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Right after my middle child was born, I got sick. I distinctly remember eating some toast the morning after he was born. My stomach started hurting within a couple hours.
Then it never stopped.
For the first few months, I was in denial and made excuses for why I was exhausted, in constant pain, and dropping weight at an alarming rate. Around the time that I saw my sixth grade weight staring up at me on the scale, I admitted to myself that something might be wrong.
After several appointments and tests, I had a diagnosis: celiac disease.
Having been sick for eight months, it was thrilling to hear that it was something that could be managed. The management took a lot more managing than I had anticipated. Even after I read a book, met with a nutritionist, and threw out 2/3 of my kitchen equipment and started over, it took a long time for me to begin approaching a healthy state.
I was so desperate that I would have done anything to get well. I was ready to go back to being Normal. I didn’t realize then that I would never really be completely Normal again.
Sometimes people ask me if there is a cure. There is not, but there is management, and I’m finding that my New Normal has its uses. It reminds me that the world is not my home and that true joy is not found in a food, but in a Person.
My Normal years have a special place in my heart, but New Normal has pointed me to Jesus. For that, I am thankful.