I'd Like to Thank Everyone Who Had Food Allergies Before We Did

I might have freaked out a little. A very little bit.

And the funny part was, I didn't expect to. Not that anyone ever really plans these things, but most of us know our triggers, and I didn't know this one.

It started a couple of years ago. I knew my husband had some food sensitivities, but in my world of healthy-as-a-horse I figured it was due to poor nutrition or other bachelor-related illnesses. I figured I'd it right up with my home-cooked goodness of fresh fruits and vegetables, lots of whole grains, and all-natural ingredients.

Funny thing, though, it didn't work. Not really.

I mean, sure, a few things got better--he slept better, for one thing; quite a difference from his single days of missed meals and over-work. But after we married it seemed like no matter what we cooked or ate, no matter how wholesome and nutritious, he continued to feel exhausted and constantly "gross"--as if nothing would digest correctly. Not  the kind of thing you want to see, especially as an over-achieving newly-wed who's anxious to please.

After meal upon farmers-market meal, nutritional supplements upon herbal supplements, and a few half-hearted squabbles over "what to have for dinner tonight", my husband agreed to start tracking what he ate and the results.

Red flag results: Sugar.

He learned that whenever he ate sugar he almost instantly became weak, exhausted, and irritable.He also frequently became dizzy and his vision blurred.

Frightened, we wondered if there might a border-line diabetes or blood-sugar issue, and he quickly rescheduled his annual physical to get his blood testing done. Meanwhile, he avoided any and all representatives of sugar.

Not that we ate that much sugar anyway, but it still bothered me. I shouldered the responsibility of finishing the all-natural popsicles in the freezer while he munched on corn chips, and I cleaned out the home-made ice cream cartons while he sipped on a glass of 100% fruit juice.He drank coffee while the rest of my family shared my birthday cake with me.

I tried not to consider that there would be fewer birthday cakes in our future, or fun ice cream date nights, or other special desserts. I brushed it off.  Why was it bothering me, anyway? It was fine, really, I told myself. We can all stand to eat a little lighter on the sugar, even if it is "all-natural."

We were slowly descending into a rhythm of sugar-lessness, when he experienced another week of dizzying nausea and stomach cramps. There seemed no explanation for it. As we mulled over our eating habits for the last week, another red flag emerged: Wheat.

Whole-wheat fajita wraps one night, met with whole-wheat pasta and whole-wheat garlic bread the next, resulting in abdominal pains and mental exhaustion. He was down for the count for nearly 24 hours as he struggled to relax.

We decided the best thing to do would be to stick with lighter, goof-proof meals until his visit with the doctor--meaning lean meats, salads, and fruits. Fine, I could do that.

Dutifully I went to the grocery store the next day, choosing nut and brown rice products over our usual whole-grain/wheat ones. Again, I brushed away the implications of what a new menu lifestyle could mean for the long term.

It wasn't until the end of the week, a Friday, that it hit home.

"Ready to order pizza?" I asked him, never thinking for a moment he would turn down our weekly tradition of ordering our favorite deep dish pizza. I mean, he was planning to eat less wheat, not forego all wheat. Besides, pizza never seemed to bother him.

I was met with an apologetic look.

"Um, do you want pizza?" he asked quietly, helpfully. "I don't think I...I can't have any."

That blew my lid.

"What?" I asked. "Seriously? We do this every week, and you've never said it's bothered you before."

"I don't know that," he replied. "I think this is really what I need to do."

"Fine," I said, returning to the computer, ever the helpful and loving wife. "I'll just...figure something out. There's plenty for you to eat in the fridge."

I knew it wasn't his fault. I knew he wasn't trying to be difficult. But it still hurt.

Why?

Because food is one of those things that I've always seen at the heart of my relationships-- not the foundation of them, you understand, but a really, really great complement to them. A symbol of comfort, fun, and connection. And it's really hard to have comfort, fun, and connection, when it's refused on the awkward grounds of not being gluten-free.

I stomped off to an appointment that evening, seething over the memories we had always shared getting our weekly pizza, stopping somewhere for frozen yogurt on Sunday, getting a micro-brewed beer during the week--memories that might not be possible now with food allergies.

Now we were destined to make memories of making everyone around us feel weird by asking, "Does this have sugar in it? Is that made with wheat?" and other conversation-killers.

But as I prayed for patience and thought about it, I began to laugh a little. We had so many friends who struggled with allergies, my own mother professing a reaction to certain kinds of breads, that honestly, if anything, we weren't so much being oddballs as possibly joining a club.

As I had strolled through Krogers the day before, easily picking and choosing wheat-alternative products, I realized that we were certainly not the only family who needed help, whose bodies required something different. It was thanks to the growing awareness of health and food allergies that I could simply and quickly find food replacements, causing little difficulty to myself other than a few more minutes of planning and shopping down a different aisle of the store.

I came home and talked with my husband, apologizing for my earlier reaction. It was as we talked though that I realized what my real problem was-- feeling a loss of control, a feeling that my efforts weren't good enough. It was also fear--fear that we might lose connections that we had over shared foods and experiences.

Maybe just fearing a loss of convenience. A loss of routine. A loss of control.

Funny, right? But real. And we are addressing it. It might be that instead of connecting over a hot, greasy take-out pizza, we'll learn new ways of cooking up our own. Luckily  I married a man who loves to cook, so what am I complaining about? Really.

We still have lots to learn from the doctor to see what we need to do, but we started making a few plans, sharing a few adjustments we knew we could make.What a lesson to learn, but one that I'm realizing colors most of married life. Real love is stepping into what the other person needs, not simply what we assume that we should give them.

I'm extremely grateful for the friends and family that have shown us great ways of navigating food allergies. Looks like I'll be learning more from them in days to come. Bring on the recipes!