In Sickness, Health, and Solidarity

My husband and I have been married for almost four years now. I've been gluten-free for just over one. Last year we lived in two different states (long story, that one), but now that we're back together, we faced a dilemma.

What to do about gluten?

I am gluten-intolerant; he is not. He's one of those people who is tall and thin and utterly healthy whether he eats giant cheesy burritos and Pepsi every day or a plate of veggies and water. If I didn't love him so much, I'd kinda hate him.

Yet he's witnessed (more times than he'd like, I'm sure) first hand how sick I get when there's gluten around. We're talking a crumb, and I'm out of commission for a day.

So once we moved back in together like normal married people, he thought about our food issues for about a minute, and then said:

"I guess I should just go gluten-free, too, huh?"

I love this man.

He still eats gluten when he's out and about grabbing lunch or dinner with friends, and when he's desperate for a piece of pizza he knows he can hunt some down and just be extra-careful. But he also knows that once he's had some gluten, a kiss from me is probably out of the question (yeah, I've gotten sick from that before... told you I'm sensitive!), and he doesn't want gluten to stand in the way of the spontaneity of physical affection.

Also, it's simpler.

Of course, this isn't the only solution to living with someone who's gluten-intolerant. There are several methods.

There's the what's-mine-is-ours and what's-yours-is-yours method, where the gf-er has a set of food and the rest of the household eats "normally."

There's the separate kitchens approach, as some dual-use bakeries use. 

There's the "let's-be-super-careful-because-we-have-a-gf-houseguest" method. My parents have gotten so adept at this that I even have my own labeled toaster.

I'm impressed at all the ways gf-ers manage their food safety, but I'm especially impressed by the lengths those we love will go to keep us healthy and safe. A couple of weeks ago my friend Megan (hi!) cooked us dinner, and walked me through all the steps she'd taken to protect the food.

"I cleaned the cutting board!" she proclaimed, proudly.

"Great!" I said.

"Twice!" she said.

"Wow!" I said.

"With bleach!" We both erupted into laughter. That's friendship!

Every time my husband leans over to kiss me, every time a friend is brave enough to invite me over for a meal, every time I get an article in the mail from a loved one about new steps in celiac diagnosis, I am thankful.

But today I'm especially thankful for a husband who vowed, before Jesus and our community, to love me "in sickness and in health," not knowing that there was some fine print there that also read "and largely without gluten, and always being patient while she has a little meltdown because her homemade gf ravioli/baguette/pumpkin bread was a disaster."

Now that's love.