Less than a year ago, I was diagnosed with an autoimmune disorder. In short, this means my immune system has identified my body, the body it resides in, as an enemy and has begun attacking it. My body is attacking itself. Maybe one day I'll feel comfortable writing or even talking more about it, but for now, it took everything in me to write that first sentence.
Since my diagnosis, my life has changed. I go to my doctor's office once a month for a treatment which hasn't been proven to do any good, but is considered the best available option for a disorder with an unknown cause. I've changed my diet. I have to limit dairy products, sugar and processed foods. I've had to give up my beloved cognac and am confined to wine and champagne. And I've had to adopt a gluten-free diet. To give you some idea of how frustrating this is: I went to a restaurant two weeks ago and was only able to eat one item one the menu. I ended up eating a basket of fries.
Imagine how frustrating it is to endure the constant eye rolls I get from people who think I'm just another person on a trendy health kick. The embarrassment of trying to explain myself. The sadness I feel when I have to turn down many of the foods I love and replace them with constant supplement popping. Vitamin D, Omega 3, Zinc, the list goes on and on.
I've been coping by continuing with life as normal and doing my best to learn what I can about autoimmune disorders, but all this makes me feel some sort of way. Mostly upset and scared, but sometimes extremely tired, uncomfortable and even sometimes in pain.
And so I turn again to writing. Hoping admission leads to healing because I can't wait for the day I walk out of my doctor's exam room and continue straight out the door without stopping at the receptionist's desk to schedule a follow-up appointment.
Until next time,
♥ from Halima