What are things we cram down our holes.

The time has come for full disclosure. (You might want to sit down for this.)

I do not eat gluten, soy, dairy, eggs, or yeast.

Are you okay? Do you need a pillow? A gin & tonic? It's true -- I do not eat gluten, soy, dairy, eggs, or yeast. In more salivary terms, I do not eat bread, ice cream, cheese, pizza, cake, or beer. Restaurants are minefields; I can count on one hand the number of times I've dined out in the past 18 months.

I know you're wondering what in God's name would provoke such lunacy, so here's some backstory. Early in 2006, my trips to the bathroom -- well, let's just say they became less like trips to the library and more like trips to the Porcelain Dungeon of the Macabre. It wasn't like the occasional bout with Taco Bell, either. I was sick and pervasively so.

By July, I'd lost nearly 20 pounds. I itched my rashy scalp incessantly, slept on a heating pad to ease my excruciating back pain, and lugged the weight of malaise from doctor appointment to doctor appointment, sobbing voluptuous tears into the starched, cartooned smocks of more nurses than I care to admit. In a six month period, I encountered the same confused expressions on the faces of many medical professionals -- three gastroenterologists, two primary care physicians, a physical therapist, and an allergist. I underwent a colonoscopy, an endoscopy, allergy tests, blood tests, and an ultrasound. I took myriad pills for myriad symptoms. Still, no one provided me with anything more than a shudder and a hunch.

Through all of this I kept a food journal which, along with the discovery of a mail-order stool testing lab in Texas, turned out to be my saving grace. One night in September, as Jenn read my food journal before bed, she pieced together patterns that, ultimately, compelled us to gamble on the lab in Texas. I had already squandered over $1,500 on deductibles and copays, so what was another $550 for an unpatented, unresearched shot in the dark?

And so it happened that I mailed my poop to Texas.

The results arrived the night before my 29th birthday. I had anticipated being gluten intolerant because my mom has celiac disease. I did not anticipate the full monty diagnosis of intolerance to gluten, soy, dairy, eggs, and yeast.

I eliminated all of these items from my diet right away. The most severe symptoms evaporated within the first few weeks; by the following summer, I felt better than I'd ever felt in my life.

I won't deny the emotional toll of this life change, nor will I belabor it. Yes, my social life has become more confined as there are some places where it's not as easy to smuggle in containers of allergen-free food. Yes, our food budget is through the roof because specialty foods are in lower demand in this country. On the other hand, I don't have to take medications. I don't have to lose my hair from chemo or brace myself against the rancor of radiation. My ass does not get walloped weekly by dialysis, nor is it tethered to a bedpan. I am alive. I am well.

What remains most difficult -- even more difficult than the absence of pizza in my life -- is the refusal of some people to fathom that I don't eat gluten, soy, dairy, eggs, or yeast because, as they say, they could never do it. It's very simple, I tell them. Either I eat these things and live miserably, in complete denial of the countless more serious illnesses that develop from food intolerances, like osteoporosis, cancer, and liver disease, or I don't eat these things and live healthily, more energized and more balanced, an homage to this vessel of mind and spirit called body.

Or, in less salivary terms, either I poop water and die a slow painful death -- or I don't.

While many people accept and respect this reality of my life, others just can't get past the food thing. And, frankly, while I am a patient bird overall, my innards smolder when someone throws an endless pity party on my behalf. Please do not pity me. Please do not feel bad that I cannot eat a Big Mac. There are far sadder things in the world. And there are still countless things I can cram down my hole -- fruits, meats, vegetables, rice, and many mainstream food products come to mind.

It's just a matter of reeducation, preparedness, and creativity, which is really no problem at all, because I am alive and well.


[Note: Food intolerances like mine are drastically undiagnosed. For example, it takes ten years on average to diagnose gluten intolerance. If you have questions about symptoms or similar medical mysteries, I'm more than happy to share what I've learned through research and experience.]