Nine minutes was all it took the gastroenterologist to confirm (via endoscopy) my diagnosis of coeliac disease. My GP had earlier told us he would eat his hat if I wasn't a coeliac, and fortunately for him, my scrawny 15-year-old body, sky-rocketing antibody levels and lack of villi removed any doubt.

Oh no! What am I going to eat? Overnight, our family kitchen was overhauled into a gluten-free regime. Smiley face stickers were added to all ‘safe’ consumables. A second toaster was acquired. On top of it all, weekly shopping trips took three times longer (deciphering labels) and became twice as expensive.

Generational Trauma. None of my grandparents seemed to understand that my new diet was absolute. “Madi, surely you can just have a little bit?” they would ask. They maintained this was a modern problem that didn’t exist when they were young. Nana tried her best to adapt, but her meals couldn't be trusted…

Learning to live with it. Now, nearly ten years on, I've been able to explain my autoimmune condition and what it means to people I meet, refining my explanation to include villi-visuals with my fingers.

Ugly upsets. A skill I've been forced to develop is learning to gauge the gluten-free-ness of a restaurant based on the expression on the wait staff's face when I say the words “coeliac disease”. I've learnt the hard way that if it tastes too good to be true, it generally is…

Tim Tams. Thank you, Arnotts for your service to the gluten-free community! It warms my heart to see my co-workers now happily eating the GF Tim Tams that my work provides each Friday at our weekly Bananagrams games. They all claim (and I believe them) that they taste exactly the same as the real deal.

Everything - that's how my mum describes coeliac disease. Everything I consume has to be checked. It's often one of the first things people learn about me, and while it hasn't stopped me from flatting or travelling around the world, gluten is always on my mind.

Nothing - also how my mum describes coeliac disease. I can walk. I can run. I can work. I can sing and play guitar. I can travel and go out. And I'm so grateful to have grown up in a family and community that, over time, have helped me forget I have a disease - a new normal - almost like nothing at all.

Article provided by Madi Millar.