Dessert Was A Bad Idea...

Sometimes I have this weird moment where I say: “Self, maybe you are just a giant Hypochondriac and don’t have Celiac Disease after all. You should eat something with wheat in it…just to be sure.”

Then, days like Christmas Eve happen, and I re-learn that I never want to eat gluten ever, ever again.

I am super aware of what I put into my body.  Gluten hides in everything and I’ve learned that being a tad more relaxed on food research, especially during the holidays, always results in my curling up on the floor, wondering if I am actually going to die.

The floor is no place to spend your Christmas.  Trust me.

This year, our Annual Mother/Daughter Christmas dinner occurred on the Eve of Christmas Eve.  Second to Christmas itself, this tradition is my favorite evening of the year where my mother, our two friends, and I meet at a super-fun restaurant and laugh, drink, and eat delicious food together. This year, while we certainly laughed, drank, and ate; I opt to omit the “delicious” descriptor from our meal; our service was rushed, our waitress was distracted, and my scallops were burned.  I should have known then that dessert was a bad idea, but upon receiving the dessert menu, the words Gluten Free Chocolate Cake immediately got my attention.  Yes, just yes.

Usually I skip dessert, but because it was advertised specifically as gluten-free, we decided to get a slice for the table.  To be sure, as always, I confirmed with our waitress that the cake was actually gluten free, to which she said yes.  She even mentioned that they had a regular chocolate cake with gluten, but I reminded her of my allergy to wheat and she confirmed.  I should have known then that dessert was a bad idea, but went against my better judgment and trusted the waitress. 

I continued to ignore my gut when the cake arrived: it was the most beautiful slice of cake I had seen in a long time, partially due to my thinking I could eat it. It was delicious, and addicting, and I found myself devouring it with my usual self-control seemingly missing.  I should have known then that dessert was a bad idea.

Fast forward through my evening, I was restless and uncomfortable but thought nothing of it - usually gluten poisoning hits me soon after ingestion, so the thought never crossed my mind that she could be the culprit. In hind-sight, I’ve never willingly eaten something so saturated with flour: now, I think my body was in shock.

It wasn’t until the morning where I realized the searing pain shooting through my body was gluten, visiting for the holidays without an invitation. As it stood, I was due at my parent’s house for pre-Christmas festivities, so I made my way there, fighting the pain, pretending it could go away. It didn’t.

I’m sure my mother appreciated my holiday arrival which was something along the lines of: “Hi. Merry Christmas. Iamgoingtothrowupmovemovemove.”

I will spare you the details, because Google, but after trying to fight through the family dinner …and failing, I gave in to the Gluten Gods, and realized my Christmas wasn’t going to be the usual church-going, carol-singing, Santa-filled night. No lights, no carols, no laughing, no ho-ho-holiday spirit. Just me, my miserable self, and my rockstar boyfriend. Missing church on Christmas Eve was my ultimate nightmare.

Luckily, this Christmas, I was also witness to a true Christmas miracle.  As quickly as the poison came, it seemingly left.  That’s not to say I felt good by any measure, but on Christmas, I was able to co-exist and ingest food like a normal human without looking sloth-like. [Yes, that is actually what it looks like.]

I have taken small memories from this past Christmas Eve, and tucked them away to remember in times of Celiac Doubt, for the days when I’m just unsure if I am actually capable of lying to myself. No Kristin, you aren’t faking.  No Kristin, you can’t eat that roll. No Kristin, Christmas Eve 2013.