F*ckwheat.

Discovering that I have celiac disease changed my life.

First, the bad and sad:

I can no longer enjoy some of the things that I used to gorge upon. I ate my last box of Whoppers (malted chocolate balls [heh-heh]) in April '06. The cheesy-toast that was a staple in college doesn't quite taste the same anymore with rice bread.

I can't just plop down at a dinner table and chow down with wild abandon like I used to.

There's a significantly huge amount of 'normal' cereals that I dare not consume... all of my old favorites from AlphaBits to Cheerios, Apple Jacks to Corn Pops, Coco Puffs to Rice Chex, Honey Smacks to Fruity Pebbles....even Crispix! The list of dangerous cereals that will literally rip my insides up is as long as the aisle they're sold on.

I can no longer just belly-up to a bar and order a Yuengling or a Rolling Rock.

Fast food is dead to me. It's weird, but I don't really miss it too much. What I do miss, though, is the marginally healthier option that I had recently gotten into: Subs. No more "Eating Fresh" for me. And it may be called a 'Made To Order', but if that were really true, they'd have some buns made from alternative grains back there, quarantined and waiting for some hungry celiac to wander in and punch that button. What I wouldn't give for a steak and cheese sub from Sheetz with Provolone, lettuce, green peppers, and ranch sauce...and some fries. Damn, I miss that shit.

Gone are the days of 'just ordering a pizza' for dinner. Or for a get-together with friends. Nope. I gotta bring my own pie and use their oven if I want to have some 'za with everybody else. It kinda kills the easiness vibe, but that's how it has to go down, unless I want to end up sobbing over in the corner by myself. That would kinda defeat the purpose of getting pizza for a social event, though.

Then there are the acts of kindness that go horribly wrong. The nice little girl from church who gives you some pretzels that she and her grandmother hand-coated with chocolate as a Christmas gift. Or some really sweet-smelling 'gluten-free' cookies from some sweet friend with the sweetest of intentions that end up giving me some sweet diarhhea. How do you tell someone that their gift gave you the runs and damaged your body? Hell... Do you tell them?

Perhaps the most soul-crushing, though are the family traditions that I can no longer participate in. Making cookies with my neice? Nope. Scarfing some of Mom's biscuits? Nah. How about some gumbo, there, bud? I'll pass. Hmm...ok, well have some gateaux sec (my grandmother's special homemade teacake cookies) instead, then. Hey, bud...why are you crying?

[I literally cried when I realized I wouldn't ever be able to have another gateaux sec ever again without dire consequences. It was the first time I ever really, truly, genuinely felt sad about having this condition. It was a surprise attack that devastated me. It was my own personal Pearl Harbor.]

As if that's not enough to mess with my head, guess what the Host in Catholic masses are made of. Yup. You guessed it. Turns out Jesus was made of wheat. I'm sure He'll understand if I skip that line and go straight for the jugular, as it were. That still doesn't change the fact that I feel weird when the person trying to administer the Body of Christ to me doesn't know how to deal with me when I cross my arms and bow. (That means I'm not taking the Host, dude, so you're supposed to say a five-word prayer over me before I move on.) Oh...and it's the same gesture that people who are 'unfit' to receive Holy Communion make. So there's no doubt in my mind that half of my religious community thinks I'm some sort of guilt-ridden freak or chronic mortal sinner of some sort. Just the kind of person you want hanging with your kids at the Youth Room, ain't it? That does wonders for my self-confidence, let me tell ya...

Speaking of feeling self-conscious, going gluten-free has changed the way I talk to servers when I decide to venture into the world of the normies. I have to straddle the line between vague and specific when I tell them I can't have wheat. Usually I use the word 'allergy', which, technically, is inaccurate. But the word 'intolerance' in this context just doesn't strike the same chord. It doesn't send shivers of fear down their spines like it should. I don't correct them if they think I'll die if I get a grain of wheat in my food, because that way they might be more expressive when they're telling the chef what needs to be done to avoid 'killing' this guy at table 12. I have to be thorough in asking about what's in this or how that's made or what other stuff is being fried in that oil....all while trying not to hold up the rest of the table's order in the process. It's an interesting experience, to say the least. I can only imagine what the others at the table are thinking while I'm grilling the server about how my burger will be grilled.

Gluten-free food is expensive. Specifically if it's a 'normal' product made with an alternative grain. For instance: You can get a loaf of white bread for about a buck (sometimes less). A loaf of GF bread that is made with rice flour instead of the usual 'staff of life' costs about $4 - $5. And my loaf is shorter and the pieces are significantly smaller. If you ask me, I'm getting a raw deal, regardless of the purchase I make. (Think about it...)

And although the cost is almost more of a pain in the ass than my reactions to gluten (OH! I get it!), the price tag isn't the hardest thing to deal with...

I've had to learn to plan ahead. This is hard for me to do. Ask my parents about my history with this and I'm sure you'll hear about all of my big projects for school that I put off until the last minute. Ask Whitney about any trip we've ever been on together, and she'll undoubtedly say that she and I can't plan our way out of a paper bag...(actually, she'd come up with something more clever than that, but you get the point.) And while you're at it, ask my brothers how many times they stayed up, waiting for me to finish writing some paper that was due the next day so they could type it for me because I didn't know how to type yet. With all of that in mind, just imagine how rough it is for a slacker like me to lose the leisure of not having to plan a meal ahead of time. Just sitting down to a table and scraping together a sandwich or stopping by a fast food joint on the way home from work isn't a viable option any more.

I can't not plan what my next meal will be. If I don't, it's gonna suck and I'll most likely leave the table still hungry. This is a true challenge for me. I can barely think more than a few hours into the future, let alone into the next day for lunch! I'm slowly getting better at it, though, which is a sign of progress.

Being diagnosed with Celiac Disease has changed my life, no doubt. And from the laundry (grocery?) list of complaints you've just pain-stakingly read through, you'd think that it's all bad. But I promise there's a flip-side to this coin.

I'll write about that side next time....
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What was Sam's (Patrick Swayze's character) last name in Ghost?
Hint: It makes me sick!