I hate oatmeal.
I much prefer pink plaid balls of steel.
Today would have been 3 weeks gluten-free. I say would have been because last night I ate a piece of cheese bread.
It wasn’t even that good. I just wanted to see if I could do it without my head exploding or my body turning into one big hive. My 6 year old keeps asking me if I still have “beehives” – and so far – they are gone.
With the end of the hives came the beginning of a migraine on Thursday. And Friday. And Saturday.
And a trip to the E.R. I laid there begging Satan to give me the strength not to do the ugly cry because it would hurt my head so bad. For once he listened and I laid there – with tears just endlessly flowing out of my eyes as I sat still. No ugly cry – just tears of frustration.
The nurse asked me if I had any recent mental health changes and I said, “Yah, I’m pissed off.” To which he replied, “I’d be pissed off too. Now let me shove an IV in your arm and make your world go dark.”
I don’t remember much else. Except the pain being gone and Rambo putting me to bed.
I woke up migraine free – but still angry as hell.
To make matters worse, I told the doctor my gluten-free experiment and he said, “It’s highly unlikely that gluten caused your migraines.”
F*ck you! I wanted to scream. I can’t live like this!! I just can’t.
But that was the pain talking in that moment. And I keep replaying his words and I just feel defeated. I can’t help it. I just do. I was willing to do this one really hard thing forever if it kept me healthy – and it turns out – it ain’t gonna work.
Sooo the new plan is to stay gluten-free 99% of the time. Listen – if my family is having pizza (which I haven’t had in 3 weeks!!!) – I’m going to eat it. The rest of the time I’ll keep eating gluten-free. It keeps my skin clear and my stomach doesn’t hurt so it’s worth it.
I’m going back on my migraine preventive meds. I have no choice. Not just for my quality of life – but for my kids.
I remember my girls asking me to do something with them as I laid on the couch before going to the ER and I mumbled that I couldn’t…I was too sick. And then I remember each of them – with their soft little lips – bending down and kissing me. One on the forehead and one on the cheek.
And walking away. That is not a memory I want my kids to have. I want them to kiss me in joy – not in sadness. I want more from myself than pain and laying on a couch for days at a time. I want to stop being angry at the hand I’ve been dealt in regards to migraines.
I want to spend my money on shoes and purses.
Not on hospital E.R. copays.