I have this little ritual of going for a "last supper" before having some kind of medical procedure done that might restrict my eating in some way.
I think it goes back to when I used to go on a "detox" back in my NYC days, which was basically my way of trying to lose weight by quitting alcohol and fast food for short spurts of time. I'd always binge right before it, like an addict on one last bender before being hauled off to rehab.
Before my oral surgery last November, which would put me on a diet of soft foods for weeks on end, I ordered all the crunchy things during my final meal—chips and guac,
Caesar salad with croutons, taquitos, and the like.
I had similar "last hurrahs" the nights before my colonoscopy in February, another oral surgery in March, and my upper endoscopy in June (both the one that didn't happen, and the one that did).
But now, it's the results of that endoscopy that's got me on my latest eating spree.
Because they found what they were looking for: signs of celiac disease. It's not definite, but I already scored practically off the charts on the blood test. Both of these test results strongly indicate the presence of the disease, but they don't prove it.
To do that, I'll need to eliminate gluten.
If I feel different—or, hopefully, better—after that, it'll confirm the diagnosis. And it'll change the course of how I eat for the rest of my life.
Smoked salmon sandwich at Gjusta in Venice, CA
