I woke up in a cold sweat. I had been dreaming of crusty French baguettes floating around my head, with donuts, cupcakes and bagels fresh from the oven tempting me to reach out of my slumber and feast on yeast.

I woke up craving rye toast. I knew I had a problem: withdrawal.

On the advice of a medical professional I have committed to going gluten free for a period of two months as a trial for the multitude of mysterious ailments that seem to be angry with my body. Too much information? Well, I’m just getting started.

Tummy troubles are as much a part of my life as plastic surgery is to Joan Rivers’ face.

Yes, mysterious ailments are so common that I have gotten used to avoiding food, picking through food out of fear, and craving bad food to compensate for the void, all of which has led me to a place where I don’t really enjoy food as much as I borrow it (a definition you really don’t want me to share). I’m picky because I know the outcome.

Apparently 20 per cent of you in this country know exactly what I mean, because statistically, you too know that IBS does not stand for Incredibly Big Shoes and most of you are females, because men seem to miss all the fun crap (pardon the pun).

I’ve been dealing with this issue since I was a teenager. It’s just that now, after two kids and numerous life-altering surgeries, I’m finding it harder to cope with my former status quo. I want to feel good, all the time. Is that so wrong?

Here I am in the third week of my gluten-free lifestyle and the truth is, I’m hungry – all the time. I am sick of salad and grilled chicken, or rice and bread that tastes like bark (yes I have eaten bark, so there). I don’t like eating a naked hamburger, or submarine sandwiches without the sandwich part.

For the life of me, I can’t figure out why gluten-free food is missing all the fun stuff, but costs twice as much. And the smell of natural food stores makes me feel, well, unnatural. Incense and dried goods will never excite me the way pies baking in a bakery can. Oh pie. Sigh.

But I am committed to the cause. I am determined to figure this gluten diet out. I have to, because I can’t afford to buy foods I won’t eat. It means I need to plan meals and make several dinners at once, and you all know I just love to cook (not). It’s a whole new balancing act for someone who can’t juggle.

Yet going gluten free has shown me how bad our family diet was before. Always rushing, eating in cars between sports games, morning commutes and late meetings, it adds up. So I have become better acquainted with the good stuff – real fruits and vegetables. I may be hungry, but I am a convert.

I have convinced my mind that gluten foods will hurt me, and I almost jump if one lands on my plate by accident.

I have stopped threatening to tackle the children when they eat pasta in front of me, and we have saved a lot of money by passing drive-thru restaurants because if Mommy can’t eat it, nobody can. Mwah-ha-ha.

Now I live for french fry Fridays. Don’t judge me. I deserve them.

[No she doesn’t … she cheats … I’ve seen her] – a co-worker