Intolerant

My heart races as I sit here in attendance at the monthly Kansas City CSA meeting, sweat forms on my brow and tears spring to my eyes.

New members are introduced.  I suddenly feel like I’m at an AA meeting, ‘Hi. My name is ___.  I was diagnosed ____.’

Announcements are made.  Hy-Vee is having a 15% off sale. Everything you can fit in the bag.  Thank God.  This whole diagnosis has already cost me a pretty penny… but there is no amount of money that can compare to the emotional toll this has taken.

There’s a guest promoting his product, the Bready, we listen and watch as this machine kneads and bakes.  We’re temporarily dismissed to sample new products and recipes.  A line forms in the back.  The Bready’s Apple Cinnamon Coffee Cake is out of this world.

Another line.  Another table, this one filled with treats those of us in attendance have provided, some are supplied by companies wanting to get their product out there.  These foods are “safe.”  Crackers, casseroles, brownies, brownies, brownies, cookies, brownies, muffins.

The presentation begins.  This month’s topic is ‘Eating Out.’ We are given a packet of menus.  ”Please do not be afraid to go out… Live.  Have Fun.  Don’t fear.”  There are ways to get menus.  Technology is introduced.  I know this technology.  I never thought I’d have to.  My mind wanders to the day of my diagnosis.  The Husband bought me a new i-pod touch.  ‘I’m sorry you’re going through this, my love… but this diagnosis means healing in your body.’ I turned on my pod and saw the Is This Gluten Free app.  It’s irreplaceable.

Servers. We’re talking about servers now.  Of course, it’s impossible to train all of the servers in every restaurant  to know about gluten intolerance.  I think back to my first day of gluten-free.  My boss and I went to Chili’s for lunch.  I was already embarrassed about having to ask for a “special” menu.  I’m a below-the-radar kinda gal.  I don’t like being “special.”  I ordered a bun-free burger and a side-salad, no croutons.  The salad came, I dug in, took three bites and found something hard at the end of my fork… a crouton.  Crap.

Coupons.  Go to the websites.  Print coupons.  Coupons are gold for us.  A pizza at… oh, Spin Neapolitan Pizza is so good. Back on track. Right. Coupons. It was an additional $4 for a gluten-free crust at Spin, the flour.  Flours.  The flours are so expensive. The Husband and I spent an entire day outfitting the kitchen.  Stay on track.  Pay attention.  ADD is a by-product of Celiac.  Jeez.  Focus.

We’re talking now about the “new” world.  I seem to have received my diagnosis at the “right” time.  The world has changed. Many restaurants are offering gluten-free options.  The CSA Conference is in Kansas City this year.   Mom and I already have hotel reservations, I’ve requested a vacation day.

I look around at all of the people in attendance.  One of the new members appears to be my age.   She’s cute… short, curly hair.  She looks like someone I’d be friends with.  These people… they are alive.  They are healthy.  I will survive.

I am a celiac.