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Bah, bah and thrice bah
I've just come back from Addenbrookes, where I was told I had coeliac disease and recommended to go on a permanent gluten-free diet.
Looks as if I won't be going to Monday evening geek pizza any more then. Bah. Or eating Chinese food with the Gallery crowd on Sundays (despite the main carbohydrate being egg fried rice, I'm told soy sauce and such things tend to be problematic). Bah. Or drinking beer ever again, which is at least three bahs all by itself.
It almost wouldn't be so bad if I'd had perceptible symptoms at any point; at least then I'd have some reason to hope that something would improve in return for all the aggro. But no; I only got checked out because my sister (who did have real symptoms) was diagnosed coeliac, and on the basis that it's partly genetic I was told I ought to get checked. So now a bunch of gastroenterologists have stormed into my apparently perfectly good life and told me to stop eating lots of nice things.
BAH.
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My dad was diagnosed a Coeliac two or so years ago. From what I remember of the research I did online at the time, I have grounds to be curious about your diagnosis; they said that the only sure-fire diagnosis was that symptoms were present, but vanished on a strict exclusion diet. (But then, IANA doctor, let alone a gastroenterologist.) Then again, the disease manifests itself for him - he gets all manner of pain, trouble and (TMI) from his guts when he inadvertently consumes gluten. When I visit, it takes a little while for me to get used to little things like not taking a knife from butter to toast and back to get more butter, because the slightest cross-contaminated crumb sets him off. To him, it's like a peanut allergy, but with different (not directly life-threatening) symptoms and with a 12-18 hour delay.
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