I don't think my tongue will ever be the same again, and that's nothing compared to the state of my stomach and small intestine.
Well, we hit a bit of a snag, and the universe kind of collapsed on itself, but I remain cautiously optimistic. [Inversely, the *hell* I did, but at the very least, I apparently kept my sense of humour. This gets me through most things. Except old ladies on buses with strollers who run over people's feet, and then bitch loudly about how he shouldn't have been in the way in the first place, to the point where the bus driver has to tell her that's *really* not necessarily, and the point at which I tell her to cry me a river. Oh, hello tangent. How are you this fine morning?]
Did British Airways have my gluten-free meal? No.
Was I hungry after leaving behind that pile of precious, precious undigested potato chips? Quite.
Did I eat some things I shouldn't have? Oh, hell yes. [Note to self: You *cannot* italicize your handwriting. It's slanty enough as it is.]
Will I be living with the damage for the next several weeks? Definitely. [And so I am. *shakes fist at British Airways*]
Am I sorry I did it? Well, I left behind the cheesecake - this was about survival, not dessert. But also, yes. And I'll get sorrier as time progresses.
I think the real key here is, Jess [It's quaint that I can't refer to myself as Catherine in writing. So ingrained is my stupid first name in my head.], you are not starving, no matter what your body tells you - there will be edible food again. whether you'll be able to eat it, is another story entirely. [Welcome to the world of my self-chastisement. It's a theme.]
Well, I guess there is one thing I can say pretty definitely: BA did make sure I got enough to eat - that I could eat [Only on a very technical level. It was gluten-free. I give them that.] - and ma'am, if you could just put down that bun for a minute and stop stabbing yourself with it, we can get you more salad, and some fruit. Please stop, it's painful to watch.
Dinner was chicken, cooked in I have no idea what, but I think (now, after the fact), was probably gravy - chicken a la poison, I assume - green beans, and probably the only mashed potatoes in existence cooked with flour.
There was also a salad of cucumber, tomato and onion. I'm not going to speculate as to which opened the gaping holes in my tongue, but ow. [Acidic foods give me not only acid reflux, but excessively painful canker sores. You want neither on a 9 hour flight overseas.].
I obviously skipped the cheesecake, but ate half a small roll just to shut up the aching gnaw. Blech. Bread is just how I remember it - fibrous and gluey. So, 18 days from now, when that meal finally makes its way through my system, a whole lot of villi are going to sob in pain as they throw themselves on their own swords [I summarize the basic effects of gluten on the person with celiac disease. You can read a more technical explanation elsewhere, but I think mine is more poignant. And funny.].
I ate more cucumber salad, some regular salad, and some fruit, a notable number of which were either citrus, or I'm allergic to them (fuck you, pineapple, you destroyer of worlds and roofs of mouths). So. Unnecessary roughage that won't digest for three weeks, and only very painfully, acidic fruit, and a relatively gluten-heavy meal. I'm sure my digestive system will have many conflicting things to say on the subject in the coming hours. Holy Jesus, cinnamon gum. [I popped a piece into my mouth as I was writing, hence the fact that it had nothing to do with the paragraph of which it was part.]
Just full of bright ideas tonight, aren't you, buddy? [When have I ever called myself buddy? Except, like, this situation right now.]
Yeah, I feel sick. Perhaps it's time to call it a night before I throw myself at another bread product in desperation.
...I have no one but myself to blame for this. I would cry, but crying alone on a flight to a foreign country, where I'll be even more alone (albeit briefly) just makes me even sadder.
I had a choice, even if it felt like I had none at the time. As such, I, and I alone have to deal with the outcome of that choice. Frig on toast. [Shut up, self, you are not a martyr. Nice use of "frig on toast," though.]
Guess I can't exactly complain about the pain, either. I brought it on myself.
[No, really, the entries mostly get happier from here on. It was just a sucky beginning to the trip.]