It started in the fall, six years ago, after my youngest was born. I distinctly remember going Trick-Or-Treating downtown, walking with a kind of weird limp, holding my right side and pressing in. I didn’t want to ruin the night, so I was trying to just waddle along, staying quiet, but my bestie said, “What in the world is wrong with you?” I shrugged. I really didn’t know.
By the time we got home, the pain was excruciating. We put the kids to bed and The Hubby went downstairs to his office. I lay down on the floor in his office, curled in a ball, holding my side, crying. “It hurts!” I yelled.
“Go to the ER, for crying out loud,” The Very Rational Hubby replied.
“I can’t! I’ll have to get ready for a sub and I’m not ready for a sub! I can’t go to the hospital AND get ready for a sub! What if they want me to spend the night? Who’s going to get ready for a sub? Huh?” I spewed truth.
“Then stay home and whine.”
“It HUUUU-UUUURTS! I think it’s my appendix! What if it’s bursting, like my Grams’ did?”
“Then go to the hospital. You have two choices: go to the hospital and get this checked out, or lie here and whine. There’s nothing I can do for you.”
I hate it when he’s logical.
So, I went to the ER. My mom met me and held my hand while the doctors prodded and poked and questioned. They did a CAT scan, and discovered that most of my colon was inflamed. They couldn’t see my appendix, due to the swollen colon, but they were fairly certain it was something called Diverticulitis. The doctors gave me some paperwork, told me to schedule a colonoscopy, and sent me home.
I had an old person’s disease.
Diverticulitis generally emerges in one’s 60s or 70s. It’s pockets that develop in the interior of one’s colon, in which small food particles--such as seeds and nut pieces--get trapped. This causes infection and inflammation. The doctors prescribed two antibiotics, which then caused very painful swelling and aching in my legs. I ended up with three days off work. And my side still hurt.
I faithfully adopted the Diverticulitis Diet, avoiding nuts, seeds, legumes, peas, corn, rice… basically food. I increased my fiber. I had three more episodes of excruciating pain before my colonoscopy. Despite the lovely diet.
My colonoscopy showed a beautiful, clear colon without ONE SINGLE DIVERTICULA. Nothin’.
I did NOT have an old person’s disease. “So, what could it be?” I asked the doctor who gave me the results.
“I don’t know. It’s definitely not diverticulitis, though.”
Wow. Thanks. That’s SUPER helpful.
Being me, I took matters into my own hands. I got a book called The Virgin Diet, and put myself on a food elimination diet. I figured I had to be eating something that was doing this to me. My mother had “suddenly” developed lactose intolerance at age 40, and I’d always joked I better enjoy my dairy products because I’d be lactose intolerant by 40. Mom had gone to see a gastroenterologist, had a gazillion tests done, lost an insane amount of weight (she looked like a skeleton), and then did a food elimination diet on her own. The doctors wanted her to have more tests, to go on Valium for stress, all kinds of ridiculous things. All she needed to do was avoid milk.
So, since I was the ripe old age of 38, I rationalized this HAD to be some kind of food my body had decided was toxic. As I reintroduced foods, I found it was not eggs, not corn, not soy, a little bit milk and, much to my dismay, DEFINITELY GLUTEN.
When I’d joked about the lactose intolerance, I’d always said, “I can do without milk. There are plenty of milk replacements. But, oh, man, I’d KILL MYSELF if I was gluten intolerant!” I loved bread. And donuts. And cake. And cookies. And dinner rolls. And pizza. And pie. And honey wheat pretzels. And, did I mention bread?
But, when I had been OFF gluten for a significant amount of time, and I ate one tiny break-and-bake cookie I’d made for my class, I had the side pain for FOUR DAYS. Yup, FOUR. Pretty significant indicator that gluten was a big no-no. The Hubby put me on suicide watch.
After discovering gluten was THE ISSUE, I slowly figured out things I could eat. If you’re going through this, let me save you: don’t eat most of the “gluten free products” on the market. ESPECIALLY gluten-free bread. After I’d been gluten free for a few years, The Hubby figured out a recipe for flour, and he’s made bread, brownies, donuts, rolls, pancakes… Pretty much anything I’d want. And they’re delicious. Just don’t buy that stuff. I know it says delicious. It’s NOT.
After about two years of “happy” gluten free eating, I started getting what my family calls “glutened” again. This means that about half an hour after eating I would get really cold--cold INSIDE my bones--and fatigued--I’d fall sound asleep--and my bones would hurt. Oh, and of course I’d have side pain. Now the pain would sometimes be on my left side, or gurgle back and forth. The Hubby began watching my face after I’d eat and he’d say, “Oh, geez. Did you get glutened?” Sometimes we’d be out somewhere and we’d have to go home. Okay, lots of times.
The super frustrating part was that I wasn’t eating gluten. At least, I didn’t THINK I was. I started using an app on my phone that scanned ingredients and we discovered this about gluten: IT’S EVERYWHERE. It’s in Simply Lemonade (preservative), Vitamin Water (vitamin D), deli meat (holds the meat together), cheese, gum… It was ridiculous. I also realized that my body was beginning to identify other non-gluten “foods” as gluten: artificial sweeteners, soy, MSG, and carrageenan (“Wheat of the Sea”). I also had to be careful how much sugar I consumed. My doctor--who I think is a genius--sent me to a Functional Medical Practitioner--a more holistic doctor--to try and deal with all of this. My poor body was attacking everything I’d eat, as well as parts of itself.
This would go on for several years. I’d get “better,” where I’d go months and months without getting sick, and then I’d get to a point where I couldn’t eat anything. This past February, I hit my lowest low. I was getting sick every day, no matter what I ate. Getting through the work day was exhausting and excruciating. My in-laws encouraged me to go to U of M, to see a specialist, and take care of this once and for all.
So, I did. Now, some people have excellent experiences at U of M. I was not one of those people. I was put through a series of humiliating, uncomfortable, sometimes incredibly painful procedures, both in Ann Arbor and locally. Nothing ever showed anything wrong with me. Eventually, I ran out of sick days, and I went on medical leave, hoping I could take a loan of sick days from other staff members. I stayed in bed, I drank bone broth, I ate farm fresh eggs, and I waited to figure something out.
Finally, my friend, Katie, listened to the story and said, “Girl, it’s your gall bladder.”
“No,” I said. “I’ve had every test. I passed them all. That’s not it.”
“Me, too.” Katie replied knowingly. “I’m telling you, it’s your gall bladder. You don’t need it anyway. Just get it out.”
I talked to my doctor, talked to a surgeon, talked to my mother (“Your grandmother had hers out at 45!”), and was harassed daily by The Hubby (“Get the stupid thing out!”). I scheduled a surgery. I was not convinced.
In fact, as the hospital staff was wheeling me into the operating room, I was trying to think of a way to escape. Just before they’d shown up, I’d developed a terrifying paranoia, and I said to The Hubby, “We have to get out of here! Let’s go. C’mon! Help me up!”
Luckily, he didn’t help me up, I didn’t escape, and the gall bladder came out. Later THAT DAY, I felt something I hadn’t felt in months: I felt like ME. Five days later, I got to the Tigers game with my son. Seven days later, I was completely convinced, and I was running errands and raising kids like nothing had ever happened. It’s amazing.
Here’s the craziest part: I’ve had some gluten. Yeah, you heard me. GLUTEN. I was never diagnosed with Celiac Disease, so there wasn’t really a reason that gluten should be a problem. I’ve actually tried a little, and I’m not even dead or anything.
So, the moral of this story is: if you still have your gall bladder, just get it out. You don’t even need it! Those things are evil, I tell ya. They have a lot of gall!
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