In September of 2012, after reading Wheat Belly (and after several suspicious allergy attacks), Andy and I decided that we were going to take the plunge and live a wheat-free lifestyle to the best of our abilities. We cleaned the cupboards, throwing away anything that could possibly contain wheat. Our cupboards were shockingly bare.
A month and a half into our wheat-free living, Andy invited me to a rare work dinner. I agreed half-heartedly, knowing that I’d be severely limited in the food I was able to safely eat.
Perusing the menu at the restaurant, I found a salad that looked safe enough. Andy made a bolder move and asked for a burger with broccolini instead of fries. After a few moments of deliberation, he decided to not inconvenience the chef further and asked if the top bun could be left off, leaving the bottom bun in place. He figured he could eat safely around the bun and it wouldn’t be an issue.
I don’t know if you’ve ever tried to eat around a piece of food that is stuck to another piece of food, but it’s next to impossible. Even though he was as diligent as he could be, Andy couldn’t help but have a small bite or two of that bun.
By the time we got home (it was a lovely evening, by the way), Andy felt awful. His brain felt fuzzy, he was nauseated–he just felt off. And he looked puffy. Like he’d eaten a large pizza from Pizza Hut puffy. And trust me, there wasn’t a lot of food on his plate. In fact, my salad covered more surface area than his burger and veggies.
Since he’d never had this type of reaction to eating meat and veggies, we know the burger and greens weren’t the issue. It must have been the bite or two of bun.
Having such a severe reaction to so little wheat merely reinforced what we already knew. Wheat was not for us.
Sometimes it takes a hard lesson to remind us that the path we have chosen for our health, as difficult and sacrificial as it may seem, is really the easiest and best way to feel the best that we can.