Getting Answers

Now, I’m not going to lie – getting tested for celiac isn’t exactly a summer stroll on the beach. The bloodwork was just the usual same old same old, old hat to someone who had spent years ill and looking for answers. The scope and biopsies… those were no fun. Although points for compassion and a seriously wonderful (and twisted) sense of humor must be given to the anesthesiologist.

The first shot to knock me out was given and a smug “fading out now, right?” was asked.

“Ah.. no. Still here. Still really really here!” came my moderately panicked reply.

A moment of consternation later, a second shot hit the iv “NOW… now it’s all getting fuzzy, right?”

“Sorry mate. Still here, still really too aware of the dude in the corner with the lab coat!”

Almost two years later and I still remember his look of disbelief, quickly followed by a muttered “That’s it. I always win this game!” as the third and final shot dragged me under the waves. That would be the last thing I recall clearly about the next 24 hours. Apparently I had pricked his professional pride and he wanted to make sure I wasn’t alert for the scope. I’m pretty happy about that really.

My husband would later tell me that the doctor wandered in after, shrugged, and simply said “What do you know, guess she was right. Looks like celiac after all.”

It was important for me to know, to go through the work of finding out – but I’ll honestly say that doctor nearly got flattened by a very peeved spouse. I had been jerked around on the bloodwork – told to go off gluten by one doctor, only to be called the week before the test and told if I hadn’t been eating gluten the test was going to be screwed. So when my bloodwork DID come back vague, I actually had to FORCE the issue of going through with the biopsies. Laughed at, told I didn’t know what I was talking about, and frankly called a probable liar and fool. Now, if I was trolling for narcotics, attempting to get paperwork to get disability, or a hundred other scams… I could understand a little bit better how the doctors I dealt with acted. But really – who SCAMS for a stranger to root around in their lower intestines? ARE there people who view 24 hours without eating, drinking a gallon of vicious viscous liquid that turns your lower regions into a slip-n-slide for a day, than having strangers shove a hose where a hose was NEVER meant to go for fun? (Ok. Fine. There may well be. Just don’t tell me if you happen to be one of those souls, please? Some things are better just left unknown.) I wanted – no. I needed answers.

My husband actually had to block the doorway and LOOM to get the doctor to say more that “Huh – celiac after all” – and even than he didn’t get much. I really don’t know why the doctors I went to seemed to have such a hard time with this diagnosis.

And more to the point, I still don’t know why they would seem upset when they got the proof for themselves. I try to be charitable, I try to remind myself that not every doctor is like this, that I just had a bad run… but I’ll be honest. There IS a part of me that struggles, to this day, with feeling like, the moment it became clear me getting healthy was going to be a job of MY effort, MY work and not something that had a whole lot of billable hours attached to it – I got dropped. Hard.

So, here I am. Celiac. Kinda weird gal. And hungry….

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About atwheatsend

Amazonian Betty Crocker and a Gypsy who found roots. Determined to eat wonderfully, even if celiac DID kick sand at the picnic.
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