The trouble with being a full time homemaking mom is that there's plenty of leeway for adapting my activity to suit my physical needs.  And so, as nausea and cramping and general fatigue increase, I instinctively adapt.  But there's very little gauge, from my end of things. 

It's been years since I spent my days going from bed...to an internal soliloquy about getting back to a heating pad...to crawling back into bed for a brief reprieve.  It's been years since a little old lady cornered me outside a public restroom for going out and about and exposing the rest of the world in "my condition".  It's been years since I shot up 3 waist band sizes in an afternoon.  Or vomited blood. Or even curled up on the bathroom floor and wished I could just fall asleep and not hurt anymore. 
Put in perspective, I'm doing great. 
I get frustrated sometimes...but I don't wonder how I'm going to find the strength to walk from the car to the school and back. 
So it caught me by surprise to have my husband tell me he was worried.  I've been slacking off, I know...but I've been feeling 'bleh'. 
At least since September.  And we had a rough summer.  And I've been hormonal. 
Gently he pointed out that according to my faithful little planner that I record in but ignore, I've been 'hormonal' since May.  And nauseous.  And that my diet is dwindling again.  (variety wise, not calorie wise!)  In his eyes, I'm slowly fading away and it's scaring him. 
Of course, I had no response for that.  Other than to splutter that of course I had been eating a lot of rice...it settles well, and there were things I didn't want to miss.  I haven't lost that much weight, I think.  (He didn't actually have to say "You're missing them anyway")  I paused.  I harumphed.  I called.  I made the appointment. 
I wish I could say it went well. 
The first time the dr asked if I was taking any medication for my Celiac Disease, it didn't seem unusual.  But the 3rd time, I got an uncomfortable feeling that I'd just wasted a copay. 
I explained to her about corn, and at least that's in my record now.  They took enough blood to put my entire arm to sleep, and I'm enormously relieved to find that the phlebotomist was understanding about my freaky rolling veins and patiently used a child sized needle.  (It takes twice as long, but is less likely to lead to a lost or collapsed vein.) 
But I pretty much left with the diagnosis of..."You're skinny.  You need to gain some weight." 
Which seemed obvious.
The GI will call if they need to see me.  Maybe the blood tests will be enlightening.  But I have a sinking suspicion that I'm stuck with "skinny". 
At least it's a new diagnosis.  Usually they just say "Huh, that's weird.  Maybe it's just stress."