Healed From Celiac Disease

18 November 2009. What a special night.

Depriving myself of sleep and food hadn’t become a habit yet, but I was gradually conforming my habits to the demands of the academy. But I did have some precious moments with brothers and sisters before knowledge and the almighty GPA would oust Jesus from the special place in my heart he had recently--and finally (and rightfully!)--claimed. There was a week around that time, mid-November, before or after the eighteenth I can't say, when I could practically hear creation groaning. It seemed like every maudlin topic we covered in Intro to Theology gave me a new context in which to share how I struggled to understand God’s grace. And I did share, as my classmates could attest. I hated sin. I grasped how it brought death and death alone. During that really exceptional phase I drenched my pillow with tears every night, mourning my transgressions until I passed out from exhaustion. I see in hindsight that all I was doing was lamenting the fact that I couldn’t atone for myself, but I had been deceived by my false motives of wanting to repay God for saving me. If I can be so bold, I think I had a genuine (though misguided) desire to do something that might please the Father. And there is, I posit, nothing wrong with wanting to please one’s parent--especially when one has been adopted into God’s household.

So yeah, 18 November. I had a lot of work to do, but I accepted an invitation to watch a meteor shower from the outskirts of Caronport, SK. The shower was less than spectacular, but I discovered that, even though I had inhabited a tiny place for most of my natural life, Tusket (pop. 300) was still too big to see the Milky Way--the real one, with so many stars that even Abram couldn’t count them. So it didn’t matter that we saw few streaks in the heavens. We saw the heavens. And it was heavenly. And they were heavenly. And it was soon after that I became the product of my own design: desperately sick in body and spirit. I believed what the devil told me about myself, that I was as good as my knowledge of the Word. So I isolated myself with it. I burned both ends so I could read everything thoroughly. I spent upwards of 40-50 hours on some assignments. I missed meals. I missed events. And the consequences were not subtle.

All I remember about Christmas 2009 is that I spent the whole time wanting to get back to Caronport. We have a much better library in Caronport. Oh yeah, I brought work with me. So it wasn't as restful as it might have been, and I needed rest. My failure--nay, refusal--to recouperate over Christmas made second semester distinct from the first in that I didn't begin class with enthusiasm or a desire to understand God better. I was already tired of learning. I grew increasingly tired of knowing Him. But I had to do it. (Wonder why pride is so dangerous?)

I had diarrhoea every day my second semester at Briercrest. Well, that’s not true. Let’s say between five and six days a week. More than five, less than six. And it happened multiple times a day. Even the people I’ve told didn’t know how bad it was. I would wear long johns to class, even when the weather heated up, just in case I had a mishap walking to class. My stomach was like napalm; you shake it, you brake it. The long johns, for their part, did a decent job absorbing any "accidents." They became so commonplace, too. Every morning I needed to change my underwear. It was like my Montreal trip all over again (during which I became so ill that I finally had my digestive issues investigated and was diagnosed with Celiac disease). But that was 2006, and three years later it seemed like I had either accumulated even more allergies. Or perhaps worse. For all I knew I had some malignancy that was causing my leaky pipes. But stallions couldn’t have pulled me to a doctor. And don’t get me wrong here. Though I was prone to the macho thing, avoiding the hospital as if the whole place were quarantined, afraid of what the professionals might discover--though I wrestled with all that stuff, there was one reason I couldn’t be bothered: I didn’t have time. My assignments had to come first. But when one reaches a point where assignments can pre-empt sleep and meals, is it really that surprising that I had no time for doctors?

So yeah, the whole point of this blog is to glorify God. Because I believe testimonies belong to Him, I think we are thieves when we keep them to ourselves. So I share details that some might classify as humiliating because I believe it they enhance the glory due Him when I joyfully declare that He cured me this summer. I had a CT scan and blood tests done in May. The CT scan revealed inflammation in my intestines that was blocking passage for food, which caused the leakages I experienced. I was put on medication and referred to a specialist. The specialist decided to do a massive investigation of my insides, so he booked me for a scope through both ends and asked me to go on a gluten diet to see how it was affecting me (I had suspected that there was a lot of contamination at the cafeteria at school but I was more deliberate in consuming it for the next few weeks). To make sure we had a genuine reading of what was happening with my system, I also went off the meds, which had really helped for the couple weeks I took them.

A month later, after going off the meds and eating everything that historically made me ill, there was no inflammation and I had been cured of Celiac disease. My symptoms disappeared well in advance of these medical confirmations, but I must confess it felt good to have some kind of scientific confirmation.

Of course, it shames me that it's taken this long to post this here, but the Lord is due some major glory on account of this blessing and I pray that this entry will inspire many hearts to praise His name.