Challenges as a Crohn's Warrior in Malaysia

In Malaysia, Crohn’s disease is also known as “Western Disease” or “Rich People Disease.” The reason behind this is mainly because Crohn’s is a rare disease in Asia,  particularly in Malaysia, as compared to Western countries. Many in Malaysia have never heard of this disease. Therefore, they are not aware of the Crohn’s and colitis patients’ struggles with their pain, medical procedures and psychological issues. 

At the beginning stage, I had no one to guide me. I had no idea on how to handle my newly diagnosed disease. With no medical background, no one in the family or friends with similar conditions, I struggled to cope with this disease and my normal life. Can you imagine the struggles I faced as a first year university student with my condition? I was  alone and I didn’t even understand what was going on and my normal was no longer a  normal. The internet was my only resource for information other than my doctor. By reading  everything I could find in the internet, I slowly started to understand this disease. Back then,  there wasn’t even a support group for Crohn’s in Malaysia as the disease is relatively unknown to Malaysians. In fact, I didn’t even known about any other Crohn’s patients until I  met one almost a year later after my diagnosis. My gastro doctors encouraged me and other patients to start a group so we could create a support system to each other. Now,  newly diagnosed Crohn’s patients or caregivers in Malaysia have access to few channels  that they could use to discuss, ask, guide and support each other going through this painful disease. 

Living with chronic disease, I had to adjust and adopt to new diet and lifestyle.  Changes in diet were mostly trial and error in the beginning. I had to monitor my  consumption and take note of any changes. Why did I have to monitor those changes? It is simply because I wanted to avoid flare ups that were caused by certain food that I consume.  For me, I found that my Crohn’s is mostly under control when I avoid foods that contain eggs. So I have to ensure my daily food consumption is egg free. If I didn’t, I’d have to visit toilet frequently the whole day. Precaution is needed for Crohn’s patients because flare ups can happen in any situations, therefore any heads up is a good one to have. 

Apart from my diet, I had made some massive changes to my daily activities too. Since I’m an Ostomate, I have to ensure that I don’t partake often in hardcore sports in order to avoid stoma prolapse. 

The understanding and acceptance of IBD in society is still a challenge for me. Most of them, as  I mentioned above, do not know about Crohn’s disease. I remember one of my friends asking me “Sara, is your disease infectious?”. At that time, I just laughed and say “No, it  doesn’t”. The lack of awareness, although understandable, is a huge disappointment when  someone I confided in is not taking any initiative to understand it.

Stress is another thing that I started to consciously manage. What is the connection  between Crohn’s and stress? Well, stress generally affects a person emotionally and mentally as it damages a person’s emotional equilibrium. But it also affects the person’s health. Even a person without chronic disease can feel their health being affected by high stress levels. So, anyone with chronic health issues, such as IBD patients, have higher  chances of having a relapse and flare when they are stressed. It is imperative that I  recognize my stress inducers, my stress level, my tolerance level and ways to reduce stress  so that I do not have chronic flare ups. Although it is impossible to live stress free all the time, I  believe that I should try to manage stressful situations to the best of my abilities.

Navigating relationship with Crohn’s is complicated and challenging. Crohn’s has created ups and downs in my relationships with my family, friends and loved ones. In the beginning it was really hard to explain to them my condition. They did not understand the condition or why and how I got this disease in the first place at all. It took a while for my  family to accept my condition and now they are slowly getting used to it. They are a great  support for me at the moment, and my heartfelt thanks. 

Dealing with Crohn’s is tough enough and unfortunately, Crohn’s is not something  that we can ignore or that it will disappear one day. Every single day is a challenge for me because I go through physical and psychological pain. I have to survive, improve my quality of life and live my life as normal as possible; I hope more people will become aware of  Crohn’s disease, of patients’ struggles, and accept their conditions. Be kind even if you don’t see someone’s struggle, their pain or their decreasing health.

How to Start a Food Diary

Dear Diary,

Sometimes when I eat it feels like a herd of angry buffalo have taken up residence in my gut. The rumbling, the pain, and the regret are all too familiar at this point. Maybe I just shouldn’t eat at all. Maybe that would be best. I wish it could just stop…

Okay, I might not be talking about that type of diary, but I’ve had many days in my Crohn’s journey where that could have described me. Like many people with Inflammatory Bowel Disease (IBD), I have a frustrating mix of good days and bad days. It always baffled me how I could feel good one day, but terrible the next. I wanted to know why. This started my journey of paying closer attention to what I eat, and in turn, keeping a food diary.

Why a food diary?

Our environment is everything we come in contact with on a daily basis that isn’t us. The air we breath, the things we touch, and the food we eat all make up our outside environment. If nothing in our environment impacts a disease, it should feel the same every single day. For me, and many others with IBD, this just isn’t true. In this case, we must start looking at our environment as a source of triggers for our disease.

One of the largest parts about how we interact with our outside environment is what we eat. Every day we eat a variety of different foods, from a variety of different places, that have a variety of different health effects. For me, food was an easy place to start to try to figure out some of my disease triggers. I know what I am eating every day, so why not try to see if there is any connection between what I eat, and how I feel. This led me to food journaling, and it has been an invaluable resource in helping me navigate and manage my own disease. It has given me power.

Research also backs up this idea. In one study done in 2016, one group of Crohn's patients was told to exclude either the four food types they had the highest antibodies to, while the other excluded the four food types they had the lowest antibody to. The group that excluded the foods types to which they had the highest antibodies had significantly lower disease activity and significantly higher quality of life.1 We might not have access to antibody testing, but we can certainly try to figure out what foods are worsening our disease and quality of life.

How to write a food journal

There are three main things to consider when writing a food journal: what you eat, the time you eat, and how much you eat. With these three written down, you will be able to better make connections between foods and symptoms. Let's do an example: For breakfast this morning, you ate a bowl of oatmeal with blueberries, some bacon, and a cup of coffee (I know, I know, coffee isn’t exactly known for its stellar track record in collaborating well with IBD, but it's a made up example!) How would that look?

Tracking Symptoms

Symptoms are a little trickier. Say you have some pain in your lower right abdomen, how do you know what meal might have triggered you? Was it the meal you ate 5 minutes ago? 4 hours ago? The day before? For this we need to know a little bit about how long food takes to get to each different part of the intestines, also called the intestinal transit time. In a normal, healthy adult the following is accurate:

But what if you’re flaring? Diarrhea, inflammation, stricturing, and other aspects of a flare can all impact the amount of time it takes for food to get to the finish line. Some studies have been done on intestinal transit time in IBD patients, with most finding that the intestinal transit time is longer in IBD than in normal healthy subjects.2,3,4 In one patient with Crohn's disease, it took 156.2 hours for one meal to pass through. Talk about taking the scenic route! Like many other things with IBD, you are going to have to take an individual approach and problem solve to figure out how to best match symptoms and meals. 

Resources

Tracking food can be done in something as simple as a spiral notebook, but there are also other options available. Here is a list of some apps you could use instead of a physical journal:

• mySymptoms Food Diary & Symptom Tracker (Lite) by SkyGazer Labs LTD

• Food Diary by WeCode Team

• Cara Care by HiDoc Technologies

References

1. Gunasekeera V, Mendall MA, Chan D, Kumar D. Treatment of Crohn’s Disease with an IgG4-Guided Exclusion Diet: A Randomized Controlled Trial. Digestive Diseases and Sciences. 2016/04/01 2016;61(4):1148-1157.

2. Andersen K, Haase A, Agnholt J, et al. P-113 Gastrointestinal Transit Times and Abdominal Pain in Crohn's Disease. Inflammatory Bowel Diseases. 2017;23(suppl_1):S40-S41.

3. Fischer M, Siva S, Wo JM, Fadda HM. Assessment of Small Intestinal Transit Times in Ulcerative Colitis and Crohn's Disease Patients with Different Disease Activity Using Video Capsule Endoscopy. AAPS PharmSciTech. 2017;18(2):404-409. doi:10.1208/s12249-016-0521-3

4. Haase AM, Gregersen T, Christensen LA, et al. Regional gastrointestinal transit times in severe ulcerative colitis. Neurogastroenterology & Motility. 2016;28(2):217-224.

Advocating for the Specialized Care You Need: Reflections on Mount Sinai’s IBD Clinic

Recently, I’ve started receiving care from the Susan and Leonard Feinstein Inflammatory Bowel Disease Clinical Center at Mount Sinai. This was my first time visiting an IBD-specific clinic, ever. Prior to visiting Mount Sinai, I was lucky if there was a gastroenterologist or a colorectal specialist on call at my local hospital. 

On my most recent visit to the IBD Clinic for a post-operation appointment, I thought I’d reflect on what made this center so special, especially during the COVID-19 era. 

Post-surgery for an internal fistula -- feeling better already!

In light of the pandemic, the process for being admitted and seen (at any hospital!) has been streamlined into a tighter and safer protocol. With hand sanitizer stops at nearly every corner, I noticed that Mount Sinai took a heightened level of precaution than any other facility I had been in. Every doctor, nurse, and staff member had a face shield in addition to their masks, with some going as far as to don Bouffant caps.

Beyond the COVID-19 precautions, however, I would like to speak to the deeper and more important differences at this clinic -- the unspoken sense of solidarity between both patients and doctors alike. To have an entire facility devoted to this condition, a chronic illness shared by millions of Americans nationwide, means that there is a lack of cause to explain yourself. Everyone in the room is deeply familiar with the forms of IBD, along with all the embarrassing and critical details that few others are willing to talk about in their entirety. 

The waiting room at the Mount Sinai IBD Center is all socially distanced!

This plaque, hung on the entryway of the floorwide clinic, is perhaps one of my favorite parts of the IBD Center. It’s a reminder of how fortunate we are, as young adults with IBD, to be treated in a time where our condition has been identified and researched, nevertheless with a name and prognosis. It is a strange feeling, indeed, to know that the work and medical achievements of this doctor (and his name!) has forever changed my life. 

A plaque memorializing Dr. Burrill Crohn at the Mount Sinai IBD Center.

Of course, I would be remiss not to acknowledge how incredibly fortunate I am to live in the vicinity of this clinic. To have access to such a clinic with a focus on IBD in and of itself is a privilege, one that many Americans and patients are not so lucky to receive. I’m duly compelled, however, to point out how lacking our healthcare system is, especially for those suffering with chronic illnesses. As someone who was diagnosed with Crohn’s disease in the summer of 2020, a time when the SARS-CoV-2 virus revealed the greatest inequities and vast underpreparedness of American healthcare, I’ve come to meet, learn about, and further appreciate the frontline and essential workers, who are simply making the most of what they’ve got. 

Although it took me months to find the right team of doctors and healthcare professionals, I learned that it was alright, and at times, even necessary, for me to ask for more specialized degrees of care. An important lesson in my brief yet transformative journey with IBD: don’t be afraid to advocate for the specialized care that you need. 

Reflections: The Importance of Advocacy for IBD

It’s a little strange to title this article ‘Reflections,’ because IBD is unique in that it’s always ongoing, with nothing to really jump over and look back on to reflect; with the journey still very much running, our reflections are inbuilt into it.

 As I write this, I’ve been in remission from ulcerative colitis for more than a year. From the time I was accepted to be a CCYAN fellow to now, I have already been through a rollercoaster of new emotions: from immense gratitude and relief that I am finally a fellow of a network that I closely followed for several months to staggering self-doubt about whether I can truly do this opportunity justice. While poles apart, my feelings of gratitude and self-doubt and the largeness of the two do stem from the same root. After I was diagnosed with UC at the age of 19, I desperately needed to know more people who faced the same struggles. With little else to focus on in those starting years, hope would glimmer every time I found out about a famous personality or someone I knew who opened up about their chronic illnesses.

 The way an invisible chronic illness creeps up on young adults is very much like a thief breaking in your house when you’re asleep and stealing things that don’t seem so valuable at first sight but without which you can’t really survive (like all your dishes). As young adults, we are so entitled toward our bodies and organs functioning properly that there’s no way to prepare or even know you will be impacted and when you do, people have very strong opinions on what you could have done to avoid it. And if, like some organs, dishes weren’t replaceable and the upkeep of the damages was constant, the last thing anyone would want is to deal with the struggle alone and keep it private. At least that’s how I felt. As soon as I was diagnosed, I let everyone around me know mostly everything except for the “impolite” specifics. Sometimes if the gravity of my situation wasn’t acknowledged, I would push to reveal the impolite specifics too. Concurrent to my health challenges, I was still also learning aspects of a broad society I had entered just two years before I got UC. As I rushed to speak and be heard, I realized, through the fear of my family and the discomfort of peers and friends, just how closed this society is towards these things.

When there are no voices for something that drastically alters every aspect of your life, it feels as though you’ve been dropped off to a completely new city with no maps for guidance. Maps are important for not only getting you from point A to point B, but also giving you a sense of orientation to gauge where you are with respect to everything around you. No voices = no maps. By far, in India today, invisible illnesses not only lack visibility in patients' external bodies, but also in national and private datasets, policies, and advocacy. This leaves patients disorientated and vulnerable to quackery (health fraud), which results in the loss of crucial time, finances, and deterioration of mental health (with the ups and downs of new hope and disappointment).

If the silence around personal disturbances was anything to go by, then I did not do a very good job of fitting in to my society as I always took the opportunity to talk about what I was going through even when I realized with passing time that it wasn’t always welcome or understood completely. I thought I should speak up all the more, because if no one does, who will vouch for me? This casual monologue took greater form in my first experience of being at a public hospital in my city. By that time, I had scoured the internet for people like me, experiences like mine, unique symptoms like mine, etc. I had come to recognize some feelings that came as a by-product of my illness through Hank Green’s videos on YouTube, and that the illness was bigger than me and my doctors (who only focused on the strict textbook aspects of IBD). My mom and brother very supportively drove and accompanied me for my sigmoidoscopy and I even got to sit as I waited for my turn. Waiting for countless hours after the scheduled time of my appointment, I was busy drowning in my pond of self-pity. When I heard a young lady slightly older than me was invited to go before me, I was very irritated and urged my mom to leave and reschedule. My experienced mother knew better. As I waited, I could hear the conversation between the young patient and the doctors in the room next door. She was a daily wage worker and her grumbles about missing work, her stomach pain (due to which she tilted sideways when she walked) and the tedious hours she spent waiting for her turn followed her into the room. The doctors didn’t indulge her in any sympathy, but rather curtly started the process. I wondered out loud why they hadn’t offered her a sedative – whenever I was asked, I always thought what a preposterous thing to ask when the process was so intrusive and uncomfortable. It was because she was alone and needed to hear the doctor’s findings and, of course, had to head back home alone. Even in my miserable state, that struck something in me. Her yells and shouts during the process, and the surrounding patients’ aloofness painted a picture so bleak, I was forced to look beyond my situation and recognize that despair like mine was still placed high on privilege. Granted that sigmoidoscopies are not the most pleasant of processes to go through or even prepare for, her shouts seemed out of place. I gathered it was more of a release from the anxiety of being alone and in such a vulnerable position with no emotional support. It took me back to a brief, mostly one-sided exchange she and I had before she was called in. From the little I understood as she spoke rapidly in her dialect, she had absolutely no understanding of the formalities of the prep that had to be taken and, more worryingly, the seriousness of her illness. She had two kids she had to care for, and she came alone because her husband was a daily wage worker who could not miss work especially since she was missing work that day too. She complained to me about the high prices of prep, all the days she had missed getting tests done and scheduling and rescheduling appointments in a government hospital, her appetite loss due to nausea and how she couldn’t perform her labor-intensive work as efficiently. After she limped out of her session, I thought of the sheer population of people like her in India.

Ever since that episode, I started thinking beyond my illness and what I could do to help the numberless amount of people in the same boat as the young woman. To start helping, the first step is to get a clear picture of how many people are impacted by IBD, which is frustratingly not available nor acknowledged anywhere in India. I am grateful, therefore, that I found CCYAN as an international platform for advocacy. Advocacy would hopefully enable data collection somewhere down the line. However, sometimes the mountain looks too big to climb; at this moment, we are right at the bottom and there are many things to do. Sometimes I think of all the people suffering from IBD in India, and how many struggles go undiscovered due to health illiteracy, digital gaps, doctor unavailability, and expensive medication, etc. Now more than ever, as cases of autoimmune disease rise across the world, there needs to be a prominent force of advocacy for IBD in India, so that datasets can be recorded and informed policies can be formed. The innumerable people who struggle already for a living should not be further hindered in their struggle for support, information or resources in this regard.

How Toxic Productivity Can Affect Chronic Illness

“The grind never stops” is a quote I’m sure all older gen-z and younger millennials have heard. Hustle culture is like the monster hiding under our beds just waiting to attack us the moment we dangle our foot off the bed. It’s the scary email we try to avoid, but eventually have to acknowledge is there. Our society places a great amount of pressure, on our generation specifically, to work hard and constantly strive for a lifestyle in which we are operating at an “optimal level”. This is deemed as success and this version of success should always be at the forefront of our minds and influence all decision making. Participating in this hyper productive hustle culture is difficult enough for the average person to achieve, but what does it look like for people that live with chronic illness? 

To put it simply, living with chronic illness(es) is hard. Personally, it is the most difficult thing I have ever experienced. With symptoms like chronic fatigue, anemia, and anxiety etc., paired with frequent doctor's appointments and stigma, one could imagine that it is virtually impossible for chronically ill people to participate in hustle culture. Unfortunately, being in this generation makes escaping from the plague of toxic productivity quite difficult. Growing up we have all heard the stories of the business person working 60+ hours a week to bring his dreams to fruition. This mentality has influenced our entire generation. Working hard should always produce tangible results, right? Well, not exactly. As someone that lives with IBD, overworking myself can have dire consequences. Stress and anxiety are common triggers for people living with IBD, so it can be exhausting to focus on extracurriculars, staying social, maintaining good grades, and overall performing “optimally” while you’re inches away from a flare up. Our culture’s ingrained toxic productivity can be seen as the genesis of this behavior. I regularly catch myself being filled with disappointment that my illness prevents me from working at the capacity that I deem as optimal. Blaming myself for the pressures that our society puts on this generation only adds fuel to the fire, but never addresses the true issue, which is our ingrained idea of hustle culture. 

As young chronically ill people, we must stay aware about never pushing our boundaries and our illnesses in the name of productivity. Productivity is a wolf in sheep’s clothing; it seems innocent enough until it comes and bites us, and that bite for many of us is a flare. It is never a moral failing if you aren't able to operate at the same capacity as your pre-diagnosed self or other able bodied individuals. As chronically ill people, we have so many unique challenges that we must acknowledge and honor. Here is a metaphor that I often remind myself of: 

“We are all running a race, and some people are completing laps in 7 minutes, and others are completing laps in 20 minutes. Some may have to stop to breathe, sit and take a brief rest, or even leave to grab water, but the timing doesn't matter, the effort and intention does. All effort is valid.”

In the metaphor above, the race represents toxic productivity and the one’s completing the laps in 20 minutes who have to frequently stop represents chronically ill people. Giving into the pressures of hustle culture and toxic productivity will only reinforce the cycle. So, for the college student that lives with IBD or other chronic illnesses, such as myself, who is putting excess amounts of pressure on themselves to excel in every facet of life, try to be conscious of allowing yourself the space to rest and recharge. “Rise and grind'' is hard to do when the rising part is the issue. Glamorizing and internalizing the generational curse that is hustle culture and toxic productivity can cause irreparable harm to ourselves. Remember, work does not equal self worth. 

So, when you’re in bed trying to get rest and all of your responsibilities and the ghosts of toxic productivity are whispering in your ear, try your hardest to ignore those voices, turn the other direction, and get that well deserved rest. 

Intestine Resection Experience in an IBD Patient

Many individuals who face inflammatory bowel disease will require surgery at some point throughout their lifetime. There are numerous reasons why an individual may need surgery such as abscesses, fistulas, scar tissue, active disease, perforations and many more ailments. Through my personal experience, I would like to share some tips to help you prepare for your experience with intestine resection surgery. 

My intestine resection took place during the month of June in 2020 due to scar tissue narrowing my ileum, as well as some remaining active inflammation. During surgery, my ileum and a section of my large intestine were removed and my small intestine was then reconnected to my large intestine through a laparoscopic procedure. Enduring a surgery during the COVID-19 pandemic led me to experience a whirlwind of emotions. To begin, my original surgery date of May 2020 was postponed; however I was lucky to be able to receive it in June. During this time, hospitals in Ontario prohibited any visitors for adult patients, so unfortunately I was unable to have any visitors during my hospital stay of four days. I was so incredibly nervous to undergo a major surgery for the first time and knowing that I wouldn’t have any in-person contact with my loved ones, made the experience even more frightening. I knew that I would have to be my own advocate while in such a vulnerable position, a daunting feeling that made me quite nervous. Despite the fact I had many fears, I am happy I underwent surgery. I have recovered and continue to feel better than ever. During my hospital stay, I was taken care of by my colorectal surgeon and a wonderful team of nurses, and although I couldn’t wait to return home, I felt comfortable and secure while recovering in the hospital. 

Receiving a surgery as serious as an intestine resection can seem terrifying, and trust me - I was terrified. To ease my mind and fill me with the confidence I needed to undergo this procedure, I fully immersed myself in taking great care of my physical and mental health. Physically, I made it a priority to get extra sleep, stretch often, go for walks when my body had enough energy, and made sure that I was eating nourishing foods. Mentally, I talked about my fears with my medical teams and loved ones, saw a therapist to learn coping techniques and made it a priority to journal daily. I also carefully and strategically packed a hospital bag with items that I knew would bring me comfort and make my hospital stay as easy as possible. Below are the items that I used daily during my stay.

Hospital Bag Check-List:

• Night gowns or oversized T-shirts (pack comfy clothes that don’t put pressure on your abdomen) 

• Loose underwear 

• Extension cord and chargers for phone 

• Face wipes (it will be hard to shower!) 

• 3-ply toilet paper (hospital 1-ply toilet paper in the WORST) 

• Stuffed animal to cuddle 

• Cozy blanket and pillow case  

• Easy to put on slippers (you won’t be able to bend down and they are great for walking the halls) 

• Perishable snacks if you require a special diet (or don’t like hospital food) 

• Anything else that will bring you comfort or joy
  

Before my surgery, I was searching everywhere online to gain insight on what my hospital experience might be like and I was unable to find many resources. I hope by sharing my personal experience in an Ontario hospital during the COVID-19 pandemic will provide comfort and ease the nerves of other IBD warriors going through a similar experience.

The Day Before Surgery: 

Remember the prep before colonoscopies? She’s back! The prep instructions I received were extremely similar to colonoscopy laxative prep, along with a large dose of antibiotics. Your medical team may prescribe you something similar or different. Either way, you’ve got this! 

Hospital Check-In:

After arriving at the hospital and checking in, I was brought to a change room where I was asked to change into a gown and check my suitcase. After I had changed, I was brought to a pre-operation room where the intravenous was given. My biggest piece of advice while going through all of these steps leading up to the surgery is to express how you are feeling to your nurse and medical team. I was feeling extremely uneasy and expressed these feelings to my nurse and this prompted her to request an anti-anxiety medication from the anesthesiologist that I could take prior to walking into the operating room. Once in the operating room, I received an epidural. I was personally terrified of receiving an epidural, but I experienced zero pain from the needle! After that, it was easy. I was quickly put to sleep and before I knew it the surgery was done!

After Surgery:

Upon waking up, I felt extremely tired and out of it. I continued to sleep for hours until the nurses woke me up. They encouraged me to try to stand up and use the washroom to empty my bladder. Due to the epidural and medications I received, I felt minimal pain and my legs remained numb for a few hours. Although I did not feel as if I was in pain, I could make out feelings of soreness within my abdomen. Afterwards, I was left to rest and was allowed to start drinking fluids. My medical team encouraged me to eat the next day and I brought snacks for this specific reason. 

The first three days after surgery were the worst for me in terms of pain. As someone with IBD, I was accustomed to experiencing severe pain and I was able to control this pain with only Tylenol. I’ve previously been prescribed narcotics to control the pain associated with my IBD flares, so only needing Tylenol was a win in my books! My surgeon cleared me the day after surgery to begin walking the halls and moving my body. Walking was exhausting and caused me pain but it truly helped out a lot with my recovery. I was only able to stand and walk hunched over to avoid putting pressure on my abdomen which I still can’t determine whether my mind was protecting my body or if I was really unable to stand straight. This continued for about a week and each day I was able to stand up a little taller.

Returning Home:

Once I was cleared to leave the hospital, I returned to the comforts of home where I was able to have my family care for me. Stairs were unbelievably challenging and I needed support to get up and down. I was extremely exhausted for a couple weeks post-surgery and majorly prioritized rest and recovery. My biggest advice is to have a caretaker for your first few days back at home, to help you get in and out of bed, cook meals, and shower. If you are going to be alone, sleeping on the main floor and pre-making meals before surgery would be extremely beneficial to ensure you have easy access to nourishing meals. 

I found it extremely difficult to get in and out of bed - I never realized just how much I use my abs! I recommend setting up a sturdy piece of furniture by your bed, such as a chair or side table, to use to lift yourself up and out of bed with. I also found that sleeping in an upright position was much more comfortable, putting less pressure on my abdomen, causing me to stack my bed with pillows. 

Please remember, it can take some time for your body to adjust to the surgery and notice results. Since I had a narrow ileum that caused blockages and poor digestion, I thought I would immediately have better digestion after surgery. My digestion is a thousand times better as I write this, but it took about a month for me to truly notice any of the improvements and benefits from the surgery and continued to notice additional improvements months following. During this time of recovery, each day my body continued to become stronger and more resilient. 

I hope my personal experience receiving an intestine resection will help those of you who are preparing to undergo your own intestine resection. My hope is the advice I have given you will help relieve your nerves and guide you through the process, by giving you a better idea of what to expect. As members of the IBD community, we are strong, courageous and resilient! 

An Ecosystem of Advocacy

My fellowship at CCYAN is coming to an end. Coincidentally, I have felt short of ideas these few weeks. I’m writing this one late, partly because it has taken me a long time to fully recover from COVID, and partially because I was torn inside my head about what I wanted to say. Lately, my brain has felt like a cauldron with a stew of thoughts in it. I had been hiding safely in my home from COVID, but now that it got me, it’s time for me to go back to my pre-covid life.

At the time of writing, I’m about to fly back to my campus. I had deferred my exams for the previous semester hoping that the pandemic would settle down by Sept/Oct. That did not happen. I have lost a whole academic year. I now need to work twice as hard to get my degree. The pandemic has also doubled my healthcare expenses, and hence I need to work more than usual, which decreases the time I can devote to my academic work. I have also not been to the doctor in more than a year. After a long time, I have once again felt the fear of things going wrong and beyond my control.

One of the things that I’ve come to realise and feel in recent days is how isolating IBD can be. IBD symptoms can vary from person to person, but when you look at those symptoms in conjunction with life experiences, every one of us is on a very different path and fighting a very different battle. It is true for every chronic condition. One community, one group, can never be the answer. We need multiple communities composed of people with diverse experiences to thrive and work with each other. An ecosystem. Without that, there’ll always be someone feeling alone in their experience.

I have always been someone for whom repressing is more comfortable than expressing. Does that not make me inadequate for the job of a patient advocate? Repressing pain and trauma has enabled me to survive. The goal of life shouldn’t be to survive, though. I have compromised on every other aspect of my life so that every day I can do enough to stay on track with my goals and ambitions. Some compromises must be made, but some are forced upon by circumstance and external agents.

In the ancient world, people believed that the sick were cursed by gods. Treatment consisted of praying and giving a sacrifice to the gods. The ill thought that they were cursed. They were killed when the gods didn’t pay any heed to prayers. You might think times have changed, but they haven’t. Too many of us have been told that our illness is punishment for our past sins. Many of us believe it also, so much so that a patient recently said to me that their experiences didn’t matter because they were not good experiences. India is a country where the concept of “invisible disability” is yet to be introduced. In such an atmosphere, people with chronic conditions and invisible disabilities are forced to compromise. After all, it’s practical and easier for everyone. Any ill person that “complains”, does not radiate positivity and inspiration is useless. The attitude in general, towards sick people in my country, reminds me of the phrase - “Ignorance is bliss.”

So if you’re chronically ill - not only do you have to make compromises in various aspects of your life, not because they should be made, but because it’s comfortable for everyone else, you also do not have access to communities where you can share your frustrations, your experiences with people facing similar, if not the same set of circumstances.

Some say that we should not highlight our disability. Some argue that many people are successful with Crohn’s Disease or Ulcerative Colitis, but they do not talk about it. Talking about it is just asking for pity. The people who are going to succeed will succeed despite it. Such thinking patterns stigmatise our illness and strengthen the notion that patients are the problem, not the illness. Patients are not doing enough; others are.

As with everything else, things will not change unless we accept that there is a problem and that there is a real need. The irony in India is that those with voices do not have the need, and those with needs do not have a voice. There is an urgent need to build communities that provide support and advocate for better solutions.

I often feel that I say the same things every month, but I also feel that these things haven’t been said enough times. So to my fellow patients and the people who understand our needs - keep speaking up and keep talking, until our voices are too loud to ignore.

Thank you. Stay safe.

A Capital Mistake

Disclaimer: These are my views and observations, based on my experience with online Inflammatory Bowel Disease support groups in India.

 “It is a capital mistake to theorize before one has data. Insensibly one begins to twist facts to suit theories, instead of theories to suit facts.” 

~ Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Sherlock Holmes

When I began my fellowship at CCYAN, I was a stranger to patient advocacy. I had a very vague idea of what the word meant. A couple of months later, I began a local initiative to explore the possibility of building a patient advocacy group for the Indian IBD (Inflammatory Bowel Disease) population. I started by imitating and trying to replicate the actions of existing advocacy groups in the US and the UK. However, it didn’t work. I soon realized that there is a larger fundamental problem that has to be addressed before I speak up for anything. It is the problem of patient education and health information. 

Patients in India are far less aware and informed about their condition than patients in the developed nations. A higher rate of illiteracy, language barriers, lack of counselors, and short consultation times are major reasons. While it may seem that this problem can be rectified easily by disseminating educational materials among patients in various ways, the reality is that the void created by a lack of information is not a void at all. My observation is that the void has been occupied by incorrect and unsubstantiated information that prejudice a patient’s mind when it comes to learning and accepting correct, evidence-based information about their condition. This “defect” in the knowledge that a patient has about their condition can lead to deterioration of their condition and, in some cases, prove to be fatal. 

The lack of patient education itself is a mechanism through which misinformation spreads. Existing patients with defective knowledge pass it on to the newly diagnosed. In the absence of rectifying sources/agents, such information can propagate and spread among groups of patients - very much like a virus. One of the places where things go “viral” is social media. The networks that connect us all are one of the pathways through which information that has no factual basis propagates.

In India, we have a small, but a fair number of Facebook and WhatsApp groups of patients suffering from Inflammatory Bowel Disease. Members of these groups exchange information daily on various topics - meds, diets, exercise, doctors, etc. I observed that there is a small subset of people, not always, but usually the creators of these groups that influence these discussions. This subset of people also acts as a source of “information” and “knowledge” for the other members.

In my experience, the majority of the discussions revolve around food and alternative treatments. Sporadically, there might be a discussion on the unaffordability of biologics, the struggle of young adults with the condition to get a job, study, or get into a relationship. However, these discussions are limited to a few comments, and that’s it. Several topics are not discussed out of shame. Erectile dysfunction because of IBD/surgery, anal dilation, rectovaginal fistulas, marital problems, reproductive issues - these are just some of the few issues that people seldom discuss in these forums. A support group is supposed to be a safe space, but these groups don’t feel like one to me. Nobody feels safe about opening up on problems that affect them very much because of fear of judgment and shame. The “advocates” too, rarely take any initiative to remove the stigma and taboo. We, the patients of India, with our ignorance, play a major role in keeping the taboo and stigma associated with IBD intact. The creators and moderators of such groups rarely take care to protect the newly diagnosed from misinformation. Many even float their own theories and post uncorroborated information. 

A year ago, the mother of a 31-year old patient called me. She was crying. She asked me to visit her son and counsel him. I received her call a couple of weeks after I had moved to Bangalore for my graduate studies. I was unsure, but I went to her home and visited her son. He was lying down on the bed, with a heavily bloated stomach and a hot pack on his abdomen. I started talking to him. He told me that he had been diagnosed with Crohn’s disease 7 years ago. Initially, he was prescribed Pentasa, which he took for two weeks only. He did not feel that he was responding to the drugs, and hence, he stopped taking the medication without consulting his doctor. He never visited his doctor again.

On the advice of “advocates” and “experts” on the internet, he began buying and consuming naturopathy products, special brands of water with a certain pH, and many other products that he claimed were alternative medicine. He was importing many of these items. When he ran out of money, he borrowed money from people on the pretence of treatment and bought the products. He hadn’t seen a GI in 6 years! He showed me the results of a 3-year-old imaging test. It mentioned internal fistulas. He could not even stand up. His old mother was caring for him. Sometimes, when he would be in a lot of pain, his relatives would take him to the emergency room where he would be advised immediate surgery. He had been refusing the option of surgery every time. I spent an hour trying to talk him into surgery and explaining that an ostomy is not the end of the world. He wouldn’t budge. I returned - disappointed and angry. A few days later, I received a message from him. It said that he did get a temporary ostomy, but he’ll be going back to naturopathy to save his colon. I wished him all the best and urged him to act responsibly. I never heard from him again.

This person was ready to die instead of accepting treatment from a doctor in a structured and safe manner. He spent his time lurking on the internet in such “support groups,” where he learned various expensive and ineffective remedies for his condition and went on to irrationally and blindly pursue them. He could have avoided the surgery, had these very “advocates” told him to get back to his doctor. 

Let me clarify here that I’m not speaking against the use of alternative therapies, some of which in recent times have been supported by some studies as a good supplementary treatment option. I object to disseminating unsubstantiated information in a manner that evades judgment, analysis, and scrutiny. Science, rational thinking, reason, is how humanity has come so far. It’s the gift we have—our capacity for reason and imagination. 

Modern medicine does not fully understand inflammatory bowel disease and many other conditions. This, in turn, has become an opportunity for some people to form and present their theories which are either completely unscientific or based on some science, but completely opaque to scrutiny. These baseless theories and cures are dangerous. Desperate patients often end up losing a significant amount of money, time, and health. Such theories and their preachers often evade accountability. 

We can only fight something well if we know what we’re fighting against well. I feel that most IBD patients in India are fighting blindly. The larger population of IBD patients in India faces a wide variety of problems compared to the handful of patients who have the luxury to engage in comfortable discussions in closed spaces on social media. Those problems are rarely discussed and confronted. 

Inflammatory Bowel Disease is a complex disease. Good communication is the first step towards helping patients navigate the physical and emotional roller coaster that comes with having an illness like IBD. We must develop a culture of sharing medically verified and factual information amongst ourselves. It’ll help create a community where everyone is aware and informed. The newly diagnosed, who are often confused, shall receive appropriate guidance and support. Only then can we begin to speak up as a collective voice for matters that can help improve the quality of life of Indian patients with Inflammatory Bowel Disease. 

That’s all from my side this month. Stay safe :)

The Difficulty of Finding a Treatment

For the ordinary individual, health is accepted as a given. It’s a part of life that mostly runs in the background like a minimized window on a computer. It’s always running, keeping us alive, and impacting our physical and mental states. Yet again, for most people, it’s rare to directly confront it on a minute to minute, or even second to second basis. Instead, it emerges at the forefront of life either by active and deliberate personal choice, or when something goes wrong. When a previously silent computer program running in the background becomes unresponsive, what was once insignificant becomes a major issue. To a greater extent, when that disruptive program causes our computer to crash and lose all of our work, it’s catastrophic. In a similar way, the typical individual goes to the doctor only on the occasions when their health is compromised by infection, injury, or other issues. Plus, when our health is stable and we are well, the changes we make, like starting a fitness regime, new diet, or implementing mindfulness strategies to our lifestyle, are done by choice.

However, when you live with a chronic illness, health management becomes significantly more complex. For one, chronically-ill patients often do not have the benefit of having a lifestyle defined by stable health. Chronic illness is by its very nature unpredictable. Diseases like Crohn's disease and ulcerative colitis revolve around periods of peaks and valleys - remission and flares. Once again, living with a chronic condition transforms the nature of managing health. The process of searching for, utilizing, and adjusting to a treatment for inflammatory bowel disease, or other chronic conditions, is one of trial and error. Unlike treating the common cold or a broken bone, the path to recovery is much less clear cut. Personally, I have tried various medications across a variety of different medication classes only to discover that they were not effective for treating my particular case of ulcerative colitis. It takes constant monitoring of your symptoms, and a commitment to embracing change to successfully navigate the healthcare system as a chronically ill patient.

It’s a difficult reality that many patients struggle through countless medications, clinics, and treatments before finding relief. Simply put, when you live with a chronic illness, your health is never certain. It’s unlike managing short-lived, common conditions, because there’s no clear timeline. Patients are forced to adjust to a new normal. This new reality is a reality where an individual must persist despite burnout, despite anxiety, and despite certainty. It involves significant sacrifices in one’s lifestyle, and even identity. Confronting health is no longer a special event or a choice, instead it’s a part of the daily routine. I believe this is part of why accepting illness is full of so many emotions, and why fatigue can easily take over. Everyday, patients are fighting a difficult, and often invisible, battle while living normal lives full of other responsibilities. The process, and the challenges, involved with finding and managing treatment do not make this balancing act any easier. Thus, it’s important to recognize the difficult, frustrating, and exhausting experience of patients worldwide. After all, despite illness, set-backs, and struggles, we persist to live lives as friends, artists, and advocates.

How My Mental Health Was Affected by IBD

Mental health has been on my mind a lot lately. From hearing it in relation to the COVID-19 pandemic, to having conversations about the need for more resources for IBD patients, to dealing with my own experiences with depression and anxiety - mental health resources are perhaps one of the most underrated and underfunded sectors of healthcare. I realize this as I’ve gotten older, immersed myself in the medical field, and as I have utilized it for my own mental health after being diagnosed with ulcerative colitis (UC) in 2016. 

I bet many of you have also dealt with IBD affecting your mental health whether you realize it or not. For most of us, we were the only person we knew who had IBD at the time we were diagnosed. Some of us may not have even heard of it until we were told after our colonoscopy or endoscopy. The world around you suddenly feels a lot busier and bigger, and you feel very small and alone. Alone, wrapped up in your thoughts, your pain, your exhaustion, your fear. None of us asked for this. What did we do to deserve this?! In the days after my colonoscopy, this thought permeated my mind and I wanted to curl up in a ball and wish it all away. 

But, you can’t do that when you are a busy pre-med student working full time and taking classes! We are expected to stay strong and keep up our front that says “Everything’s fine,” when, in fact, we’re not. I had great people to talk to and that would listen to me, but I still went through a mourning process. I mourned my life before when I thought I “just had a sensitive stomach.” I mourned that fact that my diet would probably change and change again and that I maybe would have to be on immunosuppressive medication. I dreaded the future conversations that would come up when someone would ask why I had to go to the bathroom so much or why I couldn’t eat or drink something. Really, everything’s fine…

But, it’s not. CHRONIC is a word that I hoped never to hear in regard to my medical history. We now have a new label that we must carry for the rest of our lives, and it’s anything but predictable. We have to explain this diagnosis so many times we feel like it might actually define us. The reality of my UC diagnosis began to truly sink in and anxiety began to seep into my daily life. My energy and concentration was poured into reading about UC, finding a better “diet”, looking for tips on how to achieve and stay in remission, and finding some kind of outlet for my anger and frustration.

Honestly, I should have given myself a little more time to process and try to seek the help of a mental health professional. Now, I think, I should’ve thought about my IBD and mental health together rather than separately. I let myself have a little time to mourn my UC diagnosis, but I thought I needed to be strong and keep my diagnosis to myself, much like others had before me. If we don’t look sick, perhaps no one will know. Even when we try our best to be strong and adapt to this normal, our mental health often still ends up suffering. 

I think it would make such a positive difference in the lives of so many if we are all equipped with a medical and mental health treatment plan after being diagnosed with IBD, because the fact of the matter is that the mental health symptoms are just as debilitating as the physical symptoms of IBD, and they’re often intertwined. We need this kind of support as we manage our diagnosis - which sometimes can land us in the hospital or needing major surgery. I can’t speak to these kinds of experiences, but they can be traumatic in their own ways. How many failed medications or pain does one endure until they receive a potentially life-changing surgery? Thinking of the mental health hurdles that my co-fellows have dealt with and shared so vulnerably leaves me in awe of their strength. When they share what they have lived through, it also makes me sad that there was not adequate mental health services available to some of them when it could have offered an outlet for some of their pain.

Even now, almost 5 years out from my diagnosis, I take medication for my depression/anxiety and have re-established a relationship with a counselor that has experience in treating clients with chronic illnesses. I still go through the peaks and valleys of life and IBD, but, now, I’m better equipped to handle the lows when they hit or when a flare affects my mood and interest in doing things. I want the mental health support that has been so instrumental to some of my healing to be more accessible and affordable for those with IBD in the near future. 

I hope speaking candidly about mental health and sharing some of these reflections helps you feel less alone and more validated in what you’ve been going through. The process of untangling all of these emotions is normal when grappling with a chronic illness diagnosis and what that means for you and those you love. Everyone processes major life changes and trauma differently, but don’t be afraid to ask about mental health services when you see your GI or primary care provider. Finding the right mental health support could be the treatment you never knew you needed. 

The Acceptance and Struggle of a Childhood IBD Diagnosis

Being a kid is supposed to be a whimsical experience that one treasures and wants to have back. We long for those easier, good old days. But, when you are diagnosed with Inflammatory Bowel Disease at the age of 8, those childhood hopes can get lost. 

When I was diagnosed with Crohn’s disease, I did not know what it was. I remember telling my friends and them thinking I kept saying “Crow’s disease” (granted, I did have a speech impediment). Honestly, even I couldn't fully understand what was going on with my body. I felt alone, isolated, and trapped in my body. I felt frustrated because of the lack of support I felt from my peers and the lack of communication that I could provide to the people in my life. I felt confused as to whether I was being too dramatic or if I was really as sick as I thought I was. It becomes hard to trust your body and self when—for so long—your symptoms are not understood. Still today, these emotions can flood my body when I think about my diagnosis or even have to deal with unrelated health procedures. The body has a mysterious memory intact.  

 In response to these events, I have found that I tend to forget things related to it. To be honest, pretty much everything—specifically during my diagnosis phase of life—is most often a blur. Being diagnosed as a child really made me deeply struggle with the faults of reality and mortality and sickness early on. My body is easily triggered by hospitals or doctors. Whether my response bodily or emotional, I cannot immediately make sense of it all at the time. 

I often struggle making sense of my diagnosis. Being diagnosed at such an early age, the disconnect between what was real and fake is hard. How could it have such a constant effect on my life when I forget most details surrounding it?  It can be hard when you are surrounded by so many people who have such an understanding of their diagnosis and can write such beautiful lessons they have learned when most days I do not even remember what age I was diagnosed at. It is so easy to compare journeys, thinking your IBD is not as bad as the next, or that you feel alone with it. But what we can hold is that we don't have to be positive all the time. It can be painful and we can hold both the pain and the lessons we have learned. We do not have to make sense of our diagnoses. There does not always have to be a bright side to everything and that does not make you less of anything. Everyone has their bad days, whether you see them or not. Just remember that it is okay to struggle, it's okay if not everything makes sense, and we are so happy to have you here.

Explaining Chronic Pain

This article is sponsored by Gali Health.

---

One of the most troubling and tricky feelings of the human condition is pain. It’s the body’s warning signal that something is wrong. It always seems to show up unexpectedly. It’s the world’s worst party guest. Seriously, it could at least bring a party gift, or an extra bag of chips and salsa to share. Instead, it interrupts the flow of midnight ragers and days of routine alike. Pain is the ultimate consumer. It takes, absorbs, and swells, without giving any of itself up. To make it even more complicated, pain comes in more hues, flavors, and shapes than can be counted. Pain is a universal experience, but the experience of pain is unique to each individual. 

There is round, smooth, aching pain that rolls around the body all day. There’s sharp, jagged pain that cuts, stabs, and leaves a metallic taste on the tongue. There’s pain that shapeshifts. It howls like a werewolf, then sizzles like the sting from an insect. I could go on, but the list of the types of pain is again endless. That said, living with a chronic illness like IBD means tasting an entire buffet’s worth of pain types. Despite the fact that pain is so specific, and individual, people often try to measure and compare pain. As a chronically ill individual, it can be frustrating to have your pain compared, and rationalized by others. For instance, people will often compare the abdominal pain from ulcerative colitis, or Crohn’s disease to a stomach ache. In reality, chronic pain is much different from everyday pain. 

When the pain from chronic illnesses is compared to pain from other illnesses, a large part of the context is ignored. Patients with chronic illnesses and pain have to confront pain oftentimes on a daily basis, and manage pain oftentimes without a totally effective treatment. The pain from a stomach ache, or a stubbed toe will eventually fade, and if it doesn’t, there is generally an effective treatment available. With a chronic illness, no such treatment necessarily exists. There is no timeline for recovery from the pain. Instead, it can be endless and unclear with multiple trials of various treatments required in order to find relief. In essence, chronic pain has no end deadline.

Despite this, the chronically ill often live normal lives everyday. Patients and pain sufferers go to college, go to work, and even to social events despite their pain. It’s especially important to remember this, because for all of its flavors, pain can be quite invisible. Dealing with pain is a challenge, and a burden, but millions of people around the world surmount the obstacle of pain everyday. Accommodations for patients make living with this weight easier, and enable us to be more active members in our communities. Still more work needs to be done to improve the quality of life for those dealing with pain. The compassionate way to treat the chronically ill, is the most inclusive way and the way that eliminates the disadvantages of the disabled. In the future, I hope all pain is treated with the utmost consideration and care for the individual. After all, if that was the case, there would be a lot less physical, and mental pain in this world.

---

This article is sponsored by Gali Health

Gali Health is an AI-based personal health assistant app helping people with inflammatory bowel diseases (IBD) proactively manage their condition. Gali gathers knowledge from daily interactions and health monitors to tailor support and information to your specific IBD experience.

My IBD Life - Ode to Despair

I sat down to write this article with the intent of describing some personal experiences with my family and friends during a period of progressing sickness that eventually led to surgery. It’s very hard for me to segregate various aspects of that time. I was struggling on many fronts. Everything seems so intertwined. I probably would have managed better, if the only thing I had to worry about had been my health. Sometimes, I wonder if I could live through that again. The worst parts of that period were the nights. Serially failing medications had brought me to a point where I was living with severe chronic pain and total incontinence. Every night I would go through a sequence of muffled crying, screaming, and dancing, to wither and end up on the floor like a lifeless body. I did that deliberately to tire myself out and fall asleep. Every night it was the same routine. Some nights, the urge to end it all was too strong to resist. I dreaded the nights and took up a night job to cope. I thought if I forced my mind to concentrate on a job, it would help with the pain. I’d suffocate at work, and even had “accidents” at work, despite wearing diapers. Everyone around me in my home or outside was oblivious to what I did to myself in my room in the dark. My coping mechanisms bordered on the psychotic.  I would strangulate my body parts to make them numb. I would try to substitute the pain with another kind of pain by using an excessively hot pad. The pain was too much. The blood was too much. The nights were too long. The thing that hurt more than the pain was that every medication would make a mockery of my attempts to live. Early promising results followed by a rapid decline leading to increased symptoms were a pattern. At my core, I’m not a very hopeful person. My life circumstances have molded me into a deeply introverted and pessimist personality. My mind constantly tries to simulate everything that can go wrong and I try my best to put control measures in place. With this disease though, I was helpless. I read vehemently, but I was not a doctor. I forced myself to cultivate hope with every new medication. However, I always ended up dejected. Sometimes, I felt like a bloody soldier struggling to stand straight, kneeling on the ground against his sword, and waiting for all of it to get over.

As I started reminiscing those nights, my intents changed. I wanted to describe that cycle of hope and consequent despair to someone. It resulted in me writing a poem which I’m sharing here. 

They tell me the war is over and we won.

They tell me that the night is at last, gone.

They tell me the sun’s rising on the horizon.

They tell me, they tell me it’s a new dawn.

They tell me the same things again and again.

And each time they say it, I believe them. 

I hide from my fears, behind a translucent curtain.

Weak ropes of hope bear the weight of my pain.

Soon it all comes crashing down to the ground.

And I see them again. The blood-hungry hounds.

Dread sets into me as they approach and surround.

Every inch of me bleeds. My screams resound.

And when it’s all over, I look down from the edge.

Frail, pale, broken, and defeated, after the rampage.

No antidote to my ailment, my soul feels caged.

Desperate, I am prepared to embrace the only escape.

“Stop! Don’t!” I hear a voice break the silence.

I recognize the voice. It’s them. Once again.

They praise my resilience. Talk about Providence.

Promise me there’s a reason for my existence.

They look to infuse me with hope and faith.

They tell me tales of the fierce and brave.

Why then I don’t believe what they say?

Oh! It’s because, soon after ...

They tell me the war is over and we won.

They tell me that the night is at last, gone.

They tell me the sun’s rising on the horizon.

They tell me, they tell me it’s a new dawn.

There was a time when I tried to capture my pain in words. I was better at writing then. With time, the writing started to feel like a futile exercise. The nights never went away.  Instead, I now try to repress those experiences in some corner of my brain as I have done with other traumatic incidents that I have lived through.

My doctor once told me that there were only 2 patients other than me under his care, with a severity of disease that was similar to mine. I felt sad, but then I realized it’s a good thing that more people do not go through such experiences. However, I’m sure there are enough like me in my country which has a population of 1.3 billion, but I’m not sure if everyone is as lucky as me. The mental health of patients with Inflammatory Bowel Disease has never been a priority in the Indian Healthcare system. It’s time that we begin to provide holistic support to young adults with inflammatory bowel diseases to enable them to manage this disease better and come out of the experience with as little residual trauma as possible. 

Please stay safe and take care. See you next month. :)

IBD and Anxiety

When you are first diagnosed with Inflammatory Bowel Disease you learn quickly that the brain and gut function as one. They are deeply connected. Even if you don’t have IBD, you can look to feelings like butterflies in your stomach when you are nervous, excited, or in love. IBD has given me the superpower of identifying an instinctual trust of my gut. One thing you commonly hear when talking about how to manage your IBD is that you have to manage your stress levels. Since the brain and gut are so connected, the chances that a flare up will occur when you’re stressed are high. Truthfully, being able to manage your stress is a very privileged thing to be able to do and that’s a conversation that needs to be had. Outside forces and systems of oppression exist heavily in our world today. We are not functioning in a world that allows you to thrive and prioritize both your mental and physical health. For most people, there is always a tremendous amount of stressors that you cannot escape. Things like finances, unstable households, going to school, and working all cause a great deal of stress. 

Today, I want to specifically talk about how managing stress levels and IBD feels increasingly impossible when you have clinical anxiety and/or PTSD, as these are so often linked with IBD. 

I was diagnosed with IBD at a young age. My physical health was always prioritized over my mental health. This was more pronounced, I think, because mental health is not a thing that is necessarily often invested in for young children. As a child, it was very difficult for me to identify what I was feeling and what triggered these feelings. Specifically, with my anxiety, I did not know what a neutral state of mind meant. I didn’t know what my anxiety looked or felt like till around my sophomore year of college. After going on anxiety medication for a bit, I was able to understand what intrusive thoughts were and how they occupied my life. 

The baseline for my anxiety is intrusive thoughts, but it can also manifest itself in different ways just based on the things I am doing in my life at the time. For example, my anxiety can manifest itself in ways such as crying in social settings, having an obsession with time (i.e. constantly looking at the clock or leaving hours early for events), and, when things are more extreme, staying in my room for days on end. For me, it is so important to specifically state how my anxiety manifests because for so long I did not know what it meant. I think it is important that we normalize talking about everything that anxiety can bring with it, not just generalizing or downplaying it. So often, I think anxiety is talked about in very loose terms and given very simple fixes for how to “handle it.” This, in return, can oftentimes belittle the situation. 

When these more intense and intrusive moments occur, my IBD flares up. So, I often question how I am to manage my stress when I often cannot control my anxieties. In the past, I would become stressed when I experienced my anxieties because I did not know what was wrong. Now, they still stress me out, even though I know that it is anxiety. 

For me, and I think many others, anxiety is something that I have to constantly cope with on the daily. If I am not ten steps ahead of it, it will simply swallow me whole. 

IBD and anxiety can feel overwhelming and scary, but what has helped me is knowing that I am not alone. Having these two conditions together is not uncommon, and what feels very isolating and full of despair is not the case. Medication has helped me in the past and therapy is a forever process for me. I also keep a bullet journal of coping skills I have used in the past - identifying coping mechanisms that worked and ones that did not. This list gives me a place to turn to when I feel as though nothing could help and it's easily accessible. I have also found solace in being in a community of people who understand. Explaining anxiety or IBD to someone who has not gone through it can be very exhausting and this goes for many other varying identities as well! When I do find the energy, making art is another space for me to process my anxiety, whether that be through a conceptual piece or just painting a canvas with one color over and over again.

What are ways you cope with your anxiety?

Judging Symptoms with Crohn’s

Sometimes, it feels like all gastro symptoms are inflammaotry bowel disease (IBD)-related… especially being symptomatic with IBD for so long. However, it’s not always case – which can cause a great of confusion, as well as making life just that bit more complicated!

As well as Crohn’s disease, I also have gastroesophageal reflux disease (GERD), irritable bowel syndrome with constipation (IBS-C), an internal rectal prolapse and lactose intolerance. I was diagnosed with Crohn’s disease in 2008, after several years of experience gastro-related symptoms. So, at that point, I assumed that everything I had experienced was the result of Crohn’s. What I failed to realise, and what wasn’t explained very well at the time, was that I also had GERD. I was suddenly prescribed all of this medication, without being properly informed of the purpose of each different medication.

Over time, and with the right treatment, I became more informed, and I was able to get my Crohn’s disease under control, to the point where I was deemed to be in clinical remission. This was concluded by considering blood tests for inflammation (CRP and ESR), colonoscopy and gastroscopy results, small bowel MRI scan results and faecal calprotectin results, each of them done at different frequencies over different periods of time. This happened gradually over a few years, and in the process, I learned more and more about my body. However, I began to struggle with more gastro-related symptoms, which I initially thought were a Crohn’s flare, but soon realised were not exactly the same as before my Crohn’s diagnosis. I felt bloated and constipated, I had abdominal pain, and I was passing mucus. It became clear that I most likely had IBS-C. The problem I found with IBS was that there was no quick and easy fix for it – not that there has been a quick and easy fix for Crohn’s disease, but at least I was able to take some treatment which helped control the inflammation. With IBS, I felt very much in the dark. Recommendations were an anti-spasmodic to relieve cramping, laxatives to ease constipation, and avoiding foods which seemed to make me ‘worse’. I watched what I ate very closely, and soon identified certain green vegetables as a trigger, as well as milk products, which I tried to reduce. 

Little did I know, but the milk products weren’t just a trigger for worsening my IBS symptoms, but I was also lactose intolerant. I was diagnosed in 2015 – some seven years after my Crohn’s diagnosis. This only happened after one doctor felt there was something else going on and decided to test for lactose intolerance and Helicobacter Pylori infection – and thank goodness they did! I’ve managed to cut most forms of lactose completely out of my diet since, and when I can’t, I have found a lactase enzyme supplement I can take immediately before eating or drinking something containing lactose, to help me avoid those unpleasant symptoms.

I thought that was going to be it when it came to gastro problems. Then, something else came along! Originally blamed on my IBS-C, I noticed I was struggling more with constipation, despite eating a balanced and healthy diet, and doing everything else ‘right’. A couple of healthcare professionals didn’t really acknowledge my perspective, and just said I need to take laxatives permanently – something which I do take, but often feels like a ‘quick fix’ or ‘cover the wound with a plaster’, without understanding the underlying reason for these changes. Many blame IBD, plus IBS for constipation, without necessarily looking further. It sometimes feels as though assumptions are an easier option in the medical world, but not for those of us living with these symptoms. Moreover, I had observed changes beyond those I had learned to notice by living with IBD and IBS-C. 

Cutting a very long story short, I ended up going for a proctogram which revealed I had an internal rectal prolapse – which is basically when your rectum folds in on itself. It wasn’t the most dignifying procedure – much like most gastro-linked investigations. Dignity often goes straight out of the window! However, this finding did explain the sharp shooting pains I had been having in my rectum, as well as the mucus I had been passing, the ‘fresh’ blood I had noticed, and why it sometimes felt as though there was a physical obstruction – because there was. The verdict was ‘there’s not much we can do’ – something I think we’re all too used to hearing. There are surgical options, but they come with risks and they more or less said they would not be considering that option for somebody of my age. So, I was sent away with pelvic floor exercises, and the notion that ‘I just have to live with it’ – which I do. At least I received an answer for the symptoms I had been experiencing, even if I don’t have an answer as to ‘why’ I have a rectal prolapse. My current hypothesis is that it is something to do with hypermobility, which has consistently been overlooked – but that’s a whole different story!

All of these different symptoms, and the conditions subsequently diagnosed, have taught me so much. I have learned to really listen to what my body is telling me – which is not easy but does improve with time. I’m not always right, but my judgement certainly seems to be stronger now, after all of these years with IBD, IBS-C, GERD, a prolapse and lactose intolerance. I am much better at distinguishing as to ‘what’ is causing ‘what’ – although it’s impossible to always be ‘right’! You just tune into what you are feeling, almost like detective work. You place pieces of the puzzle together to help you build the picture of what you think is happening. Your previous experiences and your observations guide you, alongside being proactive in terms of knowing clinical indicators, recognising new triggers, stressors or symptoms, and then being proactive in seeking the right input from the right healthcare professionals. It comes more naturally after years of having to take things into your own hands to get answers. For example, I now know that the abdominal pain and cramping that I frequently experience is when I am perhaps a little constipated as a result of IBS-C and my internal rectal prolapse; so I adjust certain parts of my diet and take additional laxatives when I begin to notice patterns changing, early on. Likewise, the ‘whale’ noises and ‘washing machine sensation’ immediately indicate that I’ve consumed something containing lactose without realising – like the time I ate a gorgeous cheesy pizza, and then realised I hadn’t taken my lactase enzyme… I suffered for the next few hours! 

These conditions, in one sense, sensitise us to be more receptive to how our bodies work. I don’t think I would have been as knowledgeable or as ‘switched on’ as I am if I hadn’t been diagnosed with them – and I wish more people recognised this, particularly certain healthcare professionals. I often have grievances with professionals who rely solely on certain clinical indicators for disease remission. For example, those who just use CRP as an indicator as to whether you are in remission or not. This has happened to me in the past when I was evidently in the middle of an IBD flare, but at that point in time, I was not confident at self-managing my health. As it turned out, my faecal calprotectin was off the scale, and so some additional treatment helped me out immensely. What did I learn? Nobody knows my body better than myself. Healthcare professionals can help me the most when they listen to what I am saying, acknowledge my expertise, and then work with me to identify what is really happening, and then plan with me as to what to do to help manage symptoms so that I can get on with my life, and most importantly, have a good quality of life. So, when anybody questions what you are thinking or feeling, remind them of this point, and hopefully, they will change their approach so that it is supportive, rather than a hindrance.

Emotions and IBD

There are a lot of emotions that come with the diagnosis of any chronic illness, or even any major life change. But laying on the operating table, under the haze and fading twilight of the anesthesia medication exiting my veins, I felt nothing. The echoing silence of the room was heavy all around me. I expected to feel an overflowing stream of emotions flow over me, but instead the most striking sensation of my diagnosis was emptiness. It could have been the drugs dulling my system and my perception of the world. Yet, over time, I’ve started to think that the cause of the void-like feeling around my diagnosis was something incredibly real, and not artificial. The feeling of change is oftentimes so big that it feels like nothing. 

In that hospital room, so much had changed with a simple test. The scale of the moment was beyond comprehension. My parents and I communicated without words, because anything that could have been said would have failed. All the periods, letters, and adjectives in the world would never be enough to frame that point in time. So, somehow and instead, I just knew that I had ulcerative colitis without being told. Shock, and the whole experience, was such a surreal feeling. To know that something has snapped, or broken, or ended, but to be unable to directly confront that realization is off-putting. It was easier to not speak the change aloud, because to speak it into the world would make it extra real. 

In the weeks after my diagnosis, it was as if a light switch had been switched back on. All of the fear, grief, and anger I had missed earlier suddenly now surrounded me. The trauma of illness is such a widespread and varied experience, but it can be difficult to describe and discuss. It’s isolating to feel different, and to feel like you’ve lost a piece of yourself. Health is something that most people take for granted or don’t think about. So when it’s taken away from you, its absence becomes the dominant part of your everyday life. The shift in my lifestyle to one focused on health had a significant impact on my mental health. I was in an environment, my freshman year of college, where everyone seems to be testing the limits of their independence. Thus, to feel completely dependent on my unstable day-to-day health felt unfair and tragic. 

It’s a challenge to have the energy to battle painful, and draining symptoms on a daily basis. I learned that adjusting to my illness, and all of the treatment that comes with it, was a major part of my healing journey. On top of that, I realized that acknowledging the emotions I was experiencing was an important part of accepting my illness. It’s normal and natural to be angry, to grieve, and even to be nostalgic for your life prior to diagnosis. In fact, for me, it was the first step towards opening up and connecting with others in the chronic illness community. My experiences, feelings, and my relationship towards my health has been full of highs and lows. Most of all, I’ve learned that the negative and positive emotions I’ve encountered from dealing with illness are all valid. They’ve helped me grow, learn, and evolve as an individual. Every journey is different, and that is perfectly okay.

Grieving with Crohn’s

By Simon Stones

I have experienced some loss over the years, none more difficult and painful than in 2019, when I lost my mum to pancreatic cancer. The pain was indescribable, like nothing I’ve ever experienced. In the weeks and months that followed, I had to adjust to the fact that overnight, my life had immeasurably changed. I now had to adapt to a totally new way of life – one which felt uncomfortable, unfair, and at times pointless. 

During these times, I was reminded of the grief people experience after receiving a life-changing diagnosis, like inflammatory bowel disease (IBD). Naturally, this type of grief is somewhat different to the grief experienced when a loved one dies, but it is still a form of grief. You are grieving the loss of your pre-diagnosis life... and it’s an important, and necessary process which you must go through. 

Grief strikes each person differently. After all, we all have our own, unique ways of dealing with challenges and heartache in life. A friend recently sent me a surprisingly accurate analogy of grief, which hit the nail on the head. It shows that for most people, grief of a loss, whatever that loss may be, never leaves a person completely. The loss never goes away, but it may change over time. 

Imagine your life as a box. Inside the box, there is a ball, which is the grief you feel, as well as button which when pressed, causes pain. During the early days after your loss, everything is new. Everything is raw. The ball of grief is overwhelming, and so large, that every time you move the box... that is, every time you try to move through your life, the ball of grief cannot help but hit the pain button – constantly. This represents that initial experience of loss – when you can’t control or stop the pain that you are feeling. It is just relentless, no matter how much others try to support and comfort you. At this point in time, it feels as though the pain is unrelenting, and will be like this for the rest of your days. 

However, over time, the ball starts to shrink on its own. As you go through your life, and as the box moves, the ball still rattles around inside the box. However, because the ball is now smaller, it hits the pain button less often. In one sense, you may feel that you can go through most days without having the pain button hit. However, when the ball does hit the pain button, it can be completely unexpected – and hurts just as much as it did during the early days of your loss. This could happen when you’re in a particular place, such as at the hospital, or when listening to a piece of music that reminds you of your life before your diagnosis. It could be anything that is personally meaningful to you. 

As time passes, the continues to shrink and with it, so does the grief for the loss we have experienced. However, we never forget the loss that we have experienced. We must acknowledge that there will be days when the ball does hit that pain button, and when it does, we must be kind to ourselves. 

“We must accept sadness as an appropriate, natural stage of loss.” 

Upon reflection, it’s quite easy to see how this analogy somewhat resembles the process we go through after loss. I’ve certainly seen it after the loss of my mum, but also thinking back to when I was diagnosed with Crohn’s disease. I’ve also observed this with other people I’ve met along the way living with a variety of chronic health conditions. However, the process isn’t straight-forward – nor something we can plan for. It’s personal for each and every one of us. 

In 1969, Swiss-American psychiatrist Elisabeth Kübler-Ross introduced the five stages of grief model. The model describes how people experiencing grief go through a series of five different emotions: denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. While the model has received criticisms, Kübler-Ross said that she regarded these stages as reflections of how people cope with illness and dying, rather than reflections of how people experience grief. What is certain is that these stages are not linear and predictable. 

Let’s start with denial. Can you remember the thoughts that went through your head when you received your diagnosis? Denial is an entirely normal reaction to rationalise those overwhelming emotions that we experience. You can almost regard denial as your human defence mechanism to when you receive that shocking news, and when you begin to think about what you have lost. 

Then there’s anger, which often consumes our souls once the denial starts to diminish. As the pain of the realisation sets in, and as your senses begin to heighten to your surroundings, those feelings of intense frustration and grievance set in, as we start to search for blame. For some, the anger may build up internally, whereas for others, their response mechanism may to be to lash out at everyone and everything around them. 

Along comes bargaining at some point. You know, the stage where you think, ‘What if...’ This serves a really important purpose – and often a temporary escape from the pain you’ve been experiencing. For there may just me small, tiny glimmers of hope, amidst the chaos and despair. 

There’s also depression. In the past, I’ve sometimes felt scared of the term – or rather, the label that can exist in society. But what’s unnatural about depression in these circumstances? It is an entirely rationale and appropriate response as you deal with a great loss. From the intense sadness, to the overwhelming lack of motivation, poor sleep and altered appetite – it’s all part and parcel of dealing with something as colossal as life-changing diagnosis. Again, the experience of depression will vary between every individual, and indeed within yourself, depending on ‘where’ you are at any given moment in time. 

Finally, there’s acceptance, although it’s certainly not ‘final’. Here, you succumb to the reality of your loss, and understand that no matter what you do, nothing can change that reality. This doesn’t mean that you are ‘okay’ or ‘happy’ with the loss that you have experienced; however, it does mean that you are getting your head around it, and are learning to live your life, albeit different, in the best way possible. 

I have no doubt that so many people living with IBD can relate to these different stages and emotions – which can often feel like one big mess, sometimes happening concurrently, and most certainly in a disordered, confusing way. There will always be days when you think, ‘I’ve had enough of this’ – I know I still have those, but they are less frequent as time goes by, and as I learn to adjust to present life. It’s a bit like being out at sea. Sometimes, the sea feels calm, and you can see the beauty in the world. At other times, the waves overwhelm us. When you feel like this, just remember to swim and look for dry land. It’s all we can really do. 

Frustration

By Samantha Rzany

Sam is an independent artist, check out her Redbubble website for IBD stickers or you can message her on Instagram at Samantha.rzany

It’s easy to sit and write about the positive things I’ve learned from life with a chronic illness. I can talk all day long about my journey and what it’s been like for me. I have no problem sharing details about my symptoms and side effects and the physical symptoms of my disease. But what is hard is to be honest. I find it difficult to admit just how hard it is to live with ulcerative colitis. 

Anytime I share with someone that I have a chronic illness, they often apologize. I tend to quickly brush it off and say that it’s okay and then proceed to share the numerous opportunities I have gained from my illness. But it’s not okay. And I’m not okay. Living with IBD is hard. Every single day. It is frustrating. It is exhausting. And it’s just not fair. 

As a 22 year old, I want to be able to go to my 4-day-a-week-job and return back home each day without feeling so absolutely fatigued that all I can do is lay down in bed until I have to leave the next morning. I want to be able to enjoy my three day weekends and spend time with friends and have fun. And I’ve certainly tried to do that. And it starts my week off horribly. I start my work week with my energy below 0. 

I find the spoon theory to help me explain this really well. Each person starts out with a certain number of spoons. For a chronically ill person, the number of spoons is significantly less than the average person. Every single activity (going to work, hanging out with friends, running errands, etc.) takes some of those spoons away from you. And it is very hard to refill your spoons. So when I spend my weekend hanging out with friends and having fun, I start my work week out with no spoons. I very quickly go into the negative. Until my only option the following weekend is to sleep all day everyday. 

It’s an incredibly frustrating cycle. The absolute fatigue from doing very normal things is debilitating. And people just don’t understand. They see me as lazy or a typical “millennial” who just wants to get money and do no work. But it’s not the case. I want to work. I want to go back to grad school. I have so many ambitions for my life. But I am limited. 

It’s frustrating that the medication that is putting my IBD in remission causes so many issues. I find myself seeing specialist after specialist to fix issues that all stem from one medication and one condition. I have to see a neurologist for the migraines I get. I have to see a dermatologist for inflammation in my scalp and rashes on my hands. I have to see an optometrist for inflammation in my eyes. The list goes on and on. I often joke that I’m a 22 year old in a 60 year old’s body. But the sad thing is that it’s truly how I feel. And it scares me. If this is how I’m feeing at 22, what will I feel like when I’m older? When I am 60? 

I don’t like sharing what it’s really like living with IBD. I don’t want people to pity me. I don’t want to burden people with how hard it is. I don’t want my close friends and family to be scared or upset for me. So I often put on a brave face and share my story and hope to empower others to do the same. But life with a chronic illness, especially at 22 years old, is hard. It’s frustrating. It’s exhausting. It’s overwhelming. And many times, it is incredibly lonely. 

I’ve only had IBD for about a year and a half. So I’m pretty new to all of this still. I know there will be times when it gets harder and times where it gets easier. And I’m sure I’m not the only one feeing like this. The frustration, the exhaustion… it doesn’t just go away. But I have found that talking about it helps. Talking to my family and my close friends. Sharing with those in the IBD community what I’m feeling. Even though it doesn’t take away my disease, it makes me feel less alone. 

Hair Loss

By Rachel Straining

Hair loss was something I never expected at the age of 22 until I found myself staring in the mirror, crying at my reflection. 

I knew the stomach pain. I knew the sharp, stabbing aches. I knew the nausea. I knew the fatigue. I eventually even knew the PTSD. But I didn’t know about the hair loss. 

Telogen Effluvium, they called it. It took me a while to figure out how to spell it let alone understand it. Telogen Effluvium - the medical term for temporary hair loss that occurs after your body undergoes serious stress, shock, or trauma. The words stress, shock, and trauma barely begin to cover what my body went through almost a year and a half ago. 

When two of the worst flares I’ve ever experienced happened back to back, one after the other, I lost weight rapidly. I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t sleep. I could barely breathe. I could barely even make it up the stairs without holding on to the railing for dear life and support. 

Shortly after, that’s when my hair started to fall out like I’ve never seen it fall out before. In clumps. In the shower. In my hands as I held seemingly endless strands of hair that I never thought I’d lose. 

I have always struggled with feeling beautiful in my own skin and my own being. Truthfully, growing up, I had always placed an immense amount of importance on my appearance, and my long locks had always felt like a kind of comfort blanket. “Hey, at least I have good hair,” I would say as I picked every other inch of myself apart. Watching my brittle hair fall in my boney hands as I stood in the shower with hot water and tears streaming down my face felt like the final blow to my already withering self-worth. 

I wouldn’t put my hair up. I couldn’t. Not in a bun, not in a ponytail. No matter how hot outside it was or how humid it got. If I tried to, I would immediately break down at the sight of empty, bald patches of hair that were once so full. 

Hair loss is not something that many people, especially many young adults, talk about, but it’s something I’ve come to realize that many have experienced. It is an external, physical side effect that also comes with its own host of internal, mental battles. 

You can say it’s “superficial” and you can say hair “doesn’t matter,” but when your illness continues to distort your self-image and self-confidence time and time again in ways you never thought imaginable, it is hard. It is really hard. It is traumatizing. It is difficult to fully understand unless you’ve been through it. No feelings we endure are trivial, no battles are to be invalidated. 

As someone who has gone through it herself, I am here to tell you you are allowed to feel it all, and anyone who says otherwise can come talk to me. You are allowed to be angry and sad and upset. You are allowed to cry, you are allowed to mourn what you once had, but I also want you to know that I refuse to let you give up on yourself. 

In the moments when you’re standing in front of the mirror or standing in the shower, I know how much of a battle it can be to feel good about yourself, to feel like yourself, to feel like you are complete with bare patches revealing your skin. 

However -

In a society in which it has been so wrongly ingrained and instilled that part of one’s worth is to be found in one’s physical appearance, I want you to know that your worth is not found in the hair on your head or even the freckles on your face. Your worth is found in the way you make other people smile and in the light that you bring to this world simply just by being in it.  

And yes, yes your hair will grow back as you heal. And you will heal. And healing will be a roller coaster of emotions with both mental and physical twists and turns, but the bravest thing you can do along the ride is to embrace who you are inside at every step of the way. 

The bravest thing you can ever do is choose to accept yourself every time you feel as though you can’t. 

Crohn’s in College: Perspectives from a Former D1 Student Athlete

By Rachael Whittemore

Erin and I met in a serendipitous way - I was flaring and having a rough day at work, so I had to switch places with someone at work so I could sit instead of running around in surgical dermatology. She had come in for a triage appointment. We were talking and I made a joke about my stomach and she replied - “oh, I totally understand that, I have Crohn’s.” It couldn’t have been more perfect. We laughed about our IBD and bonded over our love for UNC. I also found out she would be starting a job at the clinic soon! She became a part of our “PA pod” and a beautiful friendship began. Erin is someone who gives her all in everything and is a light to anyone she meets. Like everyone with IBD, her story is unique and she has found a way to truly thrive in spite of it. She graciously offered to answer some questions about life and her journey with Crohn’s disease.

We both share a love for missions and travel!

Tell us a little bit about yourself. What are you up to right now and what plans do you have planned for the next year? 

Raised on a farm in rural North Carolina, I graduated from my dream university (UNC-Chapel Hill) back in 2017 and have stayed in this lovely city ever since. After graduating, I traveled some and then landed this sweet medical assistant job where I became Rachael’s trainee. I am still gaining experience hours in the clinic, with plans to apply to Physician Assistant programs next summer. Along with working full-time, I have been pursuing a second degree in Public Health from North Carolina Central University. My hope is to join public health education and community outreach into the way I practice as a Physician Assistant one day. 

Working as MAs together at Central Dermatology.

What was it like being in college and starting to experience IBD symptoms during a time that is often deemed “some of the best memories you will make?” How was this affected by you playing a sport? 

Overall, my first year of college was pretty miserable. As a first year student athlete, having my first true flare within the first month of training was about the worst timing it could’ve been. I had experienced some fatigue and abdominal pain throughout my senior year of high school but, with the stress of starting college courses and the physical toll softball was taking on my body, the pain and exhaustion was consuming. I had no idea what was going on with my body and why it seemed to be betraying me. I couldn’t perform athletically the way I had before and no one believed me when I tried to explain how I was feeling. In their defense, I didn’t know how to advocate for myself since I didn’t understand what was happening. Nevertheless, I still felt isolated from my teammates, coaches and friends. It looked like I was some freshman who came in lazy, poorly prepared physically, and mentally weak. In reality though, I was struggling to get out of bed in the mornings for weights. I slept on any bench I could find in between class (even if it was for only 5 minutes). My body constantly ached and I’d be back in the weightroom or on the field before I ever felt any recovery from the last training. I’d clutch my stomach at night from the pain. The majority of the time, I felt awful physically and, in turn, felt awful about feeling so weak and letting my team down. It was a difficult time for me. 

How long did it take for you to get an official diagnosis? Was it difficult? Did you have any issues with providers not taking you seriously?

From my first symptoms back in high school to the beginning of sophomore year at UNC, it took over two years and five different doctors to diagnose my Crohn’s disease. This journey was definitely one riddled with frustration and hopelessness at first. I knew my body felt off but after having three different doctors tell me things like, “It’s just a stomach ache, suck it up,” and “Well, if your primary care provider doesn’t think it’s anything, I don’t either,” I decided that I must be crazy and I just had to deal with the pain. When the flare hit me hard at UNC, I went to another doctor to reevaluate for a fourth opinion. After a lot of advocating, he finally tested some labs through blood work. The results showed that I had severe iron-deficiency anemia but the cause wasn’t looked into any further. I remember offering up that maybe it was related to the significant, recurring abdominal pain I’d been experiencing but that was quickly brushed off. My diet was adjusted to help increase my iron intake, but I felt worse as the diet consisted of all the foods that (I now know) cause my flares. It wasn’t until after I had to medically retire from the softball team at the end of my freshman year that I went to see my fifth and final provider. She sat with me, listened to me, and fought with me to find an answer. Within about a month or so, I finally had my diagnosis. The diagnosis proved to others that my struggle was real, but more importantly, it finally gave me a chance at finding some peace. 

What advice would you give other young adults with IBD who may have been seriously playing sports prior to their diagnosis?

I would love to encourage my fellow IBD athletes that this diagnosis doesn’t have to mean an end to your athletic career. I was blessed in that, by my senior year, my Crohn’s was in remission. I laced up my cleats and wore that Carolina jersey proudly for a final season. Was my experience the same as my teammates? No, my conditioning had modifications and some days I had to listen to my body and rest. But who cares? There’s no shame in that. In fact, it’s even more incredible that we’ve been provided the opportunity to compete and perform at that level despite our adversities. I found immeasurably more joy in my sport that final season and realized how much I had taken it for granted before. No matter how much we pour ourselves into our sports, we are not entitled to perfect batting average, fielding percentage, or even health. Sometimes, we get to be creative and find ways to integrate back into our sport or even just an active lifestyle. If you are able to continue athletics, I highly recommend having an honest conversation with your coaches and teammates about expectations and trust. Don’t be afraid to advocate for yourself and your health. If you aren’t able to continue your athletic career, I grieve with you and that loss. I understand the identity crisis that ensues as soon as you are no longer an athlete, however, so much growth comes out of this season of life. I encourage you to shift your hope into something greater than a sport. 

What advice do you have for young adults who are trying to find their way after their diagnosis? 

First, I’d recommend taking some time to wrestle with the reality of the diagnosis and what this means for you personally. Lean hard into your community because having a support system is so crucial. It can be overwhelming in the beginning but trust me that things even out over time and you’ll start to adjust to your new normal. Once you get your bearings and start looking forward, don’t allow your IBD to define or limit you. There is so much more to you than your diagnosis. In a really twisted way, Crohn’s was potentially the best thing that could’ve happened to me. It caused me to really evaluate my life and my heart. It opened up my eyes to new passions and the desire to pursue them. 

After medically retiring from softball for my sophomore and junior year, I was able to study abroad in Scotland for a semester and backpack around Europe for eight weeks after. I became more involved with a campus sports ministry called Athletes In Action, making lifelong friends and growing deeper into my relationship with God. I began to merge my loves of traveling and Jesus together on mission trips abroad. I’ve even recently been on a medical mission trip back in February, which was especially memorable for me. My heart has never been so full. All of this is to say, there is so much life left to explore and experience in this world. It would be a shame to let IBD take that away from you.

On a recent mission trip in Belize - working as a dental assistant!

What advantages do you think living with Crohn’s disease gives you in the real world? Has any reflection changed your perspective on living with a chronic illness going forward?

My Crohn’s disease has given me a certain confidence and purpose for my career path. Before all of this, I wasn’t sure what I wanted to pursue professionally and now I am passionate about becoming a medical provider one day. Even as a medical assistant now, I have been able to relate to my patients on a deeper level when reviewing biologic injections and other medications. Being able to sit with a patient and provide information and counseling from personal experience really helps build trust. While my experience with the healthcare system wasn’t a positive one to start, I’ve since had providers that have made me feel heard and valued. I want to be able to care for others in such a personal and profound way like my medical team has for me. Even if you don’t want to go into the medical field, there are lessons from our experiences on how to treat others that apply to all aspects of life.

I am also grateful for the advantages of endurance and perseverance that I’ve gained. With IBD being a chronic disease and after seven years since my diagnosis, there have been a lot of opportunities to wallow in self-pity. Don’t get me wrong - sometimes there are still days where I’m frustrated with having Crohn’s - but overall there have been so many victories over it. Each time I’ve adjusted my treatment regimen, found yummy recipes in my diet or shared my testimony, I've experienced joy. Celebrate the little things and appreciate the magnitude of what we’ve overcome. Living a full and purposeful life with IBD is possible and I want to empower you to continue persevering to find that. Throughout this experience, I’ve been shaped into the woman I am today and it has provided me the capability to handle all that will come in the future.

---