amber rahim

Chronic illness: the parts we don't talk about

Cookies will not be my downfall

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Today the biscuits are tempting me. I’m volunteering at an event and I’m manning the reception desk. Women are embarking on a journey into economic empowerment. It’s wonderful to be a small part of this. Now that they have moved into their first workshop, I’m making myself a cup of tea. I can smell the sweetness of the biscuits. I can feel the crunch, the way the crumbs melt in my mouth….

What a beautiful daydream. My mouth is watering.
This is the first time since starting my #glutenfreeadventure that I’ve been tempted.

Usually, I see bread, cake, biscuits and I see poison. Because for me it is poison. It poisons my mind and sends my body into an IBS nightmare.

But since the beginning of September, my IBS has been back and camping out in my digestive system like French truck drivers on strike.

It’s not a result of me going off my special diet. I haven’t changed anything. But I’ve gone from no IBS symptoms to constant trouble.

The only cause I can think of is my endometriosis. I can feel that getting worse. And it is a known cause of IBS. And it’s incurable.

My two pregnancies etc have taught me that hormone treatment is not an option. I’d be like a bulimic on steroids. I might even vomit more than F used to do.

So I’m feeling royally f***ed.

It’s not a helpful perspective. And I’m struggling to shift out of it.

But those cookies I could smell? That was the nudge I needed. No matter how good they smell, they are poison.

It’s easy when things are going well. It’s when the problems start that you get tested. And I’m being tested. I was drifting. But those cookies may have just saved me. For today at least.

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