I have been handed a new set of cards.
I was playing Go Fish. But someone just dealt me a hand of Old Maid. And I'm not sure what to do with these cards.
One spring day in 2005, I got a call from my dad. My Mom had been undergoing some routine tests that day and he said "Oh, they're all fine. But they think she might be allergic to wheat." "Wheat? Bummer. I guess no more bread for her."
Which just shows my own stupidity.
So, for the past four years--my Mom has lived gluten free. She avoids all foods with wheat, barley, or rye in them. Bread, yes. Cookies, cakes, and pasta. But also shampoos, makeup, meats, lotions--just about anything you can think of. We've all felt bad for her. She got dealt a rough hand of cards.
Well, guess what? Can you guess? This morning, I called my doctor to find out the results of my lab work, the nurse said "Oh--and the doctor tested you for celiac. And that's positive."
Such an offhand way to tell someone they're never going to have gingerbread or birthday cake or Olive Garden ravioli again. Like she wasn't dealing me a whole new hand of cards. Because, unlike this nurse--judging by her tone--I know exactly what it means to be celiac. It means being different. It means a whole lifetime of checking labels and explaining why you can't have some. It means that I'll never again have my mother-in-laws hot scones or homemade bread. Ever. It means that someday when my husband and I go on a mission, there are places they won't send me... because I won't be able to get the right kind of food.
It changes everything.
I'm just not sure what to do with it.