A few weeks ago, my sister, who was in town for work, told me that she doesn't believe that I have celiac disease. "I think you're gluten intolerant, but not an actual celiac," she said. "Because you don't get sick like two of my friends back home."
"Well," I replied. "My doctor, the guy with the medical degrees, says that I do, so I'm gonna go with that, 'k?"
On Sunday morning, my husband sent my sister a text describing my reaction to ingesting a tiny amount of gluten (and who the heck puts barley in chicken broth? Oh yeah, Campbell's...thanks a whole heck of a lot boys)..."she looks like the Stay Puff marshmallow man"...if you've never seen "Ghostbusters", then you won't get the reference, suffice it to say that I was a tad bloated.
And in pain.
I had a blinding headache, my eyeballs hurt, my feet were so swollen I had trouble getting my shoes on (and in fact, Saturday night when we got in the car to go home, I took off my socks and shoes because they were too tight), my stomach was bloated out so far I looked about 7 months pregnant, every bone in my body hurt, and I was so exhausted I did not want to get out of bed.
Then there was the nausea.
What was that about not being sick when I eat gluten?
It's three days later and I'm finally starting to feel human again...but damn, that gluten is a bitch. A nasty, take-no-prisoners-slash-your-tires-because-you-broke-up-with-her-bitch.
I hope I never run into her again...
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