Flickr: Kevin Dooley
Back when I started this diet—38 days ago now—I readily joked that the entire venture might be a bust. “You know, it might not amount to anything at all. Ha, ha.” Call it a perfunctory nod to superstition, a verbal knocking on wood.
Well, maybe it won’t amount to anything at all. For real.
Suddenly, in these last few days, I find myself considering that failure might, indeed, be a possibility.
It’s all very subtle, very shadowy and fleeting. Is that a tightness in my chest as I swallow? Do I feel a lump in my throat? Is it nausea, or just feeling blah from the heat?
With three or four incidents since Friday, my awareness is turbo-charged. I’m second-guessing, and third, and fourth.
Mr. Eos asked whether I would be more disappointed or more relieved to have this all be done. While I would have wavered on that 38 days ago, the answer today is “disappointed,” no question.
True, even if the eos are back, I will at least have gained insight into their presence, and the knowledge that they don’t respond to diet. I certainly feel like I’ve been giving it my absolute best, even down to knocking out the citric acid and the soy lecithin. Short of forgoing food altogether, I can’t imagine too much else that I could be doing. No regrets on that count.
I also have demonstrated to myself that I can do this. That’s good to know, because I might want to continue with parts of the diet regardless of the eos. In some ways, I feel better than I usually do, more alert and energetic. I can’t help but wonder if that’s thanks to dropping wheat, and whether it should stay out of my diet. Really, getting back everything except wheat would seem like a never-ending banquet at this point!
But I’ve also grown invested in the experiment. What if 30+ years of crazy symptoms could all be attribute to the food I’ve been eating? I’ve even started drafting in my mind the letter I would write to my pediatric gastro: “Isn’t this crazy? Isn’t it interesting?”
Plus, I hate not succeeding at what I set out to do.
It really is too soon to call it a failure, and I’m not ready to admit defeat. Tonight is my last dose of budesonide for the duration. I’ll be plowing on ahead, and hoping I’m wrong. Even though I need to start thinking that I may be right.
