The sitch: New GP.
Went in to ask for a script thingy (words are hard) for my annual thyroid blood test, because I realised I’d forgotten to do that in January. My usual GP is the kind who a) costs money and b) is booked out 6-8 weeks in advance, so I decided to use the centre a couple of blocks down the road because a) free and b) easy to book in.
It’s a GP I’ve seen a few times before when both a) and b) applied. This time, he wanted my whole medical history (including doing the weight and tape measure thing, which I have never had the privilege of experiencing previously). Which meant going over all the food intolerances stuff, among other things.
Short version: he wants me retested for celiac.
Now, I am not theoretically opposed to this. Celiac can have major co-morbidities and unless I am willful enough to commit to a zero-tolerance policy on gluten for the rest of my life Just Because Precautions (spoiler: I am not), having an inconclusive result double checked is probably a good idea. (Two years ago, I got a positive blood test but negative gastroscopy. The gastroscopy is supposed to be the gold standard, but false positives in the blood test are extremely rare, so…????)
Theory: Great.
Practice? Kill me now.
I have to go back on gluten for 8 weeks (GP suggested 3, but Celiac Australia says 6-8, other places say 8-12, and there have been studies done showing that 3 weeks is insufficient to induce symptoms even in known celiacs, so 8 weeks it is).
It’s been what, (counting…) twelve days, and I am having trouble breathing again*, my sleep is starting to become disrupted again**, and I am so, so irritable. I get INFLAMED by the tiniest, most ridiculous things – and so I am self-banned, sporadically, from the internet for the next 7 weeks, because I am just not capable of acting like a grown-up, mature and responsible human being. Already having to do the ‘deep breaths, this is gluten, let it go’ – which works, but I have to REALISE first that I’m being irrational, AND this is less than two weeks in. Imagine after seven. *dies.*
*Not in a life-threatening way, just in a ‘my stomach is so bloated that it’s actually physically impinging on my lung space and I physically cannot draw a full breath of air’. Which is FANTASTIC, since I’m literally starting dance classes TONIGHT. *cue melodramatic sobbing*.
** Amines. Obviously. But I’d JUST been off gluten long enough that my gut had healed enough that it looked like I could *actually* eat amines again and a) not die of migraines and b) not die of insomnia and c) maintain sufficient brain to write. Like, JUST-just. Like, four days before the GP visit, I did my first ever ‘normal’ shop since all this began two years ago and was looking forward to, you know, eating the produce I’d bought.
And of course, writing all this is making me angry about it all again, which again is an over-reaction because hey, not dead! And hey, not dying! And hey, non-life-threatening illnesses here, and perspective, yo!
But: irritation. My default mode for the next two months now, oh yay, what joy, such fun.
In the meantime, if you are forced by unlucky circumstance or dubious life choices to deal with me before the end of May, I sincerely apologise. Feel free to just pretend I don’t exist until June. I’m okay with that.