Shorter Piece

Queen of Gluten-Free

I just can’t focus right now. Honestly, at this moment, I couldn’t care less about How to Have Better Conversations, sorry Inga Kiderra. Right after this class ends I’m taking an Italian exam that I feel very unprepared for. And it certainly doesn’t help that I spent two hours in the bathroom last night with a hurt stomach and throwing up. Yup. Gluten. I was stupid and accidentally ate gluten. The culprit, General Gao’s Chicken, wasn’t even good! If I’m going to poison myself, I’d rather do it by enjoying a warm, stringy, cheese pizza and rich Oreo milkshake. 

Anyways, last night I called mom to inform her of the piercing pains I felt in my stomach as I made my way, walking bent over, but with haste, to the bathroom. I held in my sadness while I was on the phone with her, but as soon as I ended the call, I couldn’t help but cry. So there I was, sitting on the floor of the bathroom stall, hating myself for what I did.

Every year when I go to my “Celiac doctor” a.k.a my gastroenterologist, they draw blood. A few weeks later the results come back and a number shows how much gluten had been in my system; the closer the number is to zero, the better. The past few years I had gotten really close to zero. Reading the blood work results felt like getting a grade back on an exam, and I wanted that A+. Eventually, I started to see the blood tests less as an opportunity to check my health, and more as a way to prove that I was “winning” at this whole gluten-free diet thing, that I was amazing, that I was the best.

I’m no longer upset that last night’s situation took away precious study time, and more in frustrated disbelief that I made that gluten mistake. It’s been years since I’ve gotten sick! As I sit here writing, I realize the excessive pride I have in handling my strict gluten-free diet well, something that can be shown in an annual “grade,” is harmful. That’s why the pain I felt last night was more than physical hurt. After years of successfully avoiding gluten and continuously congratulating myself for it, when I got sick this time I ended up hating myself for it. This realization doesn’t mean that in future if I accidentally eat gluten, I should just brush it off and think “no big deal;” it means that I need to work on relieving the pressure I put on myself, and accept the fact that it’s okay not to be the “queen of gluten-free,” okay not to be a perfect human.