Fair warning: Some gross bodily function stuff ahead. But it’s led to the happiest news this Oreo has gotten in ages.
Like any good American woman, I spend a decent amount of time naked in front of a mirror, making a list of all the things that are wrong. And, like any good American, I also spend a lot of time doing exactly zero to change said wrongs and wake up every morning shocked that said wrongs are still in play.
But about a year ago, things started to get different. They started to get wrong. Not just “Like-any-good-American-woman-I’m-subjected-to-impossible-versions-of-photshopped-beauty-every-day” wrong. But more like: “Ummm-Why-do-I-look-5-months-pregnant?-No-seriously.-I’m-not-being-hyper-sensitive,-my-belly-is-effing-distended-slightly-beyond-capacity-and-it-hurts-like-a-mother” wrong.
Like any good American, I waited about 10-18 months to go to the doctor about this painful thing.
When one day I was in too much pain to stand upright at work, I rolled my bloated self to a professional and asked him what the fuck.
He poked and prodded and listened and squeezed and said he was going to do some blood tests.
He summoned the nurse who was going to be tasked with peeling my ass off the ceiling while she tried to put a needle in me and started to walk out of the room. But then he turned and said:
“What’s your background? What’s your ethnicity?”
“Um,” I said and died a little. “I’m… black.”
“Hmmm. Both your parents?”
Why was this guy such as asshole? Making me cop to crimes I have tried so hard to erase??
“Yup. Both of them.Why?”
“Well, there’s a test I could run. But it only affects people of Scandinavian ancestry.”
An unexpected ray of hope!
“Funny you say that. May dad actually has some condition that I’ve heard usually only affects Scandinavians.”
“Yeah. I don’t remember what he has, but I’ve had this conversation before.”
“Okay, let’s run it!!!”
While I was perturbed that he was so excited that he could draw additional blood from my precious precious veins, I was glad that I got to pretend that for one moment, I was Northern European.
A week later and I get this message:
“Hi Aydrea. I need to talk to you about your test results.”
Okay, doctors. Never say this shit. Just leave a vm that says that the mole is definitely cancer or the sneeze means I totes have AIDS or whatever! Screw HIPA. Just tell me what the fuck is up.
I go back to the office expecting terrible news. But instead, I get the best news of all.
“I’m so glad I ran that test!” he said. “You have a wheat allergy that we usually only see in people of Scandinavian descent.”
He then went on to say what was possibly some useful shit about what I should and should not be eating and how I should take care of myself and how to avoid the blinding belly pain I feel every single day. But I couldn’t concentrate. Because I. Am. Officially and medically: WHITE ON THE INSIDE!!