Caroline Quinn Can Only Eat Two Foods and One of Them is Baby Formula

SPRING 2019

A large window separated the room of Caroline Quinn ’22 from the central nurses’ station in the ICU of Boston Children’s Hospital. She was under constant surveillance for a series of mysterious, life-threatening allergic reactions. 

“They always have eyes on you in the ICU — it felt like I was in a fishbowl, but in a good way because I knew someone would come running to my bedside if or when I had a reaction,” Quinn remembers. 

It was June and Quinn had been hospitalized on and off for three months due to severe food allergies. Essentially, her body treats most foods as poison and reacts by going into anaphylactic shock, a massive allergic reaction that, in severe cases, can lead to respiratory failure and death. 

“When my throat starts closing up and I struggle to breathe, it’s honestly the most terrifying feeling ever,” she says. 

After her fifth anaphylactic reaction in nine months, Quinn was distraught. Two years earlier, during her first year at Holy Cross, she had been diagnosed with mast cell activation syndrome (MCAS), a condition that, in Quinn’s case, had made her deathly allergic to all food — except oatmeal: 

“I was having allergic reactions to everything I was eating and going into some degree of anaphylaxis — tightening throat, extremely itchy mouth and throat, wheezing, feeling like I was suffocating, blood pressure dropping, oxygen saturation dropping, the list goes on.” 

But oatmeal alone does not provide the nutrients a body needs to live. Quinn’s doctors had been “trialing” different foods. For people with severe food allergies, trialing is a process by which they are introduced to tiny amounts of food to see which cause reactions. Worst-case scenario is that the food causes the body to go into anaphylaxis; essentially, the body’s immune response goes into overdrive. Anaphylaxis can manifest as hives or rashes, dangerous slowing of the heartbeat, or trouble breathing. It is fatal for 500 to 1,000 people a year. 

Quinn’s doctors told her she couldn’t leave the hospital unless she added other foods to her diet. One doctor suggested hypoallergenic baby formula, arguing that it could provide the nutrition she desperately needed. 

“My dad thought it was a Hail Mary, but my mom was hopeful. I was extremely nervous. I was at my wits’ end with allergic reactions, but it was worth a shot,” Quinn says. “I was in the safest environment possible to trial this formula, and if it went well, I could go home.” 

And get her life back. A star student and a Division I rower, Quinn was a gregarious extrovert whose college career had largely derailed. In 2017, during the first few months of her fall semester at Holy Cross, she’d had three serious allergic reactions. She had to stop rowing. She hadn’t had time to form many new friendships. She struggled to keep up with classes — often from her hospital bed.

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Above, Quinn with her crew teammates, and, bottom, right, with mom Julie (Thompson) Quinn ’86. Quinn was named to the Patriot League Academic Honor Roll for three consecutive years.

Quinn felt cut off from the world and held hostage by fear: “All I had the capacity for was trying to breathe.” 

On the day of the food trial, Quinn’s mother, Julie (Thompson) Quinn ’86, was exhausted; she had been keeping a 24-hour watch on her daughter for days. “I knew my mom was terrified for me, but she didn’t show it. She was and always has been a supermom,” Quinn says. “She kept her mind sharp, so she could advocate for me when I was symptomatic or asleep.” 

“My husband and I were thoroughly exhausted and depressed as a result of the downward spiral of Caroline’s health and the worsening reactions. Caroline was losing weight rapidly, and we were losing faith just as quickly,” Julie Quinn says. “I remember the room was cold; I was always cold in there. Maybe we were just shivering out of fear, but it was a chilly and tense environment.” 

Quinn’s weight was dangerously low, just 105 pounds, unhealthy for a woman of 5'8''. Doctors had begun discussing a feeding tube. “I knew that a feeding tube wouldn’t be the end of the world, but it would have a huge impact on my day-to-day life,” Quinn says. “Risk of infection would skyrocket; I’d be reliant on so many medical supplies. It would require a lot of time and energy to manage.” 

Quinn’s two lead doctors entered with the baby formula, followed by at least a dozen doctors, fellows, residents, interns and nurses, Julie Quinn says: “They were at full attention. My husband and I were terrified that this would go badly, but we had to be brave for Caroline. Her nerves alone would send her into a rush of hives, so we tried to stay calm.” 

This particular baby formula, Elecare, is made up of amino acids, as opposed to proteins, so the theory was that there would be nothing for Quinn’s body to break down and react to. Elecare is a powder that must be mixed with water. A nurse scooped a small amount of the powder into a plastic cup, added water and stirred. 

“I felt like I was having a heart attack,” Julie Quinn recalls. “Honestly, it was terrifying. I felt like I was holding my breath forever. I was on the verge of tears. The stress and tension in the room was off the charts.” 

“I was told to take a very small sip. I took a deep breath, and reminded myself that these nurses and doctors weren’t going to let me die,” Quinn recalls. “The formula tasted like milk mixed with pool water, but I didn’t care. I was preoccupied with my body, mentally scanning every part of myself: Was my mouth itchy? Was my throat tight? Was my oxygen saturation dropping?” 

No. 

“Everyone in my hospital room — my parents, the nurses, the doctors and the social worker — were holding their breath,” she remembers. “The nurses and doctors kept a close eye on my vitals, and I sensed relief in their expressions.” 

“Nothing happened,” Julie Quinn says. “Nothing bad happened. Still, we were all afraid to feel relief. Everyone in the room just watched silently. It felt like the longest few minutes, but slowly, I started asking the doctors if it seemed OK. 

“Finally, we exhaled. Then spoke. Then smiled a tiny bit. Then we slowly realized that it was OK,” she continues. “Then, it was an amazing rush of happy tears, relief and hope! After what she’d been going through for so, so long, they may have actually found a solution for Caroline. Honest to God, it felt like a miracle.” 

After 20 minutes, the doctors began planning. The goal was half a can of powder per day, which would deliver 1,000 calories, 30 grams of protein, 45 grams of fat, and all of the vitamins and minerals Quinn needed to survive. 

And there was a vanilla version — “music to my ears,” Quinn says. She went home with an Elecare prescription, a dozen cans of formula and hope. 

“Flash forward 6 years and the formula is still my lifeline,” Quinn adds. She is grateful, but not content. She wants the life of an average 26-year-old woman: a fulfilling career, a full social life, a boyfriend — and a cure. 

She’s getting there.

MARCH 2002 

To understand Quinn’s present, we must revisit her past. Quinn’s first anaphylactic reaction happened when she was 2 years old. Julie Quinn had given Quinn’s older brother a peanut butter and jelly sandwich; Quinn took a bite and her lip swelled. Her pediatrician advised Julie Quinn to get an EpiPen, a fast-acting, auto-injectable that contains epinephrine, a medication used in instances of life-threatening allergic reactions. A few weeks after that first reaction, a relative watching Quinn gave her crackers with trace amounts of peanuts. This time, the reaction was worse. 

“When we returned, Caroline was going into anaphylaxis,” Julie Quinn says. “It was so scary. Her hands, face and feet were swollen. Her breath was a squeak.” 

Doctors told Quinn’s parents there was a chance the reactions might diminish or disappear in time. Some children grow out of childhood food allergies. Julie Quinn made it her mission to keep her daughter safe — and fully engaged in life. She and her mother cleared their houses of allergens. If a snack was needed for Quinn’s religious education class, Julie Quinn provided it. If a classmate was celebrating their birthday with cupcakes for the class, Julie Quinn supplied one for her daughter. She persuaded Quinn’s elementary school to set up an allergen-free lunch table in the cafeteria. Students without allergies could be invited to sit with Quinn if their lunches contained no allergens. 

The Chickering Elementary School allergy table in Dover, Massachusetts, became a lunchroom hot spot. 

“I had kids fighting to be my plus one,” Quinn says, then laughs. “It was a contentious issue.” 

“I didn’t want Caroline to miss out on things, to be the sick kid,” Julie Quinn says. But, in some ways, Quinn’s childhood was over. Any change in routine required planning and vigilance. Travel entailed carrying EpiPens and Wet Wipes and cleaning any surface Quinn might touch. A trip to the grocery store or the gym posed potentially life-threatening dangers. “We became super systematized,” Julie Quinn notes. “We had to be very blunt with Caroline. If it doesn’t come out of your lunchbox, you cannot eat it.” 

When Julie Quinn worked out at the town’s YMCA, she put Quinn in a pinny that read: “I have allergies. Don’t feed me.” When the family went out to dinner, Quinn would give the waitstaff her “business card.” Bright pink, the card listed her name, her allergies, Julie Quinn’s phone number and the directive to call 911 in an emergency.

When the family went to Walt Disney World, Quinn wore gloves on the plane and on the amusement park rides. “People told her she looked like a princess,” Julie Quinn recalls. “She held her head high.” 

The family’s vigilance paid off. For 16 years, Quinn didn’t experience a single allergic reaction. She could eat most foods — apart from peanuts and tree nuts, kiwi, shellfish and seafood, mustard and sesame. A difficult diet, but doable. 

Things changed quickly in her first year at Holy Cross. 

AUGUST 2017 

The first reaction happened in Quinn’s first week on Mount St. James. She’d been invited to attend a student-athlete ice cream social. Quinn recognized the ice cream truck and thought it would probably be safe to eat an ice cream sandwich, as she’d had the brand before. 

It bears mentioning that adolescents with life-threatening food allergies are considered at higher risk for anaphylaxis, which is likely due to less hands-on parental supervision. To compound things, Quinn had a high school boyfriend who repeatedly told her that alerting people to her allergies was melodramatic. 

“I was with my entire team, with upperclassmen and I wanted to make a good impression on all these new people. In my head, I heard my ex-boyfriend saying, ‘Don’t be dramatic,’” Quinn says. “I saw the ice cream truck and was like, OK, I know I can have this thing. I can just go up and order what I’d had in the past. 

“I took one bite and got a head rush and a feeling of flushing. I turned to my friend and said, ‘Oh, my gosh, I think I’m having an anaphylactic reaction.’ I ended up in the hospital,” Quinn says. “It was probably cross-contamination. I kick myself every single day of my life for that.” 

A second anaphylactic reaction happened a week later: “I’d just eaten dinner, pizza from Domino’s, and I started feeling itchy and dizzy. I told my roommates, who told my RA. They called an ambulance.” 

A few days after the pizza incident, Quinn had another reaction, this time to Cheez-It crackers. She had considered both the crackers and the pizza safe, as she had eaten both countless times before with no reaction. She spent two weeks in the ICU at Boston Children’s Hospital. Quinn commuted to Holy Cross for the remainder of the school year. 

“It was really hard watching everyone else making new friends, partying, et cetera, while I felt like I was just trying to stay alive,” Quinn says. 

Her allergist was the first to suspect MCAS, a hyperactive immune disorder that manifests as severe reactions without clear triggers. A specialist confirmed the allergist’s suspicions in spring 2018. “When we got the diagnosis, we were both so happy we cried,” Julie Quinn says. “Finally, there was a name for it.” 

“It was really emotional getting the diagnosis,” Quinn recalls. “I was relieved to have answers, but also shattered that it was a chronic condition with no cure.” 

According to the National Institutes of Health, there are a staggering array of symptoms associated with MCAS, including rashes, shortness of breath, memory issues, weakness, fainting, belly pain and anaphylaxis. Symptoms can vary by person. 

“For me, it’s anaphylaxis or allergy symptoms in my cardiovascular and respiratory systems,” Quinn says. She describes the feeling of anaphylaxis as “air thirst,” a combination of wheezing, tightness, hives and a closing throat. Medications helped with Quinn’s symptoms, and her body was able to tolerate whole foods, such as fruit, again. Over time, she began adding back breads and other processed foods. Quinn returned to Holy Cross in fall 2018. 

“From September 2017 to April 2018, I had gone through this cycle of getting sick, being confused, getting answers, getting a diagnosis, expanding my diet, getting my life back and going back to normalcy, to the extent that I was even able to eat out at restaurants again,” Quinn recalls. 

It was a short-lived victory. In April 2019, Quinn and a classmate flew to St. Croix for Easter weekend. Quinn took all precautions. She’d brought all of her medications, including EpiPens, and her “safe” foods, those her body tolerated. 

“We got to St. Croix and went out to dinner. I ordered the safest thing on the menu: a salad made up of single-ingredient whole foods and no salad dressing. I took two bites and immediately started going into anaphylaxis. It was so scary. Anaphylaxis itself is scary, but it’s so much scarier to be in a super faraway place where I didn’t know what the hospital system looked like — and it took forever for the ambulance to come. By the time I was in the ER, I was stable. They had me on IVs and everything, but I was crying and said to my friend, ‘I just got my life back. I can’t believe this is happening again; I can’t do this.’” 

Quinn returned home, but the allergic reactions continued until the introduction of the baby formula. It proved transformational. Quinn gained weight and regained strength. In September 2021, she returned for her senior year at Holy Cross. 

“I was back on campus. I was strong enough to socialize, to go to concerts, take classes and get back on the water for rowing,” Quinn says. “I was still on oats and formula, but I did well.” 

Really well. The international studies major and art history minor completed a certificate in business fundamentals, co-chaired the College’s Women in Business Club, interned with PepsiCo and graduated magna cum laude the following May. 

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Clockwise from top: Tabling for the Holy Cross Women in Business program in fall 2021 with Christina Casey ’22; celebrating commencement with mother, Julie, and father, Christopher Quinn, M.D.

Quinn’s health challenges put her in frequent contact with Francisco Gago-Jover, professor of Spanish and dean of the class of 2021, known as “Dean Paco” around campus. In that time, the two had some hard conversations. Quinn’s medical absences added up and made it impossible for her to graduate with her class. 

“It’s not easy to have a conversation with a student where you tell them the goals they had, the dreams they had about graduating with their class, cannot happen,” Gago-Jover says. “For some students, they start wondering if Holy Cross is the right place for them; if they’re not graduating with their class, what’s the point? 

“With Caroline, though, the goal was always to come back to Holy Cross as soon as possible,” Gago-Jover continues. “And she did everything in her power. Caroline is mature, resilient, thoughtful and reflective. She never used her condition as a crutch. I think that this experience will have ripple effects in the way Caroline conducts herself in her professional life. She will have a better understanding of the difficulties people have in life.” 

“I’ve learned I’m more resilient than I ever thought,” Quinn says. “We each get one body and mind to live in, so even when I’ve felt like I’m at war with my body, I’ve made sure to find things to be grateful for. Things don’t always happen for a reason, but I’ve learned that you can find reasons to make the most of what has happened.” 

OCTOBER 2024 

If you want to meet Quinn in person indoors, there are rules. On the day of your meeting, you cannot eat any foods to which she has an airborne allergy, as she could react to your breath. Pet owners must shower, wear clean clothes and lint roll themselves before entering her house. Quinn has had reactions to pets in homes where the family pet died years earlier. 

If you want to date Quinn, there are other rules. “If anyone wants to kiss me, I have to vet them and ask them what they’ve eaten in the last 24 hours,” she notes. 

Ryan Gonzales met the challenge. The pair sits on a couch in Quinn’s parents’ living room and talk over Zoom about how they first met. To see them together recalls those real-life couple stories threaded through the movie “When Harry Met Sally.” 

The two met on the ferry from Nantucket to Hyannis. Quinn and her mother were taking the ferry back from their summer home. Gonzales and a few high school friends were celebrating a sailing race. 

“We were still riding the highs from the trip,” Gonzales recalls. “We were all wearing our matching crewneck shirts and hanging out on the back of the ferry, just taking it all in and having a good time. And then Caroline and her mother popped out in front of us. I noticed her right away, but I just stayed cool in the back with my friends.” 

“I’d noticed that there was a group of guys about my age on the ferry, and they were noticeable with the matching shirts,” Quinn says. “I didn’t know if I was up to talking; we’d had a very social weekend, and a moment before I’d been basking in the sun with my headphones on and my eyes closed. I don’t know if I would’ve chatted with you if it wasn’t for my mom,” Quinn says to Gonzales. 

Julie Quinn was feeling social, though. She began chatting with one of Gonzales’ friends, Harry, who’d broken off from the group to talk to the two women. Gonzales introduced himself to mother and daughter. Soon after, Julie Quinn exited the conversation. 

The Quinns, Gonzales and Harry were the last to disembark. 

“The conversation was going really well,” Gonzales says. “Caroline dropped little hints that she wanted to see us again. I was too scared to say anything in the moment. Then we said our goodbyes, and she walked away.” 

“I looked at my friend, Harry, and was, like, ‘Man, she is beautiful. I should’ve asked for her number.’” 

“Then what are you doing?” Harry asked. 

Gonzales grinned and ran after her. 

“I heard you say, ‘Caroline,’ and I turned around and I was, like, ‘Yes?’” Quinn says, drawing out the word in the way people do when they’re intrigued. 

“I’d love to go out with you sometime,” Gonzales replied. 

“We were getting off the ferry, and my job was to get the bags we checked and I was so busy giving you my number — and you were so busy complimenting me on my freckles — that I completely forgot our bags,” Quinn says. “You had gotten me so completely flustered. It was a pleasant surprise.” 

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With boyfriend Ryan Gonzales. “If anyone wants to kiss me, I have to vet them and ask them what they’ve eaten in the last 24 hours,” she notes. “It says a lot about Ryan that my unique circumstances didn't scare him away."

Gonzales’ next move was to do a bit of “quick research.” He found out Quinn had been a rower at Holy Cross. Then he found her Instagram profile. “And I was, like, ‘Wait, this girl can eat only two foods. That’s kind of crazy.’ But I was, like, ‘OK, she’s awesome. Let’s go find out more.’” 

As it turns out, Gonzales works with two Holy Cross graduates at Bank of America. He asked his co-workers if they knew Quinn. One did; his sister rowed crew with her. The co-worker noted that Quinn was TikTok famous. “I kept getting more and more information from them, and I thought, ‘OK, she’s the real deal,’” Gonzales says. 

“I looked him up, too,” Quinn says. “That’s just kind of what you do at this point. Everybody has a presence. We went on our first date four days later.” 

On their first date, in late May 2024, Quinn gave him a full “debriefing,” Gonzales says. Quinn smiles and corrects him: It was the second date. 

“I literally monologued my entire life,” Quinn says. “I think I was talking straight for 30 or 40 minutes about seven years of getting sick, being sick, having reactions and being a very, very sick version of myself. And he just sat through it, listening to the whole thing, completely engaged in every word that I was saying. 

“By the end of the date, he said, ‘I should tell you, I have seen your TikTok’ and I’m, like, ‘Wait, one of my most viewed videos is me giving that same monologue of my entire seven-year story. And you just sat through it again?’” 

Quinn smiles as widely as her face permits: “He said, ‘I’d sit through it a million times.’” Her tone shifts; she grows serious. Romance is a risk for anyone, but it’s different for a person with a chronic illness. 

“It says a lot about Ryan that my unique circumstances didn’t scare him away,” she notes. “With chronic illness, you can’t just get therapy and become healthy. No matter how much I work on this, I still might always have it. So it’s scary to think about having somebody else take that on — especially a romantic partner. Somebody you choose.” 

Your family and friends, Quinn says, are kind of stuck with you, and they had the benefit of knowing and loving you before the illness. 

“To meet somebody and to know they know what they’re signing up for and that they’re all in?” Quinn shakes her head at Gonzales, as if in lingering disbelief. “It was the first time I’d experienced anything like that.” 

JANUARY 2025 

Ask Quinn about her plans for the future and her answer is sobering. 

“I have hope for a long and full life,” she says. 

It has been five years since Quinn’s last hospitalization, and she works hard to stay healthy. Even with her nutritional needs met, Quinn’s life is still challenging. In addition to MCAS, Quinn has allergies to cats, dogs, dust, mold and pollen. She also has dysautonomia — small fiber neuropathy that causes her blood to pool in her feet if she stands for too long. Quinn starts her day with 10 pills, one a medication to prep her stomach for oats. A steady diet of oats is not good for the digestive system, she notes. The afternoon brings another “handful” of pills and meditation or yoga, vagus nerve stimulation and low-impact exercise, such as Pilates or walking. 

Quinn is trialing lamb, as her doctors want to add animal protein to her diet. Trialing is a slow and often frustrating process. Not too long ago, Quinn trialed broccoli and chicken — both caused near-immediate reactions. Quinn has learned she can tolerate salt, a win, as it livens her diet up a bit. With salt, she can make oat crackers. 

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Left, a 12-year-old Quinn at Thanksgiving. Quinn uses her social media platforms on TikTok and Instagram to spread awareness about her condition, as well as share how she stores and prepares her two-ingredient meals.

Now 26, Quinn is a recruiter for KA Recruiting, a company (founded by fellow Crusader Alisha Dynan ’03) that places health care professionals in hospitals, labs and other medical facilities. She works remotely. Quinn imagines herself in health care for the long haul, placing nurses and doctors into roles that help patients like herself. She has already developed a following among these communities, though. Quinn really is TikTok famous, a bona fide influencer with 198,000 followers (and another 7,500 on Instagram). People Magazine and The New York Post have published articles about her. She also signed with Sparkle, a social media and production agency. She’s signed four brand deals since December 2024. 

Should you follow Quinn on TikTok or Instagram, you’ll often find her bustling around her family’s kitchen, sharing with her followers how she stores and prepares her food. Arguably, no chef knows more about the two-ingredient recipe than Caroline Quinn. After a follower on TikTok suggested she try making granola, Quinn embraced experimentation, making ice cream, smoothies, crackers, cookies, waffles and pancakes out of her baby formula and oats. Nothing alters the taste of her creations, but Quinn delights in exploring what new forms her food might take. And while her cold waffles might not look all that enticing, they travel well, making it possible for Quinn to attend weddings and eat in restaurants. 

She no longer listens to that voice in her head that tells her she’s melodramatic. She’s posted reels of herself at events explaining her situation in detail to wedding guests and waitstaff. Quinn says she’s committed to raising awareness around food allergies and MCAS and exhorts her followers to advocate for themselves.

Now in possession of a promising career, a full social life and a loving boyfriend, Quinn is grateful — but still not content. She has a new ambition: to travel. She’s in the process of outfitting the 2020 Ford Transit she purchased last year with a bed, kitchenette and shower. Quinn and Gonzales are planning a trip to Oregon to see his parents. And she’d like to visit her older brother in California. Quinn calls the van her “safe bubble” — and her passport. 

“I haven’t flown in a plane since 2019. If I go to a hotel, it’s a 50-50 shot I’ll have an allergic reaction to something,” Quinn says. “I’ve been in Massachusetts for a lot of my life and I love it, but I don’t want to be here forever. I started researching van life last year and it got me excited about life in a way I hadn’t been before. 

“Instead of just trying to heal so that I can start my life, I’m going to try to come to terms with the fact that it’s going to take me a while to get to that place where I can be footloose and fancy-free,” she says. “In the meantime, I can actually live.”