Keeping the focus on food that makes me happy

It's hard to believe that it's been just over two years since I heard that bombshell news - 'You have celiac disease' - a diagnosis that left me both elated that there was an answer to my persistent health problems and gutted at how my food-loving life would have to change. Two years felt like the magic bullet back then, the estimated time for a gut long-ravaged by unknown celiac to heal itself. Now that I'm here, I feel like I'm still wading in uncertain waters rather than crossing some imaginary finish line of recovery.

In all fairness, I am leaps and bounds better than I was then, no longer needing to receive my nutrition intravenously or requiring 12 hours of sleep a night. But my journey to better health is just that - a journey.

The realization in the last few years that my disease was not one with just one easy solution - 'eat gluten-free' - but that wellness is more evolving and fluctuating has been a helpful one in dealing with the frustrations of living with celiac. Often, I must keep my intake of inflammatories in check, like coffee, alcohol and sugar, as overdoing it sends my body and mind into a complete downward spiral. And I don't mean daily-hangovers-kind-of-overdoing, simply anything more than a couple times of week. This probably holds true for most people as well, but my autoimmune-ravaged body is pretty sensitive to anything that doesn't directly contribute to its strength.

Then there are the non-physical frustrations. Knowing I could never eat 100% at home - how would I travel? how would I eat out with friends? - means accepting that there is always the possibility of being glutened, even by the kindest of friends and restaurant workers who believe they have taken every precaution. And when I do get glutened, as I was back in August, there are emotional, as well as the physical fallouts: digestive issues, exhaustion, foggy brain, a bipolar-like roller coaster of emotions. It's infuriating to feel like something as simple as eating requires this constant tiptoeing around landmines, but such is the life of a celiac.

Sometimes wish I could walk around with this emblazoned on a t-shirt because Berlin. Doesn't. Get it.
(infographic via glutenfree.com)

Aside from accepting this ebb and flow of feeling good (which I'm not gonna lie, is still a challenge), perhaps the greatest progress for me was made when I jumped into athletics for the first time in my life. Sure, I joined a gym at the behest of my doctor over a year ago, but it wasn't until I started training for roller derby that I really began to feel fulfilled, physically and emotionally. When I discovered that one of my leaguemates-to-be, the one I had watched at the first scrimmages I attended, mouth agape at her abilities, also had celiac, it gave me even more hope. While she is clearly a more natural athlete than I, it meant a lot to see someone who struggles with many of the same things succeed at such a physical endeavor and showed me the path I am on is the right one. I am not about to let this silly disease get the better of me.

Mia Missile, fellow celiac and total derby inspiration (photo by Preflash Gordon)

That said... the struggle still gets me down sometimes, leaving my psyche to feel as if it's barely treading water, threatening to slip under at any moment. Our week in Barcelona showed me how good it could be in another European city, from the vast eating options to the superb awareness about cross-contamination - things that are practically non-existent in Berlin. To add further insult to injury, Barcelona was the other city we considered when moving almost three years ago - and ironically we chose the one that is more difficult to navigate with celiac.

Returning from skating in the sunshine and indulging at not just one, but two incredible gluten-free bakeries, I slipped into a bit of a funk. The self-indulgent pity parties started again, pouting any time a great event showed up in my Facebook feed, only to realize that I'm better off staying home because I won't be able to enjoy anything there. The voice in my head that whines: WHY can't it be as good here for gluten-free as it is in Portland? Or even Barcelona? Well, life isn't always fair and there is only one way to go: Forward.

This is what gluten-free eating looks like in Barcelona - and I ate it ALL

Back at derby training after a league break and our Mediterranean holiday, I'm working to regain not only that physical strength I acquired thus far in my newbie class, but also the mental wellness that came with it. Chronic illness or not, we all have good days and bad days, I just need rise above pointing my finger only at my celiac on the bad days and letting it overshadow all the progress I have made.

Next up is my biennial endoscopy, the first since my recovery began, to ensure the damage has indeed repaired itself and I haven't gotten the lovely cancer that we celiacs are more prone to developing. With that, cutting back on the inflammatories (buh-bye, beloved coffee and alcohol), getting my ass back to the gym (so, so hard on top of my derby training schedule) and keeping my head clear of all those nagging negatives about living gluten-free in Berlin, I know I can keep moving forward in a way that is positive for my overall well-being. Ultimately, I have to listen to my body, something that I can thank celiac for teaching me to do.


I wrote specifically about my road to roller derby for the new online magazine Do It Well Co. Read it here and be sure to check out the rest of the great contributors to the issue!

Sigh. Celiac, it seems, is a constant dance with my well-being. I ease up on the reigns of food enjoyment - and I pay the consequences. I mean, we moved to Berlin in large part for the food! We got a taste of all the culinary greatness here, and then - boom! - I'm just supposed to give all that up? Am I just supposed to stay at home every evening with raw veggies, ignoring the sounds of summer - the satisfied slurp of an ice cream cone, the celebratory clink of wine glasses - on the street below us? Granted, with the arrival of summer weather and all the glorious food fests Berlin has to offer, my strict eat-bio-and-grain-free-at-home-only has seen me slip back into less vigilant eating practices. So much so, my body is pulling back on the reins.

Admittedly, I'm a little raw after a recent realization about food I'd eaten that it turned out was not gluten-free. As soon as I read the message from my friend Adam, that his more thorough inquisition turned up soy sauce as an ingredient in the meal I'd had twice in one week, my heart fell. All at once, I understood that my distended belly and foggy brain had not been a result of too much sugar, as I had thought (read: hoped). More importantly, it hit my eating-out confidence hard and I had a mini-breakdown right there in the park. I pouted and realized I'm better off boarding myself up inside and eating only home-cooked meals. What can I say? I still get really emotional about food.

As other celiacs can attest, even when being vigilant, eating out is a minefield. Like my glutenings from the last couple of weekend food fests made clear once again, too many people are unaware of what gluten really is and the serious implications it can have on someone like me. So why eat out at all? I mean, it's my food issue and why should I impart that on folks just trying to provide people with some good food? Believe me, I used to be one of those eye-rollers every time someone began the laundry-list Starbucks order or launched into a soliloquy of why said menu item must be altered to meet their lengthy requirements. No one realizes what a pain in the ass I am, culinarily-speaking, more than me.

But this all begs the question: Is a food allergy sufferer just never supposed to eat out? And more importantly, how is travel possible? It's one thing to inflict one's dietary needs on a well-meaning chef when managing at home is often the better, and safer, answer, but what if that isn't an option? Will people in food service ever truly understand the importance of knowing all their ingredients and their allergy ramifications? Don't even get me started on the emotional fallout around celebrations and time out with friends.

"There are few things more isolating and disheartening than being unable to freely join with loved ones to celebrate significant times in life." 

- Jenni Hulet (The Urban Poser) from My Paleo Patisserie, An Artisan Approach to Grain Free Baking

I don't mean to rant, but I thought that after 10 months of healing from my initial diagnosis and the start of living a gluten-free life, I wouldn't still be dealing with such lows where my health is concerned. All these frustrations have been bouncing around in my foggy brain, yet I never seem to have the clarity to come to terms with it 100%. Speaking with a friend one day about her husband's diabetes and its constant need for surveillance, it hit me that celiac was much the same, at least where recovery is concerned. Not even the middle of an estimated 2-year recovery time, I must still pay close attention to what my body is telling me each time I put food into it. Some days I might feel strong enough for grains or a glass of wine, others might require upping the gelatin and coconut to soothe my ailing gut. It's rather frustrating to feel like there isn't a clear-cut answer for good health and well-being every day, but I've spent much of my life not listening to what my body really needs and now we're playing catch-up from years of miscommunication.

In a very lucky turn of events, the visit this last weekend from my Wiesbaden-based friend Christie, a fellow foodie who's body also takes serious issue with gluten, meant eating out was a necessary indulgence, yet a carefully thought-out affair. After two and a half days of what was essentially a gluten-free food tour of Berlin, I managed to remain free from the clutches of usually inevitable, albeit unintentional glutening. From street food to the Michelin-starred Tim Raue (more on that later, to be sure) to the gluten- and grain-free paradise that is Sauvage, I ended the weekend rather tired, but with my belly in mostly good spirits. For all the times I am glutened and left feeling vulnerable and weak - physically and emotionally - there are shining beacons of light on the Berlin food landscape that give me hope for eating out. This weekend was definitely one of those.

And so I proceed with more caution, but also more optimism as we dive into this currently grey, rainy season that Berlin calls summer. I will stick mostly to places I know are safe, but I will also feed myself healing, nutritious food at home so I am more fortified to go out into the big world of uncertain ingredients. As I refine my diet, I hope to bring you more the successful recipes here soon!

Eating at home: Tom Kha Gai with plantain chips... and a spinach quiche with bacon & cassava flour crust

Greens, greens, and more greens: My new eating mantra

In all my life, I've never really examined my eating habits until now. I scoffed at dieters, rolled my eyes at health-food nuts and sent a virtual stink-eye out to everyone who went gluten-free because it was the cool thing to do (seemingly discrediting the strict eating my disease required). Years of anemia didn't mean ingesting more iron-filled foods, it meant popping iron supplements and going on my way. Even after my celiac diagnosis, I was still in it for whatever satisfied my need to not feel deprived - gluten-free pizza, doughnuts, cakes, cookies. Food was about satisfying cravings, yet it's become something too often indulged in more for its enjoyment factor, its Instagramworthiness, than it's nutritional value. Hashtag-donuts, anyone?

All food porn aside, food luxuries are ones we should be able to enjoy. Yes, it's a first-world problem, this abundance of food choice, but one so inherently tied to our psyche and well-being. Your favorite restaurant, holiday cookies made every year with your mom, that weekend brunch spot where you know the menu by heart. Not to mention travel. How can one possibly immerse oneself in a new culture without also enjoying the local food? But the truth is, these things are more than just food - they are warm memories and fulfilment. Time spent with loved ones, or even on our own, relishing in something delicious and creating a new life experience. It's hard to separate that from eating purely as a means to refuel. So what happens when we these sentiments control what we eat more than what our bodies actually need?

This disconnect has been my struggle. I grew up begrudgingly swallowing rubbery green beans from a can solely to get to the dessert, a constant at the finish line that was dinner. Salad was eaten only to be drowned in ranch dressing. I'm hard-pressed to remember anything nutritious or savory that I have strong memories of, aside from weekly steak dinners at Black Angus, complete with fried zucchini (pretty much the only kind of veg I would eat proactively) and the ever-present, sugary Shirley Temple. Sweets were what my world revolved around. Sunny days at Baskin Robbins, that green party punch that I reveled in watching kids turn their noses up at the color only to try a sip and greedily pour themselves more, weekly pilgrimages to 7-11 to spend a disgusting chunk of allowance on all manner of candy bars, sugary popcorn and slurpees for weekend sleepovers spent watching movies and obsessing over our latest crushes. It was always about getting to that sweetness at the end of the meal, that sugar-binge at the end of the week.

Savory foods did join my regular eating-for-enjoyment routine, though this appreciation dawned much later than for most. I enjoyed my foray into adulthood cooking when we moved to Germany, where I had the time to dedicate to preparing delicious meals in the absence of great restaurants and learned fresh, from-scratch recipes where the oft-used American shortcut staples did not exist. I learned fresh green beans are crisp and delicious, not the overly-salted little pieces that used to squeak between my teeth as a child. I enjoyed it, I even got pretty good at it. Sure, I still baked and indulged in sweets regularly, but now I looked forward to Sunday dinners of meat braised for hours and spicy curries chock-full of fresh vegetables. Delicious food finally went beyond ice cream and cake.

These food priorities, government-endorsed food pyramids and hippie naturalists be damned, is why my world came crashing down when gluten became my greatest enemy. No pizza, burgers, pasta, waffles?! How would I survive? Never again, Burgermeister? No more Sunday brunches? Well, I did survive. I re-learned how to cook in a way that was safe for my autoimmune disease-ridden body, and I hardly felt deprived at all, all social situations aside. I thought I had my demons under control. But just as things were starting to get good again, just when I had a way to channel my love of good food and satisfy a frustrating food intolerance into something positive, my body shouted 'no' and raised the white flag. All those pre-diagnosis symptoms were back, this time, enemy unknown. Back to gasping for breath after coming up the stairs to our apartment, waking from 10 hours of sleep still exhausted and regularly struggling to pull basic information caught somewhere in the fogginess of my brain. Perhaps the most upsetting? The gut that would protrude to six-month-pregnant proportions in a matter of hours and the elasticated pants that were increasingly necessary. I realized there must be something more than the now-non-existent gluten that was bringing me down.

I spent countless days falling down the rabbit hole that is medical symptoms on the internet and making very interesting discoveries. The studies that suggest sugar is more addictive than crack. The fact that there's added sugar in my canned tomatoes. The belief many have that the gut controls so much about the body's health, and when it is out of whack, the whole body follows suit. So I decided to make some more drastic changes to the way I ate. First, I cut out all sugar, including most fruit, but also grains and starches as well. I began eating only organic in a quest for simpler, chemical-free food easier on my ravaged gut. I added things in like bone broth, gelatin and lots of coconut (oil, milk, dried) and cinnamon, that are also supposed to heal and help with inflammation. While I've taken a lot of notes from diets like GAPS and Autoimmune Paleo, I've always been cautious of anything described as a 'diet' while using it as a platform to sell something. When these sites hawking cookbooks and supplements gave way to incredible stories, like Dr. Terry Wahls, who essentially reversed her MS symptoms through her diet, I started to really listen. Besides, my journey wasn't about losing weight or jumping on a trendy eating bandwagon, it was about my health, at a basic functioning level.

The more I read about healing through food and how it can help symptoms of autoimmune conditions - from which both my husband and I suffer - it seemed to be a smart path to follow. For the second time in one year, I began a new food journey... In the first week or so, I had some major emotional crashes, sobbing uncontrollably and swearing if I ate roasted chicken and vegetables again, I'd scream. But just like cutting out gluten, cutting out refined sugar, all grains and most dairy (and coffee and alcohol) has been a learning curve, though not as scary and depriving as one might think. There have been some clear losers in the quest for good recipes (I've determined paleo pancakes just taste like a sweet omelette - ugh) and some surprising winners (cauliflower rice?! but I hate cauliflower! *mind blown*), but the good news is I'm finally getting the hang of cooking this way and more importantly, feeling better. The coffee and alcohol though, I miss those terribly. Well, and corn chips, if I'm honest.

I understand these are not great realizations, that most healthy adults eat a well-balanced diet and don't fall to pieces when they can't patronize their local ice cream shop or catch up with friends over a cup of coffee. But I am a product of all my years of unbalanced eating and over-indulgence, convinced decades of choosing enjoyment over nourishment has left me with a body that is finally fighting back and a mind that's trying desperately to catch up to what is good for me. My outlook is still uncertain as I spend all hours of the day either researching, shopping for or preparing all of our from-scratch meals and try not dwell on the prospect that eating out and travel feels even more impossible than it was before. My doctor seems to be searching for a more concrete answer, one with the word 'disease' attached that requires more rounds of invasive tests, but I'm not entirely convinced. I don't know if this 'diet' is the course I will stay on indefinitely or if I will ease up once my body heals, but I'm going with my gut, quite literally. For now, it's nourishment for the win (with enjoyment thrown in every now and then).

Grain-free, dairy-free, no-sugar-added apple cinnamon roll via Grazed and Enthused

As anxious as I've been for 2014 to be over - a hospital stint, a celiac diagnosis, cancelled vacations and money stress - see ya! - I'm embarrassed to admit 2015 has gotten off to a slow start for me. Call it perpetual jet lag, the persistent effects of accidental glutenings or just general malaise, but I've felt a bit like a recent university grad, excited yet overwhelmed by everything that lay before her. Don't count me defeated just yet, though.

The new year dawned for me back in the US, where I was basking not only in years-overdue family time and the ease of daily interactions in English, but in some eye-openingly delicious food. Be it the ubiquitous allergy-friendly menus, plethora of 100% gluten-free establishments or just the fact that I could find a safe-for-me version of just about everything in a standard grocery store, but I was in heaven. The Berliner eye-roll/huffy response to requesting special food preparation was replaced with the knowing Portlander smile and nod. The weight that lifted off my shoulders was immense and warmed my food-loving soul more than I ever though possible post-celiac diagnosis. But the easy road isn't what life is really about... is it?

So I returned to Berlin a bit perplexed and conflicted. For the first time in years, I felt a pull from the US again, and I wasn't sure what to make of it. Did I really want to go back to the States? Was I done living the expat life? Was I just letting all this past year's frustrations build up and taking it out on my adopted home? Sure, it would be nice to be able to walk in anywhere without rehearsing conversation possibilities in my head first and not having to plan outings carefully around when I can be home for something safe to eat. But are German's lack of culinary diversity/allergy understanding and my own ineptitude at foreign language enough to make me want to throw in the towel? After this last year, I admit it's tempting.

Portland Rite-Aid's (like CVS) gluten-free section: more options than just about any German grocery

When my intense jet lag finally let up enough for my husband and energetic dog to drag me all around the neighborhood, I realized what I had lost sight of. As much I let myself fall a little in love with Portland, my heart still belongs to Berlin. Berlin, with it's crazy-gorgeous old architecture, abundant trees and parks, clean streets, art and creativity everywhere. Even with the oppressive grey and rather gruff people, the latest El Bocho to go up and filling up bags of my favorite sweets are just a few of the things that still brighten my day, no matter how many days we've been without sun. Norwegians are consistently rated some of the happiest people on earth and they live in near-darkness for months. Clearly, their outlook is something worth practicing.

The answer doesn't lie in the crippling paradox of choice offered everywhere in the US, it's about the right things being offered. And right now, Berlin still feels right. The ease of European travel, the ease of walking everywhere, great health care (have I mentioned my €75 week-long hospital stay?), six weeks of vacation. Though I wouldn't complain about more quality gluten-free choices and some Talenti gelato in our grocery...

My morning coffee in Portland with this as my creamer *swoon*

And so I begin this year as so many others do: with resolutions of improvement. With many of my health issues answered, I am (slowly but surely) regaining my strength and focus, something that had been greatly holding me back before. First and foremost is the language. I know I'll never be one of those linguistics pros I so admire, but I can do better than I have been. I can study more, practice more, try harder. German is hard, but it's not impossible.

It's also time I stopped feeling sorry for my limited eating situation and dove headfirst into the kitchen again. One of the greatest things to come out of my years in Germany was discovering the time and passion for cooking. I went from not knowing how to cook basics like eggs or bacon to making meals my mother demands recipes for, hosting Thanksgiving dinners and baking treats that resulted in wide eyes and marriage proposals. If I can manage that, I know I can get to the same level without any gluten. Portland's amazing gluten-free bakeries and restaurants proved that to me (more on that next week!).

So while my love of the written word still remains strong, I will rebuild that slowly, out from under the foggy haze of a long-starved celiac brain. While I plan to post here a bit less, I hope to do so with more intent. I want to mull over my words more carefully, take the time to think about what I want to put out there and focus on the things that will make me whole again in real, everyday life. Food, which for a time became an uncertain enemy, is something I need to reclaim. And not just any food, great, amazing, mouth-watering soul-nourishing food. This is my challenge for the new year, for myself and hopefully, to share with others.

I was struck by the Martin Luther King Jr. quote making the rounds last week, the one that starts: "If you can't fly then run, if you can't run then walk...". The last few years, I was definitely crawling. While I might not be flying, or even running, anytime soon, moving forward is imperative. It might sound overly simplistic, but it's a message I could stand to be reminded of at this time in my life. I know I will still have bad days with this stupid disease, days where I get sick from accidentally ingesting gluten or where I break down in the grocery because I can't even find all the safe ingredients to make dinner, but I'm determined to meet this challenge head-on. As Dr. King also said: "The ultimate measure of a man is not where he stands in moments of comfort and convenience, but where he stands at times of challenge and controversy." Bring it, 2015.

Two new hair colors down - pink and then purple. This year is already off to an ambitious start!

The silver lining to a celiac diagnosis: all new kitchen supplies!

After some big moping - and probably a bit too much retail therapy - following my celiac diagnosis, I realized it was time for the self-pity to stop and the repairing of my body to start. After all these years of feeling foggy, bloated and just off, I finally had an answer, and a clear path of how to make it all better. I just had to get on the gluten-free train and stay there. The more I poked around on the internet, the more amazing-looking recipes I found, even for some of my favorite baked goods like cupcakes and banana bread. I was shocked. I could still bake without wheat flour? Who knew that flour also came from rice, corn, buckwheat, millet, sorghum and coconut? I sure didn't. I knew then that all was not lost and was convinced after tasting a few winning recipes that I would not feel deprived by what I did get to eat. A whole new world of cooking opened up to me and I'm diving into it, head-first.



Before I could even think about cooking, which frankly, was the only way I was going to be able to eat, we had to completely gut our kitchen and pantry. Apparently gluten for celiacs is a bit like peanuts for those with peanut allergies - even a microscopic amount can have disastrous consequences. While gluten doesn't always have the instantaneous and obvious response of peanut allergy sufferers, it can leave one sick for days with stomach flu-like symptoms, not to mention backtrack intestinal recovery in a significant way. After this disease has already driven me to the point of hospitalization and weekly iron infusions, I was not going to take any chances.

With my husband on board with making our home a 100% gluten-free zone and eating gluten-free with me, we set to work. Every kitchen cabinet was opened, sorted and cleaned. The oven was sprayed with heavy-duty cleaner and meticulously scrubbed no less than four times. All wood, plastic, bakeware and essentially anything that could contain traces of gluten went in the 'must go' pile. We even had to take the wood top off my high work table, as it had seen many a flour-covered day of cookie dough rolling, tortilla pressing and baked good mixing. Sticky gluten makes the best of friends with porous wood.



Letting go of my ample cake and muffin tin collection was easy compared to what was next: the pantry. Everything came out so that the pantry could be scrubbed down as well, but it was the review of every single item with a fine-tooth comb that was most exhausting. Here I thought deciphering processed food labels with their plethora of unpronounceable words was hard, doing it German felt like my head might explode. Anything that made the cut, we wiped down and put in a pile to go back in the pantry. Gluten-containing foods (I'm still mourning the loss of my beloved jars of speculoos...) went either in the trash or the giveaway pile. The questionable ones, of which there were many, went into a bag to be researched. Some of the offending foods were not all that surprising - corn chips and corn four that stated they 'can contain gluten', often from cross-contamination in the growing or processing stages - but there were some, like a jar of nutmeg, that contained a stabilizer that is on the verboten list and had to replaced with a purer form from the bio store.

We do a lot more shopping at the bio store now for the products filled with fewer additives and other gluten-offenders, meaning that unfortunately it is quite a bit more expensive to be a celiac. I like to think that our lack of eating out helps balance this out, but I'm not sure that's always the case. When I really think about it though, isn't this how we always should have been eating? Fewer cheap additives and more actual nutrition? The body is a temple, as they say, and why hadn't we been treating ours as such? Because it's cheaper? Easier? Probably a bit of both, but now my health was raging against the machine that is modern processed food, so I had no choice but to listen.



I was able to take solace in the new ingredients I was discovering and the new recipes I was trying. Ordering harder-to-find flours and processed foods* - let's be honest, there is still a place for cereal, pasta and the occasional cracker in my life - felt a bit like a treat rather than a punishment. Food that I had neglected to dabble in, like polenta, were brought into my new kitchen with gratifying results.

I mean, does this look like I'm not enjoying what I eat?:



Even more satisfying was when I examined some of my go-to recipes and realized, hey, these are naturally gluten-free! Favorites like homemade Chinese food (made with new, GF soy sauce) and chicken curry could stay in our regular rotation. These little victories have helped make the transition to living gluten-free not only bearable, but delicious and free of feelings of deprivation. Now, when I pass the smells emanating from a bakery, that's another story...


For reference, here are a few resources I found helpful after being diagnosed and having to transition my diet and kitchen:

• Gluten-Free Goddess: How To Go Gluten-free
• Gluten-Free Girl: New to Gluten-Free?
• Equipping Your Gluten-Free Kitchen - What to Replace
• University of Chicago Celiac Disease Center Jump Start Your Gluten-Free Diet eBook


* A note on the alcohol-free, gluten-free beer pictured here: it contains barley malt. Alcohol companies claim that distilling grain alcohols rids it of gluten, but many celiacs have a reaction to any grain alcohols, distilled or not. I got sick from drinking this beer, so it taught me that only personal experience can determine what is actually safe for me to consume.

Iron to be taken via infusion, the last resort for those who can't absorb it for themselves

Oh 2014, you've really been kicking my ass. This was supposed to be one of the best years of my life: moving to one of the greatest cities in the world, exploring amazing restaurants and creating a new life in an exciting new place. But instead, almost every aspect of our move was disastrous, not to mention the construction crew continually trying to extort all this money we didn't owe (we rent, by the way). Then there was the whole tax mix-up where we were left to live on a fraction of what we were used to for months while it got sorted out. Then, there's been my health. While my overall well-being has felt rather lacking for a while, it was this year that it really kicked me to the curb. It put on gloves and smacked me straight in the kisser. Repeatedly.

Where I last left off, publicly-speaking, was that after my stint in the hospital a few months ago, my health seemed to be improving and I appeared to be getting stronger. Gastritis was the answer and I was on medication to help this condition. Only, it seems when I finally got confident that I was well down the road to recovery, I unexpectedly got booted back to start. Do not pass 'Go'. Do not collect $200. I just steadily started to decline again into fatigue, constant hunger and a strange haze in my brain that made it hard to think clearly. All this despite my medication and twice-a-day iron supplements. When I got scarily close to being sick and passing out immediately after having a burger, a beer and my favorite ice-cream-cookie sandwich (gluten, gluten, and hmm, more gluten), I knew something was still seriously wrong. After another trip for tests with my regular doctor and a last ditch HIV-test on her part to explain my puzzling declining health - which was, unsurprisingly, negative - I was sent to see yet another specialist. In the waiting room, I remained skeptical. I had already been looked over by no less than five doctors since this all began and each one ticked their boxes of questions to ask, always ending with the same quizzical look and a head shake. No idea. If one more doctor should ask if I like meat again, as if I was some secret burgeoning vegetarian, I might just scream.

But as soon as we sat down in his office and started going over my symptoms, I saw that he thought differently than other doctors. Instead of merely going down a checklist, asking all the same questions I had already been asked a dozen times before, he started linking all my symptoms together to offer an explanation: the persistent anemia, the elevated liver levels, the continued fatigue and stomach distress. He thought I had celiac disease. I sort of nodded in understanding, but really, all I knew was that it was some 'wheat allergy'. I was rather surprised since I never noticed any correlation between feeling bad and consuming gluten before, but listened when he went over the signs of celiac and how it pointed to this conclusion. So I had my blood drawn and went home to wait for an answer.

In the meantime, I did research. As I started pouring over celiac websites, my jaw dropped: my symptoms were right on for the disease. Everything from the more tangible headaches, bloating, unexplained liver problems and anemia to the less concrete inability to concentrate, depression and fatigue. I knew in my gut, pun intended, that this is what I had. I had thought this was merely an eat-bread-and-get-a-tummy-ache thing, but my relief at finally finding the answer to all my health problems quickly dissipated as the reality of it set in: this was serious. The Celiac Disease Foundation defines it as "an autoimmune disorder that can occur in genetically predisposed people where the ingestion of gluten leads to damage in the small intestine," but it goes deeper than that. That damage it does to the small intestine? Yeah, that means your body can't absorb nutrients, which essentially means that no matter how much nutritious food a celiac consumes, if gluten is still in the mix, those nutrients just pass right through, leaving your body - and your mind - deprived of the necessary vitamins and minerals it needs to function. If this deprivation continues unchecked, it can lead to things like osteoporosis, cancer and even MS. Scary stuff. Way scarier than the prospect of never eating another doughnut.

Since the tests had already been done*, I also spent the week cutting out the gluten to see how I felt without it. I read all these accounts from people who swore that they immediately felt better after making the change, but it seems I was to feel worse before I started to improve. The second full day without gluten, my body reacted in a most unfavourable way, beating me down with food-poisoning-like symptoms. Apparently, when gluten breaks down in one's damaged digestive system, the resulting peptides enter the bloodstream and bind with receptors in the brain that mimic opiates like heroin and morphine, so when you take that abruptly out of your system... well, a drug withdrawal-like experience can be what you get. At least when I got the test results confirming I did in fact have celiac, I was at least thankful I already had a head start in de-glutening my life.

Being the food-lover that I am and realizing the extent to which this would affect my life, this diagnosis came as quite a blow. All those burgers I chowed down on, the weekend brunch spots we had yet to discover, my beloved Krispy Kreme I planned to consume every time I would visit the US, I would have to say farewell to, for good. I admit, I cried over this a lot while waiting for the test results, then had myself a big sob session once the diagnosis was confirmed. Retail therapy as means of distraction has also played a big part. It seems silly, I know. It's just food. Food that was making me terribly, unknowingly sick. Perhaps it's a sentiment of the privileged, but food is a luxury of choice, not to mention a powerful tie to memories. There's a huge emotionality behind it. Thanksgiving at Grandma's, Mom's Christmas cookies, your favorite cake on your birthday. Hungry? Feel like fill-in-the-blank-here? It used to be I could go out and get it. Now, if I'm out and I get hungry, I'd better damn well hope I remembered to stash a gluten-free bar or piece of fruit in my bag or I'm S.O.L. Friends invite you over or out for dinner? That's where that purse stash comes in. Again. It's a complete and total game-changer for what was our usual way of life.

While my heart is still heavy with its recent adieu to gluten, I'm trying to stay thankful that this disease is totally manageable. My focus for now is being kind to my body. Not wanting to risk any possible cross-contamination, eating out is off the table, so to speak, for the time being. Alcohol, coffee and milk are also on hiatus in an attempt to be as gentle and non-irritating on my digestion as possible. You see, once the gluten has been cut out, the body still needs another one-two years to get back to normal. Normal takes time for such a damaged system. So while my gut slowly repairs itself, I am still desperately in need of nutrition and am being hooked up to an IV once a week for iron infusions, since like even the most nutritious food, my iron pills remain mostly unabsorbed. It's been a real test to my aversion to needles, the first session resulting in me passed out cold within the first two minutes of starting the infusion. Thankfully, the second week I managed to stay conscious, with the nurse continually popping her head in with a worried expression, undoubtedly anxious to find me slumped over in the chair. Two weeks down, three more to go. As a good friend said to me, I am facing my fears head on and expect to be a pro with needles by the end of this. Perhaps this warrants another tattoo to celebrate...



So I am doing all I can to move forward. I'm reading (and translating) labels with a fine-tooth comb, researching, cooking three meals a day, searching for hard-to-find ingredients/GF products online. Needless to say, it's been exhausting on my already taxed system and I still have a bit of an uphill battle ahead. I still have much to learn and even more to understand about where gluten is still hiding in our home. I still have days where my mind seems unable to handle much more than zoning out to a television series and my body can't quite handle the trek to the grocery store. But I have good days too. Days when I realize one of my favorite meals to cook is naturally gluten-free or when I find a recipe for baked goods that has a plethora of comments about how it's just as good as 'the real thing'. I am so thankful for the online resources and community that have already been a lifesaver during this period of adjusting to living with celiac and all its required day-to-day changes.

My hope is that I can share some equally useful information that might help someone who has just been diagnosed feel not so alone, not to mention delicious recipes that are gluten-free - and restores a deep enjoyment of food without any inkling of deprivation. It is my new road, one that I know I will stumble on and perhaps take a wrong turn here and there, but one that I am committed to for the health and well-being of my body and mind. It will get better.



*Changing one's gluten intake before a celiac test can alter the results and provide a false negative. If you think you might have celiac disease, talk to your doctor about what you need to do to be tested.