Diagnosis: Celiac Disease

I was diagnosed with gluten-intolerance roughly three years ago. I had been having trouble eating for a long time. In times of stress my indigestion would get so bad that all I could eat was white bread turkey sandwiches and milk. Even with that limited diet, I was bloated and gassy all the time.
When I traveled to my college during the summer before freshman year for my first-year orientation, I was so sick I could barely get out of bed for any of the required activities. In fact, the second day I spent sleeping on a sofa in the upstairs of the University Center because I couldn't sit through the rowdy presentation in the UC Auditorium. I couldn't eat, I was constipated, and I had the worst indigestion I had ever had. I thought I was dying, and all I wanted was to be home (which was a three-hour drive away).
The height of my misery was the summer of 2004. I was doing an internship at home, and my boyfriend, Tom, (now my husband) was at his parent's house. I spent my life figuring out where the nearest bathroom could be found at all times. I was always prepared to buy gum or a soda, just so I could use a restroom.
My mother and I commuted together that summer, and I remember that several times a week, we had to make emergency stops at the first gas station we could get to. The diarrhea was that urgent, and it was terrible. It felt like my insides were tearing loose and coming out. I couldn't eat anything. I tried vegetarian (terrible idea, because all "replacement" meat is made out of wheat protein). I tried bland (the "white" diet: if it's white, you can eat it: rice, white bread, egg whites, potatoes). I tried lactose intolerance pills, I tried soy milk and fake cheese, and nothing helped. Even the slightest amount of stress would send my stomach reeling into gas, bloating, and indigestion. My parents bought me every kind of pill or food there was to ease indigestion.
Tom thought it was stress, and that once we got back to school things would settle down and my tummy would be alright. I won't go into details, but that was also the summer that Tom's father passed away. Tom's sadness over his father's death, and his stress about our new apartment, and what to do with his life post-graduation, made the next few months no less stressful.
I started seeing a gastroenterologist, who put me on a dairy-free diet. It didn't work, and we were contemplating our next step when fall break rolled around. I went home to visit my parents and while there, I stumbled upon a Time (or Newsweek, my parents get both) article about gluten intolerance. It was woefully under-diagnosed and hard to catch. And it sounded exactly like what was bothering me.
I went back to my doctor and asked to be tested for gluten intolerance. She agreed to perform an endoscopy and take a biopsy from my upper intestine. Shortly after that, I had my answer. I have celiac disease.