Chronic illness is never easy, and some days it feels harder than others. Lately, what has been getting to me the most has been my limitations, especially the ones due to Celiac Disease. I am angry and resentful that I can no longer attend an event and eat the food, friends no longer invite me over to dinner, I can’t simply grab lunch someplace while I’m out for the day. I hate having to worry about every little trace amount of gluten, having to wash my hands carefully before eating or taking a pill or getting a hair off my tongue. I can’t stand that I will never again be able to spontaneously kiss someone without first making sure they brushed their teeth.
But why now? I gave up gluten almost eight years ago. Is it because the increasing restrictions and caution came on so slowly? It took years for me to realize how sensitive I was to gluten. Even so, it’s clearly bothering me more now than it ever has before.
It was my therapist who pointed out what should have been obvious: I was grieving. It’s natural to go through the 5 stages of grief multiple times with chronic illness. After all, we don’t suffer a single loss, but many losses, which come up at different times.
Thinking about this several days later, it occurred to me something else that should have been obvious: the reason this is happening now is because I didn’t have the capacity to grieve before. I didn’t even have the capacity to acknowledge the magnitude of my loss before. I was busy surviving. I gave up gluten just a few months after leaving my job. At the time, I still hoped to return. During the next year I realized I would not be going back to work any time soon, I eliminated even more gluten from my diet, I found a naturopath, I researched new doctors for my thyroid care, I signed up for government benefits, I hired a lawyer, and more. I didn’t have time to care about giving up gluten. Besides, back then I thought it was just a matter of giving up some foods. I didn’t yet know all of the other things I would be giving up.
Over the following years, I continued to research treatments, doctors, tests, and more. I dealt with government benefits, changing apartments, and other logistical issues. I started businesses and had them fail. It was a busy time, and I remained in survival mode.
And then it slowed down, in a way. I am not looking to move right now. My benefits are stable for the moment. My health is always a concern, but with the latest addition this summer of hydrocortisone, my brain fog has lifted and my energy has somewhat improved. My health felt more stable for a bit, my mind was more clear, and I was able to think. At the same time, in the past year I have come to realize more than ever just how cautious I must be about gluten. The two came together and hit me hard, all at once. It’s no wonder I’m grieving.
Add to all of that one additional fact: the permanence. All of my health issues are permanent, but there are degrees. My pain will never go away, but it could improve. My fatigue may or may not ever go away, but there’s hope that it will, or at least that it will improve. I can work towards these goals. But when it comes to gluten, there’s no way I will ever be able to tolerate even the tiniest crumb again unless there is some medicinal breakthrough. Maybe that will happen, but I can’t count on it. Right now, there are no treatments on the market. That means I can’t let down my guard at all, and possibly never will. Again, it’s no wonder I’m grieving.
The important thing now is to let myself grieve. I have lost a lot, and I have years of it all catching up to me at once. This is hard, especially for someone who prefers to avoid unpleasant emotions, but I know it’s important. So these days, I am trying to sit with my feelings, to acknowledge them. It’s not easy, but I know that one day the worst of the grief will pass. I may never again be able to kiss my mother on the cheek, but one day I will come to accept it and it will make me less sad.
Do you grieve your chronic illness’s impact on your life? Please share in the comments. Sometimes it helps just to share what we’re going through.