Two hours to go before the gastroscopy/colonoscopy and I’m getting seriously nervous.  Which is daft when you consider I’ve had both procedures before.  In fact, I’ve never before been sedated for a gastroscopy, so it should be easier this time.  So why am I so bloody twitchy about it all?

H is due into pre-school this afternoon: I’ll be dropping him off on my way to the hospital, since it’s just 5 minutes away from there.  And S will pick him up again at the end of the session on his way to collect me, so nothing to worry about on that front.

And, let’s be straight, I’ve been waiting for this for quite some time now, as it’s the only way we’re going to get a clear answer about what’s wrong with me.  And I do want that answer, I really do.

What I’m most scared of, I think, is the idea that we may not get an answer.  I don’t know how much longer I can go on without some kind of diagnosis beyond the accurate, if not very helpful, “well, we know there’s something wrong with you”.  I don’t want to be the poster girl for some mystery gastric condition.  After 15 years what I really want is to know what the hell is wrong with me.  I’d like to know what it’s like to leave the house and not wonder where the nearest toilet will be.  On Saturday, I’d have liked to eat some breakfast before doing our stint for Marie Curie, but I didn’t dare because I had no idea where the closest loo was, and also didn’t want to run the risk of having to run off in the middle of our set.

If you’ve never suffered anything like this, the whole idea of life like this must be quite odd.  But when you’ve had diaorrhea for 15 years, 7-25 times a day, depending on how well it’s going, this is how life is.  The only thing that has ever helped is going gluten-free, which is the biggest clue we have as to what’s wrong.

Since last October I have been making sure I get enough gluten in my diet to give me a positive blood test, should I be one of the llucky ones who do show up on a blood test.  I’m not.  But I have carried on eating the gluten because the only way to get a diagnosis is for there to be sufficient damage to my gut when they stick the tube down my throat today.  I’m just hoping I’ve eaten enough gluten for it to show.  I’ll be royally pissed off if there’s nothing there to see, having gone through hell over the last 6 months.

Arguably, a diagnosis is not all that important, since we already know the way to cure me is to cut gluten out of my diet.  Both S and my psychiatrist are desperate for me to get off the gluten, because we know it’s causing problems with my depression.  But if I do have coeliac disease, the diagnosis is actually very important.  For one thing, I’ve had it for some time, which means I’ll need a bone density scan to check on the effects of calcium malbsorption.  For another, I’ll be able to get hold of gluten-free foods on prescription, which is worthwhile considering the cost of the stuff in the supermarket and the fact that, should we move up north, availability of such foods may be limited.

Then there’s the fact that we may want to give H a sibling, and my history of recurrent miscarriage means that will be difficult… so a diagnosis of coeliac disease will mean getting help sooner rather than later, which is not to be sniffed at when you’re already 37 and know your chances of getting pregnant are slimmer by the year.

And finally, it’s a whole lot easier to tell friends and family you have coeliac disease than to try and explain that a mere intolerance should be treated in the same way.  I’ve had too many people suggest that just a bit of gluten won’t do me any harm when I was on the exclusion diet, that I know the difference a positive diagnosis will make on that front, too.  It doesn’t matter that my future is gluten-free, whatever the diagnosis proves to be.  I still have to function beyond the confines of my own home, and that’s easier if I can simply give people a label: it seems it’s the only thing some people will either accept or understand.

Anyway, time to get H ready for pre-school, and then we’re off.  Wish me luck.