Idiot Parade

I don’t know if I’ve talked about this before, but I am fed up with it to the point of wanting to maim.

Most people who read this are aware that I have a condition called celiac disease. It’s am autoimmune disorder of the small intestine that is caused by my body’s inability handle gluten, a protein found in wheat, rye, and barley. When gluten is in my body, it wears away at the villi in my small intestine, which makes it harder for them to absorb nutrients. I have had it since I was born, but wasn’t diagnosed in high school, because I am mostly asymptomatic. There is no treatment or cure; the only thing I can do is stay the hell away from gluten.

Now, usually, I’m very good about that. I check labels at the grocery store. I have my own special bottle of soy sauce. If we’re all going somewhere where options are limited, I’ll get a salad. There are times, though, when I forget that I don’t have symptoms of my disease, and I’ll eat things without even thinking about what they contain. Like…Panda Express. All I wanted for two days was Panda. It’s one of my favorite places, and I thought I was being safe with sticking to the chicken and mushrooms and mixed veggies and steamed rice. So for two days, J got to listen to me whine about needing Chinese. I was finally on my way out to get some, but then worked called and asked me to come in early. So no Panda for Andi.

He had some waiting for me when I got home. Exactly what I had been craving, it was so sweet, and all was right in the world again. And I posted it on my facebook status, because I thought it was a freaking adorable gesture. It was because of that post that a fellow-celiac friend brought to my attention that there is NOTHING I can eat on the Panda Express menu. After a five second Google search, I discovered that everything there is cooked with soy sauce (oh, and not for vegetarians, the mixed veggies are cooked in chicken stock. Yeah).

This might not seem like a big deal, but it really does make my want to cry. I am so tired of dealing with this. I hate checking every label at the grocery store. I hate having to spend way more money on my food because it’s ‘special’. I hate having to research a restaurant before I can eat there. I hate being an inconvenience. I want to have a freaking pizza and beer, some ramen, and a slice of bread that actually tastes and feels and looks like real bread. And then an enormous cake with bright pink frosting. But having those things might mean that I get cancer in my small intestine someday. Or that I’ll become infertile. Fun stuff like that.

I thought I was doing well, but I guess I’ve just been careless. Time to crackdown. Again.

This entry was posted on Monday, October 19th, 2009 at 11:32 am and is filed under Body, Daily. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.