So good news, my little lady is not testing positive for celiac right now via the blood test! After I told her we high-fived and I gave her a package of Ritz crackers. I sure do miss that buttery crunch. And thank ALL of you for weighing in with your crazy stories about diagnosis, or lack of. It makes being on this unpleasant ride a little bit less lonely. And, jeez, what craziness that goes on with this sprue.
But even with this all clear (for now), still there’s some bad news. And that bad news basically breaks down to this: What the &%*$^!!??
I don’t want to push my daughter into the “gluten sensitive” camp yet since it doesn’t seem to be an all-the-time situation. And I would love it if neither of my little ones ever had to deal with this, like, ever. But she is low in A, B and D and is also borderline anemic. She is also tired as all get out and has some GI issues (not consistent, not all the time) that scream “celiac.” And since she has the gene, and since my mother recently died after suffering unknowingly for years, well, I’m anxious.
Something is up. And I realize that saying about when you hear hoof beats, think horses, or maybe it’s think zebras, not horses—you know what, I don’t know if I’m supposed to be thinking horses or zebras, or who that saying is actually for—the point is, hello autoimmune disease as the answer for most physical problems that have plagued my family. And hello, genetic testing which makes me just wonder when that other shoe is going to drop.
This. Is. Crazymaking.
But at least her days of asking her Pops to bring her back bagels from New York are not yet over. That, and cream puffs.