Fuck celiac disease. I mean really. I think I have it, but I have to wait until the end of the month for a doctor to stick a scope down my throat and through my stomach to view my small intestine and take some tissue samples to confirm the diagnosis. Other than that, my symptom correlation is stupidly amazing:
- Eat wheat, get migraine.
- Eat wheat, get vertigo.
- Eat wheat, get diarrhea and cramps.
- Severe anemia.
- Severe muscle aches and spasms.
- Drink beer, get migraine.
- History of miscarriages and giving birth prematurely.
- History of anemia.
- Previous diagnosis of irritable bowel syndrome.
- Don’t eat wheat, feel a whole lot better.
Apparently, it will take a while for my intestines to repair, but at least my gut has a fighting chance now. After several weeks of coping with reactive depression, I’m starting to feel better. It is what it is. I am doing what I need to do to take care of myself because I’m worth it. Suicidal ideations notwithstanding.
I bought a guitar. She’s beautiful. I’m learning to play her and then I can play and sing. Doesn’t matter that I can’t eat gluten. I can still enjoy my life. I can still make beauty. I refuse to postpone joy.