About two months ago the Husband was on a men's retreat doing manly things in manly ways (I assume this includes watching football, eating things that don't come on doilies, and not shaving). I spent a good deal of the weekend at home throwing up anything that passed my lips. Noah and I ventured out to the drug store for a pregnancy test. It was negative. Of course, I would be absolutely thrilled if the Loving Creator blessed us with another youngling. I would just be more thrilled if it was a few years down the road, not while the current youngling is still working on sleeping through the night and a purely milk diet.
When a week or so passed, and I was still not keeping my cookies, I took another pregnancy test because I'm just the type of person who would purchase that one test that was not in the 99.9% accuracy margin. Again it was negative. Again, I was happy that Noah would truly be my baby for awhile longer. Again, I threw up.
My first doctor appointment was the week before Thanksgiving, my ultrasound the next day. Over a week later, a very grumpy nurse begrudgingly gave me my results. I have a foreign object in my gallbladder. The snarky me silently spat, "Well, yes, I saw that. Did that take four years of radiology school?" The me that is trying to be more like her Captain held her tongue.
Two weeks and many headaches later I finally got a HIDA scan scheduled. Results: Not only is my gallbladder working, it's functioning "exceptionally well". Grand. So nice to be so healthy. (Insert vomit sounds.)
After a week and a half of waiting to get a scope scheduled (and more vomit and more headaches), I finally contacted my sister-in-law begging if she could very kindly save me or kill me. She was able to schedule a scope for the following week. Results: My stomach is "basically normal". A few days later my wonderful sister-in-law got me an appointment with another doctor, and today I had another appointment with another doctor.
Two months, six co-pays, and negative ten pounds later the conclusion the doctors reached is that I have Celiacs Disease. Right, Uh huh. I celebrated by eating a Little Debbie snack cake and a handful of Wheat Thins. I'm not sure if I have a rebellious streak or a masochistic streak. And want to know what? I kept them down. Felt just fine and dandy all day.
In my next post I will explain the deep irony of me being diagnosed with Celiacs Disease, and why I refuse to have it.
To be continued...
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