Gluten is the Enemy

My blood tests came back indicating a gluten sensitivity, however, a biopsy is needed to confirm a diagnosis of Celiac's disease.

I don't need no stinkin' biopsy.

THAT was supposed to be done during the colonoscopy but the blood test hadn't returned in time so the doc didn't do it. There is no way that I'm going to Osmoprep hell again anytime soon. It doesn't really matter, anyway. The result is the same: NO GLUTEN.

It's a bit like menopause, I imagine. You wish like hell that the menstrual fairy would wave her magic wand over your uterus and make it stop because you've had your babies and you're a certifiable nutbar one week of every month. Relief would be so, so welcome. Then Auntie Flo finally leaves one day and the realization hits that even though you don't want to bear any more children, you hate the thought of being robbed of the ability to do so. I think Celiac's is like that.

I won't necessarily miss bread or pasta or any of the other things we make with wheat, barley, rye, kamut and spelt. They are just a freaking carb nightmare and to go Paleo, I'd given most of them up anyway. It's just the choice factor. Now, it seems that I don't have one unless I want to be chronically fatigued, with a malfunctioning thyroid, joint pain and all kinds of messy, noisy, bloated and uncomfortable gastric distress.

I will miss beer, however. Wheaty, crisp, cold, delicious, lip-smacking beer.

I feel like I need a mourning period for beer.

On a positive note, at least I have the knowledge now. I can march forth all Mrs. Gluten Free and eventually, I should be able to thumb my nose at the bathroom scale.

And that almost makes the absence of real beer worth it.