Chapter 6 - Summer in Sicily
In the first couple of weeks of July, Marco got a call that sent him back to Sicily for a couple of months. He left at the beginning of August, and I missed him immediately.
Fortunately, I had some amazing clients who loved my work, so I was able to join him a couple of weeks later and work remotely from Catania. Living the dream, right?
Well, sort of.
The SCD Challenge in Sicily
Being in Sicily on a restrictive diet was its own special kind of torture.
On the Specific Carbohydrate Diet, you can’t eat any grains, no bread, no pasta, no pizza. Nothing with starch, which ruled out parsnips and potatoes (which I wasn’t eating anyway). Add to that my existing restrictions from the Nightshade family (tomatoes, peppers, aubergines), and you start to see the problem.
I was in Sicily. A place with some of the most incredible food on earth. And I couldn’t eat any of their main staples.
What was I going to eat?
Turns out, as long as you have eggs and a bucket load of vegetables, you can survive. Though I should mention, the SCD diet involves an alarming amount of eggs. I’m talking eggs for breakfast, eggs in lunch recipes, and eggs as snacks.
So many eggs!
Running and Recovery in Catania
We rented a flat in the city. I continued running in the mornings, slowly building up my strength. But running in Catania while recovering from IBD was like playing Russian roulette.
There was exactly one public toilet on my running route. It was disgusting. I quickly learned to carry toilet tissue everywhere because most of the time, there wasn’t any available.
Even going to a public beach was stressful. Rarely was there a toilet. I found myself preoccupied, always wanting to identify where the nearest one was and how long we were going to be at the beach. It was a shame, they were stunning beaches, clear water but for me… not very relaxing.
I went to the market every morning to buy fresh fruit and vegetables. Despite its restrictions, SCD had some brilliant recipes thanks to the incredibly supportive SCD community. If you’re struggling with gut issues and want to try it, I’d absolutely recommend reaching out to them.
The Break-In
Our flat got broken into shortly after we moved in.
We’d left the bedroom window open one night, it was summer, it was hot, we didn’t think twice about it. Someone climbed in through that window while we were sleeping and took my phone, Marco’s phone, his wallet, and a speaker.
Luckily, I’d put my laptop away, and my handbag wasn’t immediately visible, so those survived. Even luckier? We didn’t wake up during the robbery. It wouldn’t have been pretty if we had. Marco was absolutely livid when we realised what had happened.
Italian Bureaucracy: A Comedy of Errors
We spent the morning at the police station. They took a statement and did… nothing. Then we walked to Marco’s brother’s flat to sort out blocking our phones. That took most of the afternoon because we had to fax someone.
Fax! In 2019!!
I can’t remember who or why, only the feeling of extreme frustration building with every minute. Who still uses faxes?! Thank god it was a Tuesday and I wasn’t working.
People said to me afterwards, “You must have been so scared.”
Honestly? I wasn’t. Still don’t feel anything about it. Neither of us was disturbed; they were like a ghost. We woke up, our stuff was gone, that was it. It didn’t register on an emotional level. It was just fucking annoying.
Marco, on the other hand, was rightfully livid. I had insurance, so we didn’t really lose anything except time.
The Hair Loss Begins
I was getting better and stronger every day. My client base had grown again, so I was busy. Life was good.
Then my hair started falling out.
At first, I thought it was just an autumn shed, you know, totally normal. But it didn’t stop. It kept coming out by the handful.
Returning Home
I had to return to the UK at the end of September. According to the Insurance rules, if I wanted to claim for the break-in, I had to be back within 30 days. So I left Marco in Catania.
It was hard. I didn’t want to leave.
When I got home, I had my hair cut into a bob. I was only just starting to realise that my hair loss was actually a serious issue, but that wasn’t why I cut it. I just needed a change.
I went to my doctor, who was about as helpful as a chocolate teapot. He shrugged and said there was nothing he could do. No referral, no suggestions, nothing.
So I went home and turned to the internet. Again. That’s when I found a hair loss specialist who was actually helpful.
The Diagnosis and Treatment
I can’t remember the exact diagnosis, but apparently, hair loss is common around 12 weeks (the magic number strikes again) after a traumatic event. The body focuses so intensely on repairing the trauma that hair growth just… stops. My scalp was secreting too much oil, preventing new hair from growing.
The treatment was tedious. For the next few weeks, I had to go through cold and warm shower cycles with careful hair rubbing in between. I was supposed to use special shampoo, but in keeping with my toxin-free lifestyle, I did my research and discovered that lavender oil and water did the same thing.
I won’t go into details, but it was mind-numbingly tedious.
The Miracle
I’d been following the SCD religiously for three months, and I was going strong. My consultant ran tests to check my progress.
She was amazed. My inflammation had completely disappeared. My iron levels had returned to normal without any supplements stronger than a multivitamin.
She actually admitted it: I didn’t have Crohn’s.
But she did diagnose it as Ulcerative Colitis.
I still didn’t agree with her. I still believed it was an allergic reaction to the medication. It wasn’t until later that I realised it was because of something else.
Moving Forward
Marco returned in mid-October, just in time for a close friend’s wedding. After our summer experience, we decided to head back to Sicily for six months, leaving just before Christmas. Planning began in earnest.
My cycle was still MIA. What I didn’t know was that it wasn’t what it seemed.
Everything was about to change with one phone call.