, I dried off with a luxurious Egyptian cotton towel that begged to make it up to me. But I frowned at its soft texture because I am accustomed to a different sort of towel; a feeling of being scrubbed dry is what normality has made comfortable for me. I used but only one which I hung neatly on the rod to dry and be reused. Ah, hotel life did offer some luxuries! The professionally laundred and pressed laundry I'd taken from the front desk as I checked out lay crisply on hangers, all wrapped in plastic, across my dresser; a box of panties, bras, and socks were folded into small bundles stacked neatly in a box proclaiming, "Dry cleaning always looks nicer!" I put the items in my dresser--one drawer for each type!--and placed the box into the plastic bag serving as placeholder for a trashcan. I walked past a pile of dirty clothes and gave thought to my clothes hanging to dry, as is my wont, above my washer. Things change. I am home again.

Last week I went to get my oil changed. While I sat in the waiting room, a technician came out to tell me there was a problem with my car, which he took me to the shop and showed me. "You need new brakes," he said. "Yeah, I know," I said. Brakes was next on my list of car to-dos.
"No, I mean, like, today," he said.

The car was already up on the rack with the front tires off in midst of tire rotation and the guy gave me such a "It's so easy, no problem, I'll take care of you" attitude that I figured heck, while it's up here we might as well take care of the brakes.

I sat back down in the waiting room and after I'd read four issues of Bass Master magazine cover to cover--I would have read more but that's all there was--and after I paced the floor awhile inside and outside and failed at trying to nap in my chair--it was all done. My oil change cost over $250.

I went over the details of the price twice, thinking it was too high and feeling a bit duped, but it stood, and I paid it, and I left, and my car is braking so much more nicely than before, and I feel good.

Have you ever, ever read a car problem story on this blog that ended happily? Have I ever had an incident that didn't require much strength and faith to overcome the tears and fears? When have I ever, ever been able to straight up pay for my car repairs? You cannot tell me that money does not make any difference. It has made an enormous one in my life. So much less worry, anguish, and tears. I love Carl's comment here: "This is just a moment in your life, and your transmission will go out tomorrow." I smile as I say, "It always does!"