WhenI first was diagnosed with Celiac – even before, actually – I thought I’d never eat a candy bar again. In 6th grade, we embarked on a “what’s wrong with Amelia” crusade that involved thesis-worthy research into the myriad syndromes, allergies, or intolerances that could possibly stop me from growing or gaining any weight at age 11 or that could be the culprit for the seemingly endless number of quotidian digestive issues I faced. It was a fun year y’all, let me tell you. Though my mother was the real hero – not taking “I don’t know” for an answer from any doctor, always demanding we take the test or…
