Wanted: Defense System

Family gatherings are an emotional gauntlet that I need industrial strength protective padding for. I had managed through the years to forge a few emotional shields for the the usual attacks:
"Your cousin is so beautiful she was mistaken for Gisele Bunchen." -"Not Bar Rafaeli?"
"Guess who got a promotion after only working there two months?" -"She's not dating her boss again?"
And the ever classic, "Guess who's having another baby?" -"She really should switch to the pill."
(Despite the national statistics I never hear about anyone getting fired, divorced or defaulting on their mortgage.)
Now though, I need a padded body suit to make it through a toddler's birthday. I was prepared for the baby status question (not yet, thanks), prepared for the house buying question (not yet either, thanks), even prepared to hear about every one's more successful career (yes, still writing, thanks), but I wasn't ready for the gluten question. Or rather the gluten questions.
I'm all for education and I'm all for polite or concerned questions but I haven't quite tweaked the responses for the following:
"Well, maybe you'll lose some weight now."
"Never, ever again? Like forever? What about if you found out you were already dying, could you eat pizza then?"
My favorite is, "What do you think was the traumatic event that triggered it?" If only I could have said it was a family function...
I'm hopeful that, like the others, I will find a good comeback in time, but what I don't think I'll ever be able to accept is how those conversations always lead to death. Because whenever you talk about someone's illness, it always leads to someone else's who is not there and who will likely not be there again. Celiac Disease isn't comparable to getting a tooth pulled or even a bone broken. It's a worse category. The Disease category. And unlike my ability to avoid all things bready (and yummy), most things in this category don't have a 'behave and be fine' get out of jail free card. So every conversation I have is somehow turned into the 'it all leads to death category.' It's worse than a groom and his friends the night before the wedding.
Every aunt and cousin over twenty had something morbid to say and would often leave my company as if I was the one that brought it up, when all I did was nod and give a sympathetic smile. Even my own mother, who is never short on things to critique me on, was quick to add to a group conversation the health status of a relative undergoing a rather intense treatment.
As she fanned the flames of an overly depressive evening I caught her gauging my reaction and I couldn't help but wonder, is this all a massive plan to make me so desperate to change the conversations that I'll get pregnant?
She did send my nephew over to me shortly after...