The day I found out

My phone rang. I looked at the caller ID and it said Kaiser Permanente. Good, I thought, my test results were finally in. I had gotten a colonoscopy and endoscopy done earlier in the week and had been waiting to get the results.�

After answering the precursory security questions, a very nice nurse simply said, “The test results from your endoscopy are in. Your biopsy tested positive for celiac disease.”

“Motherfuck.” Yeah, not my most elegant response ever.

“I know it sounds bad, but you really will start to feel better once you start a gluten-free diet,” she said, truly sounding sympathetic. I’m sure it’s not the first time she has had to tell someone this.

“How long will that take?”

“It’s hard to say, but it could take six months to two years to heal the damage in your small intestines,” she said.�

“Fuck!” Only this time, I had the self-control to just think it. “So I get to continue to feel like crap while completely changing my diet? Are there any meds for this?”

“No, just the gluten-free diet. You should schedule an appointment with a dietitian and they can help you with that. Also, we need you to come in and get a blood test to confirm the celiac diagnosis.”

“Thank you.”

And with that, we were done. Literally, a two-minute phone call that completely altered my world. WTF? I was seriously not expecting that diagnosis. I didn’t even know it was on the table. I was told I might have an ulcer or a tear in my intestines somewhere that was making it hard for my body to absorb iron and thus causing my anemia, but I hadn’t even thought about celiac disease because my doctor never mentioned it. Never.

And I knew what celiac disease was. I had a work friend who had it and remember how hard it was for her and how she would occasionally end up in the ER after a work event where she was promised a gluten-free meal.

After the initial bout of swearing that probably scared my dog, I did take a moment to breathe and remind myself that she could have been calling to tell me that I had colon cancer or Crohn’s Disease or any number of more serious conditions. Putting it in context helped ease the shock of it. But it still sucked.

Eventually, I naively thought, “Well, I don’t really eat much bread or pasta so I should be able to manage this.”

How wrong I was.