Gluten-free Hives

Apparently gluten was the only thing keeping my skin on my body.  Who knew?

Two weeks ago I decided to go gluten-free.  There were no intestinal problems or obvious links, but after reading that gluten intolerance could be causing the tingling and burning continuously bothering my feet since December, I decided to try.  (I could complain about my other symptoms too, but we'll just stop with the feet.)  The other options for diagnosis aren't so great.  And my doctors are fairly convinced (but haven't convinced me) about what IS causing it, and they never mentioned gluten. 

It was a quick decision, after a lot of suggestions from people to do just this, and me ignoring them. I read that because I have a 1st order relative with Celiac's, I have an increased likelihood that gluten is causing me problems.  And suddenly, I thought: hey, if this works, it'll be good.  And gosh, it's cheaper than another MRI and the lab is getting sick of checking me for diabetes. 

I'm not sure how this gluten thing works however.  They say that for those who are intolerant gluten flattens the cilia in your colon and they can't absorb the nutrients.  All my nutrient levels are fine.

It's an experiment and we'll see where it goes.  What could be the harm? 
Well, on the first grocery trip Blue -my giant, stoic 9 year old- crumpled to tears in the grocery aisle.  "Pancakes, waffles, cake, muffins.  Why? oh Why are you doing this mom?!"  Literally crying. 

Gluten-free isn't exactly the cheapest diet I've ever seen. And I'm not even doing much direct substitution (one dollar for a Tablespoon of a grody, dry granola bar!!).  Just more potato chips, rice cakes, and corn tortillas.  Being a vegetarian as well means a lot of salads and chips and bananas.  And did I mention the potato chips?  Still on the menu!  And I'm loosing weight anyway, which was not my goal. 

TMI WARNING!!
This week I started shedding skin fast and furious. It's coming off in balls and I find myself showering and scrubbing it off several times a day. Is this a sign that gluten was my problem?  But could gluten possibly be the problem if it is the only thing holding me together, like a pinata?  Will I eventually have no skin?  It would save on sunscreen, I guess.

I volunteered at Coyote's school this week: the final cleaning.  His teacher and her sister were there, and I just love those older ladies.  They've got the statistical knowledge of six or so decades and they've seen everything.  When a cinnamon roll appeared and I declined, EVERYONE needed to know why.  And so I said.  And then I mentioned that I was shedding skin like a nervous snake, several times a day.  They'd known lots of gluten-free beginners.  And here's their warning.  First, they said, the skin will go, leaving you still fully covered, thankfully.  Then they said I could experience severe thirst.  AND THEN, once the cilia are free to absorb everything, I might discover food allergies I had no idea I had.

Enter the hives.  I have never had hives before.  And now I do.  At first, it just seemed like a few mosquito bites.  Then I thought I'd suddenly caught a mad case of fleas.  There aren't fleas on this side of the state, usually, but the winter was apparently mild (for those not milking cows at the crack of dawn).  And now these lumps are all over.  Massive itching.  ACK!!!!  I'm wishing all my skin would just go away after all!

And now I get to guess at what I'm allergic to!  I think it's the microwave popcorn I tried yesterday while volunteering at Blue's school.  Why? Well... it would be very convenient. I hate that stuff and I don't have a microwave.  But what if it's strawberries? Milk? Eggs?  Cheese? Wine?  Gin and Tonic?  Cornflakes?  Bleu cheese?  Oh god.  I just couldn't live.  Maybe gluten is for me after-all as this is all starting look like starvation dominoes o'misery. 

Maybe the MRI would be less trouble.

THE END

Talk of THE END TIMES (as one recently tried to engage me in.  Also, it sounds like a good news paper:  The End Times: $1.50 on Sundays) used to freak me out.  And I heard plenty of it.  The "Left Behind" series was a classic teen lock-in Christian horror flick that stuck with me, causing panic attacks for eons.  Even though I was supposedly one of the saved who would rise above it all and endure in grace and glory, I still didn't look forward to this totally freakish transformation and saying good bye to all the fabulous, eternally hell-bound people I love.

It turns out that most religions and groups have an END TIMES scenario fantasy.  For each group the END TIMES is terrible, horrible, hell, for everyone but them.  If you stay with that group, follow their rules, and believe in their god, you won't just survive it, you'll thrive.  Christians, Muslims, Hindus, Back-to-the-Landers, even remote tribes of Colombia.  All entertain this phantasmagoria of flames and annihilation for everyone else. 

If someone could come up with an END TIMES prediction in which everyone is destroyed equally and without regard to race, creed, sexual orientation, or hobbies, then it might sound like something more than just pure manipulation.  But all of them promise that if you stay with their half-rate religion (which is apparently not good enough to lure or retain you for long on it's own merits, but needs a fear-monger crutch to seal the deal) then you'll be saved.  They create a worst case scenario and then save you from it.  How nice!

But the result of such psychological manipulation is that we've now got a planet chock-a-block full of groups who hanker for the end, for the tables to turn on everyone, and leave them standing, victorious and right.  So... basically, if we do the math, we find we've got, roughly, 6 billion people excitedly trying to bring about the end of the world.  And they're going to drag the remainder of us into their hell.

And this is why Universalism must take root.  Because we will all perish miserably if salvation, if god's love, if compassion and care are not lavished equally upon all, regardless of where you were born, what cultural religion you were born in to, regardless of who you are, your interests, your path in life, your essential self.  God's love is for everyone.  The banquet is open and free, no RSVP necessary.  If you didn't get the invite, that's okay, there's a place for you anyway.

There are Christians who believe that Christ did die for our sins, must have died for the sins of human kind, and that the forgiveness earned in that death is universal, for all, not just for a few pre-destined souls, not just for those who hear and accept, but for all humankind, for all time, for ever.  Although I'm just a human with my flawed human ethics, I cannot stand a version of God who pumps out souls who aren't pre-destined for union with him.  I mean, a god like that just needs therapy, not devotees.  I'm not a Christian, but if I were, I'd be one of those Universalist Christians.

This Universalism is absolutely necessary.  Without universalism, each little group will play their part in turning the oceans red, in suiting up their four horsemen, in stock piling nuclear holocaust fantasies, in saving themselves and making sure everyone else is damned.

Yes, I do believe we humans could, and have locally, create the end of the world.  I do believe we can drop nuclear bombs, cover the seven seas with red oil, genocide the whole planet.  And the hell I believe in is one that happens here on earth, when love is denied to anyone, even ourselves: Auschwitz, Hiroshima, drug addiction, child abuse, et al.  But that's humans, not god.  And an end we bring about is euthanasia of a planet that's just approaching midlife.  And that, my friends, is NOT pro-life.

But I will admit to a feeling that I am experiencing the END of the WORLD right now.  Every moment is the end.  And every moment is the Beginning, the birth of something un-pre-destined, something innocent and new.  Every moment is the beginning of the world.  And aren't I lucky to be here after all, experiencing this, the birth of a moment that hasn't gone horribly wrong yet.  We are the only captains this ship has got and if we want to run it into the ground, we can.  If we want to set sail for a new world, we will.  And we will all go together. 

So that's my soap box of the day.  Love your neighbor, love yourself.  Love and salvation from whatever assails us is for everyone, equally.  Or this is really going to suck, equally.

I'm gonna be BOMBASTIC!

I've never been one to brag. Blog, obviously.  Share too much information, occasionally.  But out and out brag?  Probably not going to hear it.  Some folks drop their accomplishments in to conversations so smoothly, no fanfare or boasting, but letting people know all the same.  How do they do it?


Blue tested in to a public magnate program in Spokane for especially gifted students.  Not only did she pass, she scored the highest possible points on the tests.  I am so proud and happy for her, and also for myself, because this means I don't have to home school, which is something I think parents should only undertake with heart-felt passion, not because they have to in order to keep their child engaged and breathing.

I teared up when they told me she was in.  She'll live.  She'll survive.  She may even get a chance to thrive.

I am also proud of myself for noticing Blue's teacher was a totally unengaged dip-stick who is, of course, retiring after this year and who just wanted Blue to shut up and do another work sheet.   

I like to "loose" her work sheets, especially the ones where she's supposed to write down how much she reads every night for a prize.  These people who invent this crap have never read the studies on motivation, apparently.  And I can't imagine they actually enjoy reading themselves.  Prizes are fine for quick, bland tasks.  But for life long things like reading they do more harm than good.  So I toss them in the trash and sign notes verifying that they are lost.

As a person who doesn't like to brag or demand special treatment, it's been quite a journey, and I'm sure it's not over, to learn how to advocate for my children in a system, a world, that demands them to shut up and sit down.  

Myself, I feared the testing procedure.  How we would deal if she didn't make it in?  The school might not be a good fit, I pre-cushioned possible failure.  If she didn't make it in, she was still extremely smart.  And even if she wasn't smart, I would still love her.  And, of course, being smart is not the most important thing to be.  Loving is.  Because smart people made and dropped atomic bombs.  And basically lots of smart people can and do make this world a living hell, not to turn all Pol Pot on academia.  But still, they might try teaching things like ethics along with chemistry and physics and law.  Smart is nice, but love is best.

I signed her in late for school.
Doctor?
Testing.
What for?
The gifted magnet program in Spokane.  She passed, so she'll go one day a week next year until she the full time program is available.
Oh, we had a girl who went there this year.  But she was fourth grade.  SHE skipped third grade and she was INVITED to the Odyssey program, FULL TIME, her FIRST year.

Well... lahtty dah!  And anyway, you have to test in, by law. And full time doesn't start until 5th grade.  But gosh, if it means that much to the secretary that someone else was smarter than Blue, and I'm sure there are plenty of kids who are, then she can just keep that little treasure in her pocket and I won't take it away from her.

I sure wish Blue could've skipped third grade; she didn't learn shit the whole damn year. She's learning Egyptian Hieroglyphs at home so she can be motivated just to stay alive.  I've taken her to college lectures on her favorite subject, black history, so she can have a reason to get out of bed.  Huck's been taking her to college science competitions so she knows that there's life after worksheets.  We don't push her, we just want her exposed to that bigger, brighter world that's available once she gets out of prison, er, school.

And now, lets chat about me.  When does a person who graduates ranked #5 from a college prep school feel like she's stupid?  When she's always been compared to her quiet, bookish siblings, that's when.  So, I read that thing on my college diploma, that thing I've been told I'm not allowed to talk about, I was shocked.  Shocked! And I didn't think I was even college material!  So, I told a few people, laughing, until one of my professors told me that wasn't really the thing to do.  None of my professors were surprised.  But a relative conjectured that UW must have a very lax program, or a weird grading system.  Which was kind of what I was thinking, but when you hear some one else say it, it's like: SHUT YER IGNORANT MOUTH!

And someone else said, "Oh you think that's something?  Well, your huband's relative graduated SUMO cum laude from BROWN!"  Well... you see... I wasn't competing with so-n-so.  I think she's super duper and smart to boot.  But the surprise here is that I didn't think I was smart...see.  So although I'm not as smart as she is, it's still an exciting discovery... not that I'm doing much with it.   But thanks for trying to take me down a notch or two, since I already perceive myself as being at the bottom, it's nice to go lower now and then.

What is up with this bubble bursting?  What the hell are people thinking?  All it means is that when I've got good news, they're the last one's gonna hear it, and it'll be through the grape vine, if at all.

And also, Huck runs 5 minute miles, several at a time, with a titanium knee. And he just played a fun show at the Knitting Factory.  He rocked the show with superstar energy and smooth bone playing.  We brought the thoroughly ear-plugged kids and I spent the evening trying to get Coyote up off the icky barfy dance floor where he was break dancing while I was simultaneously trying to prevent Blue from beaming out his eyes with her laser.

So, how did that work out?  I've just bragged about me and my daughter's smarts, and my husband.  Was that bombastic?  Too subtle?  Unnecessary?  (honestly? blogging, period, is unnecessary)  Do you know people who can brag much more smoothly than that?  I bet you know some guy who graduated from Harvard with a PHD by the age of 8 even though his brain was encased in a lead balloon.  He went on to be President of the free world by the time he was sixteen, and spent the rest of his life on Mars studying quantum imagineering statistics while simultaneously playing Mozart's life's work on an instrument he created using only the atmosphere, a little star dust, and half a booger, and he can humbly tell me all about it, WAY more humbly than I ever could.  Well, you can go shove him up your ass and leave me alone, happy and proud.

On loan from Hell's library

I awoke screaming at 4 am.  My abdomen was clearly being torn apart.  My dream-brain hopped around for answers.  Labor?  Not pregnant.  Microwaved and about to shoot out boiled intestines?  Time will tell.  Cyst? Possibly.  Bad gas?  Considering the morning that followed, likely.  At any rate, Huck hauled a five gallon bucket of Ibuprofen up to me.  And in an hour, I was feeling merely odd sensations and none of them breath-takingly painful.

It was good and I'm not even being sarcastic.  This is because at the moment I awoke, I was dreaming that I was one of the last survivors of Hiroshima.  I was wandering around a scalded prairie of bones and charred humans, black alligators, crawling and begging for water.  I was skipping between that and attending a potluck for people trying to prevent any further nuclear detonations on earth.  Unfortunately, the potluck was held at a ramshackle house and I kept trying to reassure the remodeling owners that they'd "get there... some day."  And "You never know what kind of treasures and views you'll stumble upon as you remodel," I was saying.  Even though I didn't really believe it.  Between utter devastation and awkward social situations, I was glad to awake in my safe home with clean drinking water, five gallons of ibuprofen, my husband ready to help, and my healthy children sleeping in the next room.  It wasn't so bad.

I'd put myself in the library queue for the new book The Last Train from Hiroshima.  Two weeks ago, my name came up and it was my turn to speed read that thing in two weeks.  I took the challenge.  Yes, I did.  But in the mean time, one of the other books I'm reading is called Man's Search for Meaning by Viktor Frankl.  That's not a new book    I didn't have to read it right then.  But I was.  I was wandering around the library as I usually do on Wednesdays while Blue's in piano lessons and it caught my eye.  I recognized the title but had no idea what it was about.  Now I know: a psychologist survives Auschwitz and takes notes.

After an evening reading of the horror of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, before going to bed I do a chaser of Auschwitz.  Not that Auschwitz was much better, just a slower version of the same. But there were several differences.  Frankl searches for meaning in all that suffering.  And the first 2/3rds of the Hiroshima book does not even strive for meaning but rather creates a mosaic of unimaginable suffering. 

In addition, I've read plenty about the holocaust, been to the museum in DC, seen the films, etc, and have built up some sort of psychological mechanism to deal with it.  It's still barf-inducing terrifying, but I've coped before, starting in 7th grade with the reading assignment of Corrie Tin Boom.  But the horrors of the atomic bombs were all new.  All new to me.  I was not ready.   No one could be.

And the third way in which they differ is not that I sympathize with one group of victims over the other, it's that my nationality is implicated in one case as well as my humanity.  Way over in Germany, Hitler (a nice point person for blame) spoke German, and only my humanity is implicated and no more so than all humans in general. 

Obviously, I wasn't alive in either case and cannot shoulder the blame at all.  But the words ordering the drops in Japan, for better or worse, wrong or wronger, whatever the political situation, those words were uttered in English and those bombs were made in the USA.  I don't know a lot about the political situation at the time, and can't say one way or the other what was right and what was wrong.  The more I learn, the more complicated it all seems. But the point is the those bombs came from my country.

Between the two books, it's been a cheery time up here in my head.  And imagine this lucky stroke: my nightmares are things I wake up from, and sometimes I even get a voice in them that tells me everything will be okay and that I'm dreaming.  I mean, at least I got a break from Hiroshima to go to a potluck, even a hopeless one.  My nightmares are better than their reality.  In Auschwitz, they stopped waking people from thrashing nightmares because even those were better.


On the one hand, I'm staring the worst of humanity in the eyes, sort of, as much as one can through books and I suppose I should just love everything that's not bombs and death camps and 12 year old Kamikaze's.  On the other hand, both books allow for everyday pains and hurts; they honor them.  Even my stomach ache, I felt assured last night, would be met with compassion from Frankl and Dr. Nagai both.  And in this recognition that all pain is the same, all of it fills our space when we experience it... this has given me peace about my own hurts.  Not a comparative peace, an at-least-I'm-not-on-a-train-to-Auschwitz kind of peace, but permission-to-feel peace.  And this makes my already beautiful life feel even more beautiful.  Yes, it is allowed, yes it is human, yes it is right that although my garden grows, although the cows give good milk and my chickens lay, even though my children are healthy and happy, even as my husband is such a loving stud-muffin, even so... I feel the slings and arrows of life and that is okay, that is the human experience and although it sits in perspective, there is nothing trivial about it.

I never was able to finish Country of My Skull (South African Truth and Reconciliation book)  and was told I probably should have as it ends with some hope and meaning which was an end point not foreseeable from the middle. 

All three books should be required reading for all of humanity, although perhaps not concurrently.  Let's hope the worst is behind us, and it could be, if we collectively want it to be. Although, even as we speak, genocides and atrocities continue.  Dr. Nagai (a double bomb survivor) concluded that unless we love one another, the whole world will one day look like Nagasaki. 

And I'm so thrilled those books are due tomorrow!  May humanity as a whole return these stories to the shelves forever.  Let them collect an eternity of dust.  It's kind of a ramshackle dream.  Maybe we'll get there.  Maybe.  You never know what's coming down the pike of history that could make it more likely.