“Secret Gluten Missions” by Olivia Hudgens, 17
I was nine when I got into the backseat of the car after school one day and my mom said “Oonagh is going through a really hard time right now. You need to be accommodating and kind.” Oonagh is my little sister. I am not sure why this is the moment that is burned into my brain like a branding, but it is the moment that everything started to change, slow at first, and then all at once. I knew my little sister cried all of the time, but no one knew why, and it would be six months of crying before anyone knew how to treat her pain.
After months of never-ending doctor’s appointments, Oonagh was finally diagnosed with Celiac Disease, a serious autoimmune disorder most common in women of Irish descent. It’s triggered by eating gluten, which is a protein found in wheat, barley, and rye, and even the smallest crumb can cause damage. For people like my sister, even a crumb can cause internal damage, intestinal cancer, migraines, and skin conditions. There are hundreds of symptoms linked to Celiac, it is difficult to keep track of them all. There’s no cure. There’s no “cheat day.” There’s just strict avoidance, FOREVER. Her diagnosis was like a thunderclap that introduces a long summer rain and with that thunder our home began to change.
On day one my mother tore our kitchen apart. The fridge was emptied, the cabinets emptied, and everything was wiped down with what smelled like bleach. Did you know that flour is airborne, and even trace amounts could make my sister sick? So our toaster was replaced. Our dishes too. Everything had to go. I felt this deep sadness seeing my favorite snacks tossed in the trash. Especially pretzel Goldfish, and my plastic Goldfish-shaped snack container. I know it sounds silly now, but I grieved that container. It felt like I was losing my favorite things, one handful of crackers at a time.
Oonagh had more doctors appointments and three times a week occupational therapy for low muscle tone and related sensory challenges. I sat in waiting areas for hours, bored or jealous. Remember, I was only nine years old when Oonagh got to zoom into a ball pit in occupational therapy, while I sat bouncing on a consolation yoga ball, or was reading quietly. I was a kid watching another kid get all the attention, attention she needed, but that I still resented. I didn’t understand how much our lives would continue to change.
“Alternatives” began to arrive. New cereals, new snacks, different breads that tried to be normal but weren’t. Nothing tasted right. Our family cycled through every diet trend. We tried Keto, Paleo, grain-free, dairy-free, egg-free looking for something that worked. It didn’t feel like we had meals anymore. We had experiments.
Holidays changed. There are so many traditions that revolve around food, and I felt great loss that there would be no more Yule Log, or bread stuffing, or cinnamon rolls on Christmas morning. One Halloween, Oonagh accidentally ate a mini-Twix and got an instant migraine. From then on, we traded candy more carefully. I started to read every label. I learned to inspect kitchen counters and to ask waitstaff at restaurants how food was prepared. I became a nine-year-old on high alert, not for myself, but for her. Once, I made a Nutella sandwich and forgot to use a clean knife, and I “glutened” the entire Nutella jar, her favorite. I felt awful. After that, we created a system: two condiments, always labeled, and strictly separate. Our home was filled with food rules and protocols.
I was not always graceful. Sometimes, Oonagh would get a gluten-free version of a snack, and I wasn’t allowed to eat it because it was expensive or special. Places that held my favorite memories changed. Our beloved lake served ice cream, but once Oonagh was diagnosed the only kind I was allowed was whatever one she could have. Even the novelty of summer ice cream at my favorite swimming spot had been impacted. I understood, but it still didn’t feel good. That’s the part people do not always see when someone in the family has a chronic illness, it doesn’t just change their life. It changes everyone’s life.
And yet, over time, our family recalibrated. I stopped being jealous. Oonagh stopped crying as much. Our house felt more peaceful. It was like we had reached a breaking point, and then things slowly got better. We found a rhythm. And I started to grow into the version of myself that I could handle this and I began to feel proud that I knew how to keep my sister safe.
I became more observant. I started noticing things that other people missed, like a shared knife in a restaurant or a bakery that used gluten free flour but stored their cookies next to wheat ones. I learned how to advocate for someone else’s needs without drawing attention or making it awkward. I also learned how to sacrifice, and what it means to show love in small, daily choices like giving up snacks, double-checking packaging, and learning how to bake with the gluten free flour.
Our family’s swift acceptance of a new restrictive diet taught me how to make room for other people’s needs and vulnerabilities. I learned that it's not that hard to prioritize someone else's safety if you pay attention. These skills started in our kitchen, but they expanded into how I show up at school, in sports, and for my own students. I know how to make people feel safe. That started with making Oonagh safe.
I now make sure to make room for the quietest kids at school. When new students join clubs, I make sure they are included. Even this summer, I was able to help one of my friends through a really challenging time, because I knew that sometimes showing up and validating their feelings was all a person needed. It was like ordering the only gluten free ice cream even if it is not your favorite. I now do these things, because I know it is the most helpful and kind way to show up in the world.
My story is not all doom and gloom. In addition to my sister being strong and healthy, secret gluten missions now provide the most ordinary joy and moments of bonding with my parents. There is nothing like being excited for a secret pumpernickel bagel or sneaking off with my dad for fresh pasta. When my mom drives me to school we will sometimes stop for a donut. Ironically, the loss of gluten, and caring for my sister helped me to appreciate the small things, and small moments, even more. Our secret gluten missions continue to be small restorations of what is lost.
Still, I grieve for certain foods. That sounds dramatic, but it’s true. I miss baking freely. Even now, eight years later, I can make an incredible gluten-free pretzel. But I still miss the old ones. I miss the way our kitchen used to smell. I miss not thinking about every ingredient. I miss not being afraid that someday I might have
Celiac Disease too, because it is a genetic condition.
Although this journey with my sister’s auto immune disease has helped shape me into a person I am really proud of. I’ve become someone who pays attention to the people around me, someone who sees what others need and tries to meet them there. I’ve become someone who understands that support isn’t a one-time gesture. It is a quiet, continuous effort. And I’ve become someone who knows that family is made of daily decisions, big and small, to protect and care for each other.
Even if it means saying goodbye to pretzel Goldfish and the perfect Goldfish container.