A Heart That Heals

by Beamlak Alebel (Addis Ababa, Ethiopia)

A close-up photo of a bowl full of acorns. The bowl is engraved with the word “thankful,” and there are acorns scattered in front of the bowl.

Through sleepless nights and heavy days,
You lit my path in countless ways.
With faith and strength, you pulled me through,
Restored my soul, made all things new.

To doctors wise, with healing hands,
Who serve with love in every land—
With knowledge deep and hearts so kind,
You brought me peace and strength of mind.

To the surgeon, calm and true,
Whose steady hands saw me through—
With courage firm and vision bright,
You turned my pain to healing light.

To nurses kind with gentle care,
with whispered prayer—
With watchful eyes and steady grace,
You made the hardest moments safe.

To family strong, who stayed so near,
Who held me close through every tear—
Your endless love, so fierce and true,
Was my sky bright when storms blew through.

To friends who stood through every test,
With laughter shared and hearts at rest—
Your joy and comfort every day
Helped chase the fear and dark away.

To support groups, warm and wise,
Who lift each other’s truths and cries—
You showed me I am not alone,
In every scar, our strength has grown.

Through trials, triumph, joy, and pain,
My gratitude will still remain—
To every soul who walked with me,
I thank you all—eternally.

Image from StockSnap.

Life with Crohn’s – A Pantoum

by Alexis Gomez (California, U.S.A.)

A graphic of a fern on a white background. Some of its’ leaves are blowing away in the wind. Below it is a dark triangle of dirt and roots, also blowing away.

This is your life now.

The burning and belly aches

instigated by none other than Crohn’s,

your forever counterpart.

The burning and belly aches,

the appointments, calls, meds, side effects.

Your forever counterparts are

memories of you in both sickness and health.

The appointments, calls, meds, side effects

force you to advocate for yourself like never before.

Memories of you in both sickness and health

remind you how quickly life can change.

You’re forced to advocate for yourself like never before but

it makes you stronger.

You’re reminded how quickly life can change,

how the world doesn’t pause when you need it to.

It makes you stronger–

the moments of grief and relief.

The world doesn’t pause when you need it to, but

you can savor times of joy and give yourself grace.

The moments of grief and relief

are ever-present with IBD.

You can savor times of joy and give yourself grace.

You deserve it because

this is your life now.

Image from Evie S. on Unspash.

From Here to There

by Alexis Gomez (California, U.S.A.)

A white circle spray-painted on the sidewalk, reads “you are here.” A pair of pointy black shoes stands in the circle.

I am here

but sometimes I want to be at the point

where my body is still like

the photo from 2007 where I am four

laying on the living room carpet

holding my infant brother who’s drooling

and I am smiling and

I am healthy and

I have never known a life unlike this.

I am here.

Not like those

under a setting spring sun

warming their skin

unburned,

unlike

        my insides

                     eyes

                      mouth

                        scalp

                     lungs

                legs

       heart

ego.

I will get there

when I can say thank you

to my body for fighting

(itself)

to keep me alive

everyday.

Timelines are unpredictable.

I know I will get there because

I think of the future

I think about being in it

                                              laughing

                                              singing

                                              dancing

                                              admiring

                                              feeling

                                              appreciating

living.

I am here

for now

but I will get there.

(Photo by Fallon Michael on Unsplash)

Cathartic Crohn's: A Patient’s Reflection on Stickman - The Vicissitudes of Crohn's by Artist Spooky Pooka

By Peter Park, TX, USA

The experience of extreme abdominal pain that feels, quite literally, gut-wrenching and it comes the debate in my head: Should I go to the hospital or not? In peristaltic waves, I wonder “Can I just bear thru it? I really dont want to go to the hospital.” It’s not just a hospital stay. It’s taking time off work. It’s bothering family to transport and take care of me at 26 years old. It’s wondering when I’ll ever be normal again. These thoughts and feelings are no stranger to me when I experience an abdominal flare, and I am sure it may sound familiar to you as well. Perhaps artistic expression can capture some of the emotions and thoughts we experience in our time of distress. 

Spooky Pooka is a professional illustrator and artist from Brighton, England and a Crohn’s patient and captures his view of Crohn’s disease through this piece. I encourage you to read through his poems and artistic pieces. Of his amazing work, I want to highlight a few pieces that stood out to me:

From the section, Quod Me Nutrit Me Destruit “What Nourishes Me Also Destroys Me”

“A blind conspiracy of T-cells

A dissonance within, a mute fluttering

The dolorous baying of ravenous entrails

The moxi drawn from reticulated limbs

And the world shudders down under black wings

To void all memory

To disgorge all resonance

To vomit all in exegesis of viscera”

Without having spoken to the artist myself, I will not attempt to predict what he was thinking. So, I will speak to share why I found this so fascinating as a medical student who suffers from Crohn’s Disease. The “blind conspiracy of T-cells” is exactly how autoimmune disease behaves. In normal function, T-cells use markers on cells to identify what’s our body marker vs a foreign body marker (which has to be eliminated). In autoimmune disease, that self body marker can be confused with a foreign body marker and cause T-cells to attack normal healthy tissue. In IBD, this happens within the GI tract. A “blind conspiracy” leads me to believe that T-cells act on their own accord, led by misleading signals, and hypervigilant to any suspicious activity. 

Words like “dissonance within”, “to void all memory”, “disgorge all resonance”, “vomit all in exegesis of viscera” describes a state of body that is so critical of itself, ready to eliminate any imperfection or any disconnection from the true self that it destroys the entire body. It reads as if the T-cell is a delirious warrior who once was a hero of sorts in his right. But now, this T-cell warrior has lost his way, driven mad by his rage, and killing his own people in frenzy. 

The piece captures the human skeleton with a deer skull and antlers kneeling while holding its belly as old weeds spill out. The background shows perhaps floating T-cells with human eyes. It captures the visceral pain of an abdominal flare - a posture I personify with too easily. It also captures the despair against the T-cells in their march for self-destruction. It seems nothing can escape itself. 

Despite this grave depiction, Spooky Pooka ends the graphic series with a final poem that implies a sense of hope. In the section Dolor Hic Tibi Proderit Olim “Some Day This Pain will be Useful to You”, it is the ending lines I reread over again.

“The tree’s womb may regurgitate old souls

If only for one moment…

It may grow flesh like life”

I’m not sure what it means. I’m not sure why it fascinates me. Perhaps I am desperate to find meaning and purpose behind my suffering. That my abdominal pain will somehow manifest as strength in my nearly malnourished body. Or that my constant fatigue and uncontrolled bathroom breaks is somehow a sign of strength. During my hospitalizations, when I was most alone, I would think that “maybe suffering is just pointless suffering.” 

But this poem and the picture behind it gives me hope. Like branches of a tree, my suffering can extend out and reach out towards others. To grow from untreated soil and serve others who will walk the same path. A hand to hold in suffering together. 

Featured photo by Soonam Wooeser from Pexels.

Check out the inspiration for this post on Spooky Pooka’s website.

Moving

By Zahraa Chorghay, CA, USA

skin stretching like tarp over pillars made of bones

if the turtle carries its home on its back

why do I writhe to make home of this body?

on the cove, the colony of sea lions basks together

skin and blubber resting against each other

lazy afternoons with my family

sprawled on the couch, we swap stories and laugh

on the streets, lilac-coloured flowers erupt on branches

jacaranda petals dancing gently in the breeze

on the dance floor with my friends

music flows through us, bodies swaying to the beat

on the beach, ocean waves crash into the sand

salty water meeting the earth again

my head on his shoulder

nested against each other, joy coursing through our veins

though the cormorants can soar far and wide, they live in groups

but this solitary bird flew far from her roost

(with rotting insides threatening treachery, always)

now gliding in the deep blue skies, untethered by sea or land

will she be lost forever to the wind or someday find her perch?

That is my partner, Crohn's.

By Selan Lee from the United Kingdom

Hello, we haven’t yet been introduced,

My name is Selan and that over there is my partner - confused?

Many do get a little surprised at our coupling,

But once you make the acquaintance of Crohn’s - they tend to cling.

How did we meet? Well, I can’t quite remember,

It might have been in a GP office, an A&E cubicle or before all of that in December,

You see, it is quite difficult to pinpoint when we exactly made our first encounter,

But whenever it was, I definitely floundered,

I couldn’t go to school or even sit down without Crohn’s interrupting,

It seemed my body, my energy, and my mind were all suffering.

I’m not going to say the beginning was fun and joyful,

Our relationship back then was awful, painful and stressful,

It took an incredibly long time to find myself in this partnership and I’m definitely not the same person I was before,

But now simply existing is no longer a chore,

No - now we have a rapport.

We’ve got our strange little milestones to mark our progress,

First concert without major toilet-related distress,

Was Harry Styles in Wembley with me wearing a blue dress,

The first fizzy drink to not cause a tummy gurgle,

An ice-cold Coke without a single audible burble,

Going on six years and passed our wood anniversary,

And I can say our partnership has mellowed considerably,

I can’t guarantee the future will be as smooth as we are now,

But knock on wood - I’ll manage that flare and its symptoms somehow,

Because that’s how I’ve made it thus far,

By looking forward and making light of the medically bizarre,

The fiery inferno of emotions Crohn’s once blazed,

I can say looking in the rear-view mirror of hindsight - is now a smoky haze,

Crohn’s will never leave, and I will never leave it,

As I said before - once it finds you it tends to stick,

But since the day our union was christened in that lone hospital room,

I’ve built the resilence, dark sense of humour and grit to see hope bloom,

So… allow me to reintroduce,

That is my partner Crohn’s disease who is a recluse,

We still occasionally squabble and argue on if we go out,

But I’m definitely in control - without a doubt.

Featured photo by Marcelo Chagas from Pexels.

Laughing Through the Flare-Ups: A Comedy of Tummy Troubles

By Yeabsira Taye from Addis Ababa, Ethiopia

In the world of IBD, where troubles arise,  

I found a way to bring laughter, a humorous surprise.  

Though the pain is real, and the challenges persist,  

A funny poem about my IBD, let's coexist!  

Oh, my dear intestines, you mischievous pair,  

Always causing chaos, it just isn't fair.  

One day you're calm, the next you're a riot,  

Leaving me running to the bathroom in quiet.  

Oh, the adventures with food, what a ride,  

A guessing game where my gut decides.  

One day it's a friend, the next a foe,  

Leaving me wondering which way to go.  

From endless doctor appointments to scopes so grand,  

I've seen my insides more than I'd ever planned.  

They explore my colon like an uncharted land,  

While I lie there, wondering how I got so grand. 

Oh, the joy of explaining my condition to friends, 

As I try to make light of the awkward trends. 

They offer well-meaning advice, bless their hearts, 

But I know deep down, they can't grasp the arts.  

So here's to you, with your IBD tale,  

Finding humor even when things derail. 

In laughter, you'll find strength to carry on, 

Turning your trauma into a comedy marathon.  

Remember, my friend, in the midst of the strife, 

Laughter is the best medicine in life.  

So embrace the funny side, let it be your guide, 

And conquer IBD with laughter as your stride.

---

Featured photo by Tim Mossholder from Pexels.

Haemoglobin Heist: Anaemia as a Complication of IBD

By Zahraa Chorghay, Montreal

I transformed into a vampire in a field of daffodils

their lips drooped aghast as I soaked in the blood

of another human

my body was consumed with insatiable hunger

a voracious appetite for haemoglobin and oxygen

for life

the first miracle of life is birth, the second is living 

with all its defiance of the inevitable

of death

Do you know where all my blood went when I showed up to my hospital’s emergency department (ER), my head pounding and tests showing anaemia so acute as if I’d just bled out? They patched me up — a needle inserted into my left antecubital area (inner elbow) to deliver a unit of blood, stat, and some iron too — but remained bewildered as to the cause. On a stretcher parked next to the nurse station, I stared up at the ceiling tile painted with five daffodils, feeling like absolute shit yet relieved at the thought that maybe when all this was done, I would finally be rid of the headaches that had haunted me continuously for over a month.

It’s always the same, believe it or not; “It’s always the Crohn’s, believe it or not,” I told the tired attending doctor. Then, I headed home after an eventful day spent in the ER. 

Anaemia is “the most common metabolic complication” of inflammatory bowel disease (IBD), defined as a haemoglobin level of less than 13 g/dL in men or 12 g/dL in non-pregnant women (Mahadea et al., 2021). Given that haemoglobin is the oxygen carrier within your red blood cells, individuals will have reduced blood oxygen levels in anaemia, underlying the following symptoms:

• fatigue 

• weakness

• low blood pressure

• shortness of breath, even at rest or with mild activities

• rapid heart rate

• numbness or tingling in your extremities

• irritability

• headaches

• pale skin

• slight fever

What makes anaemia particularly complicated in people with IBD is the susceptibility to blood loss, dehydration, malabsorption, and malnutrition from chronic intestinal bleeding, inflammation, and ulcerations. IBD symptoms such as chronic fatigue, along with side effects of medications or surgical procedures, can further mask symptoms that medical practitioners otherwise rely upon to diagnose anaemia. To demonstrate just how complicated it can be, over months, I gradually had all of the symptoms listed above, which I complained about to my family doctor (GP) a couple of times, yet my anaemia remained undiagnosed.

The decrease in haemoglobin levels seen in anaemia can arise from iron deficiency since iron is necessary for haemoglobin formation. To increase iron intake, you can consume iron-rich foods, such as red meat, eggs, legumes, and leafy green vegetables like spinach and kale (Mayo Clinic, accessed 2024). (Palak ghosht, anyone?) Iron supplements, either oral tablets or IV infusions, may also be administered to individuals with anaemia, but those can have adverse effects so dietary changes are preferred. 

Unfortunately, even people who consume sufficient iron can show low haemoglobin levels due to lack of absorption through a diseased or surgically excised gut in IBD, other deficiencies (e.g., of folic acid or vitamin B12), early destruction of red blood cells in hemolytic anaemia, inherited disorders like sickle cell disease or thalassemia, menorrhagia (excessive menstrual bleeding), or adverse effects of certain medications (Penn Medicine, accessed 2024). Depending on the aetiology of the anaemia, different treatment options can be pursued.

In case you’re wondering how anaemic you need to be for your suggested treatment to be a blood transfusion — a last resort option due to its well-documented adverse effects, including potentially immune rejection — I showed up to the ER with a haemoglobin level of just 4.2 g/dL. I can’t get over how I was still able to get through that month of continuous headaches and shortness of breath everytime I stepped out of the house, appearing relatively functional to everyone else, despite calamity looming within me, literally within my veins. The human body is marvelously resilient, subhanallah! Nevertheless, I hope that having read this piece, you will be more easily able to recognize these signs and symptoms of anaemia as well as to advocate for yourself in medical settings, preventing you from having to find out firsthand just how resilient your body can be.

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Featured cover photo by Irina Iriser from Pexels.

"Whispers of Weary Stars"

By Tanisha Singh from India

Beneath the moon's tender gaze we tread,

We who bear the weight of threads unseen,

A tapestry woven with threads of lead,

A dance with tiredness, where we convene.

Each step echoes softly with a sigh,

As weary limbs journey through the day,

A symphony of shadows in the sky,

Where sun and moon alternate, as they sway.

The stars, like whispers of forgotten dreams,

Hold secrets of the tired souls who roam,

In twilight's grasp, where silence gleams,

They paint the canvas of a quiet home.

Uncertainty, a specter of the night,

Its haunting touch, a shiver in the dark,

In eyes that seek a glimmer of insight,

We navigate the paths unknown, embark.

Oh, how we yearn for dawn's embrace,

To shake the weariness from weary bones,

Yet in the night, we find a different grace,

As shadows whisper tales in muted tones.

A tapestry woven with strands of hope,

Each fiber intertwined with threads of fear,

In tiredness, we learn to tightly cope,

Embrace the symphony that lingers near.

"Whispers of Weary Stars" they gently say,

In tiredness' grip, we find a way,

To face the unknown with hearts ablaze,

And navigate the night, embracing the maze.