Some people just eat the cake.
It sounds like an incredibly ordinary sentence.
Because it is.
For most people.
They go to a birthday party. Someone cuts the cake. They take a piece.
No ingredient questions.
No wondering where it came from.
No checking whether the knife touched something else.
No quiet calculation about whether eating it is worth the risk.
They just eat the cake.
And every once in a while, living with celiac disease means noticing how remarkable ordinary can look.
Some people just order from the menu
Some people decide they want to go out to dinner and simply go.
They look at the menu when they arrive.
Maybe they choose between the chicken and the pasta based on what sounds good.
That is the entire decision.
For someone with celiac disease, dinner can start hours—or days—before sitting down at the table.
You look at the menu online.
You search reviews.
You try to figure out whether the restaurant understands gluten-free food or simply has a little GF symbol printed next to a few dishes.
You ask questions.
Sometimes a lot of questions.
You listen carefully to the answers because the answers matter.
And then you make the best decision you can with the information you have.
Some people just order dinner.
Some people only look at the price tag
There are people walking through grocery stores right now who pick up a package, look at the price, decide whether it is worth buying, and put it in the cart.
Imagine that.
For people with celiac disease, grocery shopping often includes another entire layer of information.
Ingredients.
Allergen statements.
Gluten-free claims.
Changes in packaging.
Changes in formulations.
Occasionally, standing in the middle of aisle seven and staring at a label you have purchased 47 times before, you feel uncertain.
Moreover, this doubt reflects living with celiac disease.
Some people only look at the price.
Some people share the pitcher
A pitcher of beer arrives at the table.
Everyone grabs a glass.
Someone pours.
Nobody gives it another thought.
The point isn’t really the beer.
It is the ease of participating without needing a separate plan.
However, living with celiac disease can insert itself into tiny social rituals.
As a result, you suddenly cannot participate in them the same way.
Sometimes you find an alternative.
Sometimes you bring your own.
Sometimes you decide it doesn’t matter.
And sometimes, for just a second, you notice.
Some people leave home without snacks
This one still amazes me.
There are apparently adults roaming freely through the world without emergency food.
No granola bar in the purse.
No crackers in the backpack.
Nothing stashed in the glove compartment.
No slightly battered snack that has been traveling around for six months waiting for the day when the only available lunch option is absolutely nothing.
They simply assume that if they get hungry, food will exist.
Bold.
For many people with celiac disease, having something safe available becomes second nature.
You don’t necessarily think of it as a burden every time.
You just pack the snack.
I used to be some people
That’s the strange part.
I remember being some people.
I remember eating without researching.
Ordering without explaining.
Going somewhere without considering whether there would be anything I could eat.
Celiac disease added a thousand tiny questions to something humans do several times every single day.
Eventually, many of those questions become routine.
You learn.
You adapt.
You become very good at scanning a room, a menu or a food label and figuring out what you need to know.
Most days, I barely notice how much thinking is involved anymore.
It is simply how I live.
Until someone eats the cake
Then there are moments that make the difference visible again.
A birthday.
A wedding.
Someone hands out plates.
Everyone reaches for a slice.
And nobody thinks about it.
They don’t need to.
That isn’t a tragedy.
I am still at the birthday.
I still sing Happy Birthday.
I still celebrate the person I came to celebrate.
Celiac disease doesn’t get to take all of that from me.
But every once in a while, I notice the ease with which someone else does something I once did without thinking.
Some people just eat the cake.
And sometimes that is enough to remind me how many tiny things changed when I became someone with celiac disease.
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