A Bombshell Day

A Bombshell Day

Some days are what we’d call Red Letter Days. You know, the ones that hold special significance for us. Like the birth of a child or the day we get married or the first day of an important career milestone. Other days are what I like to call Bombshell Days. Those are the ones that rock our world, change the way we move forward. I’ve had a few of those, and so I can pretty much say this is going to be one of my Bombshell Days.

To help give my reaction to the news I received today, it might help to provide a bit of background for perspective. I was born in 196… ok, maybe not that much background.


I’ve basically been sick since my first memories. I was the kid who fell in love with books because it was all there was to do in my bedroom while my friends were at school. The kid whose grandfather bought goats just to see if I could handle goats’ milk. (Yeah, he was pretty awesome.) And whose mom schlepped from doctor to specialist to ultra-specialist in hopes of finding out why I was always sick. After testing, I found out I was allergic to just about everything that moved and quite a few things that didn’t move. I took shots for years to build up my immune system, went on special diets, and tried some pretty funky solutions in a quest to feel healthy like everyone else.

I was a very sickly 102 pounds when I married (but at least I was thin, right?) and then spent the next several years finding out it was almost impossible for me to carry a baby. After three miscarriages, we finally had our first child, a beautiful, wonderful daughter. Three more miscarriages, and we brought our oldest son in the world. And after another miscarriage, we decided it was just too hard and gave up on having a third. A year later, we discovered we’d been blessed with one last pregnancy that meant 5 months of bed rest before our last son joined our little family.

After he was born, my health just completely fell apart. I had blackouts from rollercoaster blood sugars that couldn’t be explained and that didn’t develop into type 1 diabetes as predicted. I gained weight and then more weight and then more weight until I had blossomed from a small to a large. Borderline thyroid results allowed me to start on Armour, but that didn’t result in weight loss. Nothing seemed to help.

The Diagnosis

And then the unthinkable happened. I got a diagnosis. My new doctor told me I had Celiac, and while it meant a huge learning curve and completely new diet, it was an answer that explained so much. And so I dove in with two feet and a whole lot of research. I preached gluten-free to my kids, started plying new dishes on my family (some really not so good experiments as well as a few winners), and began celebrating the hope of better health.

And I did feel better. Quite a bit better. I didn’t lose any weight to speak of, but my energy increased, the bloating in my stomach disappeared for several weeks, and the headaches I experience almost daily were greatly reduced. I became a total, avid convert. Until a few weeks ago when I went for my annual checkup with the same doctor who helped me through all ten of my pregnancies. After perusing my file, he commented that there was no test for Celiac. Along with a boatload of other tests like lipid panel, liver, cancer markers, thyroid, and A1c, he added the test for Celiac markers. And so I added gluten back into my diet to prepare for the test. I was a bit concerned, because the world didn’t end when I ate my first piece of bread. And I didn’t spend the next three days sick. I’d been there, before – sick after a meal, so I was perplexed.

The Bombshell

My doctor called this morning – with good news, he said. All of my blood work was normal. Including the test for Celiac markers. Absolutely no indication of Celiac. None. Nada. Nothing. Not even a smidgen.

And so now all I have is questions. Why did the other doctor tell me I had Celiac? Why did I feel better at first off of gluten? Why did I get sick sometimes after eating gluten and not others? And, most of all, now what?

Seriously. Now what? I personally have no idea. And now I’m back to no answers, only questions. If you have answers, buddy, I’m all ears.

Week One Ends In Success!

So it’s been a week of dieting, and it’s gone better than ever before. Perhaps my success this week is due to my renewed sense of purpose or  my panic over entering the second half of my forties still overweight, but to be honest, I think it’s a lot simpler than that. I made a promise, and I sure as heck am not going to fail to keep it. I made a promise to myself that I wouldn’t settle for being fat or frumpy anymore.

So I’m lighter by 3.5 pounds after seven days of dieting – and I didn’t even have to destroy myself with any last chance workouts. It just took moderate eating within my allotted points, exercise, plenty of water, and tracking my food in the mobile app. Oh, and hitting the mute button on the fat lady in the mirror.

I’m celebrating … by rewarding myself with another faithful day on the diet. No way do I want to start at Week One ever again!