NO - I Do NOT Have to Do What You Tell Me To Do

So this whole gluten free life that has been thrust upon me should be easy shouldn't it? I mean if I just avoid the damn stuff I'll be fine right? There are a couple classic, and fatal if not unobvious flaws to that belief.

Gluten is in so many things. Gluten gives things that have no texture texture. It gives things that need a nice rich caramel color color. Some genius out there even has the hair care gurus of the world convinced that wheat protein is good for your hair. Man, that was one hell of a sales job right there. Look up a few of your more expensive designer type shampoos and conditioners and you'll find some of them proudly proclaiming the enormous benefits of wheat protein for human hair. Never mind that it gives those of us with Gluten Intolerance hives or worse. It's good for you. Then there are the secondary ingredients on labels that mask what is truly in them; ingredients like "Natural Flavorings" or "Food Starch". I can either play Russian Roulette with Natural Flavorings or I can move on down the aisle.

I was in the one and only local organic food store yesterday. The owner and I are apparently going to become best friends whether we want to or not. I was somewhat befuddled by the number of organic and health food items that proudly proclaim on the label "Made from 100% Organic Wheat". Big whoop. I'm surrounded it seems by people who want to convince me that wheat is good for me. It's good in me, good for me and good on me. I live for the inevitable day when someone will tell me I'm UnAmerican because I don't eat wheat. How dare I not patronize the heavily subsidized wheat growers of America? Wheat and gluten have become an American way of life.

But that's the obvious stuff. The hard part is that its a lot like loosing my best friend all over again. I've known food longer than I knew Lilly. She and I met in kindergarten and she passed away in 1994. We knew each other for 27 years. For months after she passed I'd start to reach for the telephone to tell her something and then I'd remember and it would hurt all over again. In some ways this is the same.

All the stages of grief are there. And the toughest sneakiest one is denial. I've still got a big box full of gluten sitting on my dining room table. I need to get it out of the house. I know this. It needs to go to a food pantry or a starving waif or something. But it's been almost four weeks and I still can't let it out of the house. Blood tests diarrhea bloating and acid reflux be damned, maybe I'm not really gluten intolerant. So what if the last ten years of my life read like a text book for Celiac Disease? Doctors can be wrong. They're human. I also forget. I forget what it feels like twenty minutes after I ingest it. My brain has refused to retain the precise details of what gluten does to me. My mind is protecting me and damning me at the same time.

Then there's what I call the Rebel Factor. You see, ah, I have issues with authority. Well, it was inevitable really. How could I have turned out any different? I'm the youngest of four children. From the day I was born there were five people in this world who felt it was their God given right to tell me what to do, how to do it and when. Along about year five I got tired of that shit and nothing much has changed since.

So I came to be very good at circumventing authority, in a sweet passive aggressive sort of way. In my own defense, my family is big on passive aggressive. It's possible my mother invented it, but I'm not sure. If nothing else several of us have since gone on to perfect it.

These days, of course, I'm an adult and somewhat more aggressive than passive. I'm told that's a good thing. You be the judge. I've more or less come to terms with most of the necessary authority figures in my life. The boss always gets the last say because he pays the rent. I'm polite to the local Sheriff, particularly the cute one. I pay my bills on time because I like to be warm, have electricity and bath with water. Well, okay, so maybe me and the animal control lady had a little go around, but that's largely because she likes to lay the whole authority trip thing on really thick, she's anal as hell and she's an ugly BUTT.

But I digress. I'm an adult, but inside there is still this small person who doesn't like being told what to do. There is this person who would rather die than be forced to do something someone else thinks she should. This is why I've never gone on a diet. I instinctively knew how badly that would go. I cannot stomach someone else telling me what to eat and how much. I don't do precise measurements and ounces and calorie counting. I cannot deal with people who feel the need to define and measure every movement and moment in their lives. But here I am, being told what to eat and what not to eat. The rebel child in my is pretty much freaking out these days. She has so not come to terms with this. I'm my own worst enemy right now and I know it.

So it is a struggle. I can get the mechanics of this new life down. I can learn to read labels. I can learn how to cook all over again. I understand intellectually what is going on. But I just can't cope. I don't want to be one of those people who measures out and regulates their life. I see some of the people on the Celiac boards and forums and they make my skin crawl. After their name they have a list of diagnosis along with the date they were diagnosed with this malady or that one. I'm told that people with Celiac's Disease are more prone to other food intolerances and allergies and auto immune issues. Well I don't want to be told what I have to be. I refuse to be one of them! It's my body. It's mine! They can believe if they want that their lives have gotten smaller and their choices fewer, but I can't live like that. I don't know how to live like that.