Five Years a Celiac

Today is the 5 year anniversary of my life as a diagnosed Celiac. It’s also my birthday. It’s also MLK day, and like him, I have a dream, but it’s more about taste equality, and lack of a fear of crumbs, than basic human rights, so I must concede that he earned the day far more than I did. But as I said, it’s my birthday, so perhaps you’ll indulge my slightly less altruistic reminiscence?

Five years ago today, I had a lot of lasts: my last taste of normal pasta, my last, soft nibble of my favorite herbed bread from a local, Alaskan restaurant, my last bite of gluten filled cake, my last night of not worrying whether going to a restaurant was too much like playing Russian roulette. Of course I did end up terribly ill that night. Knowing we were testing for Celiac, I loaded up. I went on one last gluten binge, and I paid dearly for it. I was so sick I didn’t even want the cake by the time it came out. I bloated so acutely that I couldn’t even button my stretchy pants to leave the restaurant with dignity. I was only saved from complete humiliation by a very long shirt. 

Fast forward nearly 5 years to last Friday night. As part of a sort of early celebration we stopped off for dinner at Chili’s while we were out. All of you seasoned Celiacs probably can hear the death knoll already can’t you? Go out on a Friday night? When it’s so busy and kitchens are messiest? Yeah. A smart move it was not. When there was a wait to get in I should have taken it as a sign and turned right around. But did I??? Nope. I was starving. And I had talked with one of the managers of this location before and they had served my well since, though admittedly never at such a busy hour. So in I went, ordered the same dish I always do after confirming it was still on the GF list, requested that kitchen managers be alerted, etc. And just like 5 years before, I found my self in utter agony, desperately unbuttoning previously comfy pants upon which I had assumed the buttons were merely decorative because I had never needed to use them before.

That night was the worst reaction I have ever had in my life. I ended up in the ER before the next morning, having nearly fainted a couple of times from severe dehydration. It felt like a perfect storm of glutening meets horrendous food poisoning, though my trooper of a hubby ate the last half of my meal to be sure and didn’t so much as get gassy, so maybe gluten meets virus? Either that or they supercharge their gluten at Chili's. At any rate, 2-3 days later, I’m not yet tolerating solid foods. They're too painful. There likely won't be cake this year thanks to that, even one of my good, GF ones. (And I had soooo been craving a rum cake! I’m seriously pouting over here.) Instead of cake this year, I just get to dream.

The cake I'm dreaming of today.

Maybe my dream is about human rights, after all. I think it’s a pretty basic human right to expect to be able to eat without fearing for your immediate health, or life, as with anaphylactic reactions. So I’m dreaming of a world where restaurants only publish GF menus when they really have the knowledge, training, space and equipment to actually provide GF foods, whether they're busy or not. I’d vastly prefer 1 or 2 safe options to 15, any one of which might be the next to poison me (related rant here). I’m dreaming of a world safer than 20 ppm for stuff that’s labeled GF. I’m dreaming of better research into cross-reactive foods. I’m dreaming of future birthdays, when I’ll actually get to eat and enjoy the cake.

So maybe it’s not as lofty as MLK’s dream, but it’s mine.