I’m on a new diet. It’s the ‘yes I think I’ll have breakfast today, ohhhhhh well… maybe not’ diet. The very thought of food can make me retch or cramp up. Or I get a very distinct and specific craving for something and can’t stomach anything but that thing – for the last three days it’s been GF any-citrus cake and the grumpy Dutchman dutifully got me some – of course I didn’t want it when he finally got home. I am exhausted and manage small efforts of normality followed by long periods in bed.
I actually got to work on Friday. I felt better enough on Thursday night to be optimistic, planned my lessons, got my clothes sorted and packed my lunch. Got up and felt a bit blah – but that’s understandable. I ended up having to take my breakfast with me because I couldn’t finish it – this should have been a clue really. I’m a girl who finishes everything on her plate and then follows the crumbs back through to the kitchen to see if there’s anything else I can finish off. Anyway, breakfast never got finished, and I lasted as long as recess, then home to bed.
I have been told by fairly reliable sources, that Gastro bugs last longer in coeliacs – this doesn’t seem fair really – we already have gut issues – why add to the drama? But it makes sense. Coeliacs is an autoimmune disease and it makes sense that anything else would knock us on our asses. No ‘reserves’ to help up back up on to our heels you see.
I have spent since Tuesday night in and out of bed, sleeping, being impatient with the lads, not eating OR eating a whole dinner last night and regretting it immediately. I am shattered and can’t concentrate on anything for very long. It sucks balls. I dragged myself around the zoo this morning – it was my bloody idea – with the three Dutchmen but it wasn’t as much fun as it sounds.
My four year old is loving the captive audience though. He is already a non-stop talker – like actually non-stop and if it’s not words it’s his own special gobbledygook – and I don’t have the strength to fight him off at the moment or get a word in edgeways. He spent Friday evening bringing me a drawing every five minutes until he ran out of paper. It was quite sweet really. He comes to the bed and ‘announces his crimes’ at me. For example – he just came in clutching a ramekin and asked if he could have milk. (There has been a ban on milk anywhere but at the table because of the amount that ends up on the carpet). I said no, you know you can’t have milk. ‘Is that milk in the ‘cup’?’. ‘YES!’ he shouts gleefully and bolts – dripping milk as he goes all over the carpet – confident that I am not going to follow him.
I’ll show him. I’m going to text his father.