You begin with the phrases that mean the most to you. For most people, that's something along the lines of, " I'm lost", "Help", and "Where's the bathroom?" We all have our "first sentence" in mind. We ask ourselves, If I were going to a foreign country, what would I want to know how to say above all else?
Refer back to the title for mine: Io sono celiaca; senza glutine!
Sure, it's not what I imagined my first Italian phrase being. I thought it would be something along the lines of "Do you know where to find the nearest opera house?" or "How many dresses can I buy with this?" But, the Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away. And it appears that my bread hath been taketh away.
"Ah, poor me, I can't have gluten! Let me talk about it nonstop with everyone who will listen!" That's how I'm starting to feel. And my friends will have to forgive me. But, it is a HUGE life change. No, it doesn't mean I stop eating bread and pasta and move on with my life. I stop eating anything with any traces of wheat, rye, barley, oats, and soy (which is in basically everything, except raw meat, fruits, and veggies). It's in a lot of salad dressings. Soy sauce. BBQ sauces. Marinades. Soup. Beer (not an issue for me). It is absorbed in pans and plates. Cross-contamination makes restaurants (and, despite my mom's best efforts, even my own home) a risky place where nothing is safe.
And, newly diagnosed Celiacs find that their intestines have been harmed so much that they temporarily can't process dairy. So no dairy for 2-3 months, either. (I learned this after seeing spots and almost fainting after eating a 4 oz. cup of yogurt). My lipstick, shampoo, and conditioner are no more, as well.
Every day, more and more people are receiving their Celiac diagnosis. And it's no fun. Because you then need to say, "All this food I used to eat and was fine is now going to make me cramp and throw up if a crumb of it touches my food."
Really, I cried of relief when I got my diagnosis (this was a short-lived reaction, believe me). But I was relieved because, for once, I finally understood. After years of doctors pricking me, drawing my blood, forcing disgusting weight-gain shakes down my throat, and questioning me about whether my mother was feeding me adequate amounts of food, I had an answer. After all those visits, all the bouts of pneumonia, mononucleosis, hand-foot-and-mouth disease, and chronic fatigue, I knew why my immune system battled diseases like a soldier with a noodle for a sword (a gluten free noodle, of course). After all the jokes from family and friends who would take me to buffets just to watch me put away plate after plate (my college friends call me Four Plates--my average intake those first few years in the dining hall), I knew why I was able to eat so much. No, it wasn't that I was blessed with a fast-acting metabolism. It was that I was allergic to literally everything I was eating and my intestines couldn't process it. I was slowly poisoning myself, and we didn't even know it.
My biggest reason for crying when I got my diagnosis? I now had another way to combat my anxiety: stop eating gluten. Because, believe it or not, gluten intake when you are a Celiac (which I have been my whole life; the title is the only new thing) is detrimental to your mind too, causing you to struggle with emotional stability and distinguish the rational from the irrational. My battles with OCD, anxiety, and depression are far from over, but I now have a leg up in the battle: I stay away from gluten. I didn't believe it, until I accidentally salted my green beans with seasoning that included wheat, and a few hours later I was bawling because I dropped a stack of papers on my dorm floor and realized I was a failure in life, bound to be a crazy cat lady in a hilltop house with no friends, and even my cats wouldn't like me. As I lay in the fetal position on the floor of my room, clutching the papers and bawling my eyes out, I stopped and thought, Woah. Shouldn't have had those green beans.
Of course, I've cried a few other times. I cried when I was in the organic grocery store with my mother, who was selflessly loading the cart with overpriced items. A 9-inch gluten free pizza crust priced at $11.95. You can get a glutenous pizza crust in the Walmart freezer section for anywhere around 5 bucks, easy. I also cry when the servers roll their eyes at me when I ask for a gluten free menu, because they're sick and tired of people coming in saying, "I'm gluten free!" and then proceed to take "just a bite" of their dining partner's chocolate lava cake.
I cried sitting in the candlelit church on Christmas Eve, as everyone filed out of the pews to take communion and eat the gluten-filled-Body-of-Christ. It was my first time not able to take it. As I sat in the pew while my family went to communion, I teared up. It was okay that I couldn't eat cake. It was okay that I couldn't eat at my favorite restaurants anymore. It was okay that I needed my own pots and pans and a separate pantry in my own house. It was not okay that I was allergic to the best supper of all--The Lord's Supper.
How am I going to go to Italy, land of pasta and pastries and pizza?
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