My Therapy Journey

“Making mental health a priority in the puzzle of figuring out an IBD or any chronic illness diagnosis is vital to providing holistic health care to patients. ”

— Amy Weider

Having a chronic illness is so hard on the body. The constant pain or fear of pain can consume your life. For me, when I go to the gastro doctor the symptoms that have meant I am doing well are: are my bowel movements regular, can I keep food down and does my stomach feel okay. Through this journey it always felt like a piece of the puzzle was missing. When I was first diagnosed, I was always feeling sad, misunderstood and angsty. When I was going through my first flare ups I noticed I would become more sad and lonely than the usual sad and lonely. Dealing with a chronic illness and body pain is an isolating experience already and on top of it all processing the mental turmoil of diagnosis and life can feel unbearable.  

I first went to therapy when I was 13, three years after my Crohn’s diagnosis. Therapy can be a very overwhelming experience. It is expensive and insurance companies so often make it an even harder process to navigate. The healthcare system in the United States of America is blatantly set up to scare you away from being any sicker than you are and resources for finding mental healthcare can be scarce, especially if you do not live in a big city. Not to mention the societal disapproval of seeking help is so strong. 

After overcoming all these barriers to mental health care and my family hearing and understanding me after stating my need for mental support, my mother and I started the search for a therapist. We were new to this whole therapy thing and were on our own to figure it all out. We failed to acknowledge the many types of therapy and that the styles and process of therapy vary vastly. I have been through my fair share of therapists to say the least. It was hard enough to see one let alone find a therapist whose practices best uplifted my functionality. Especially living in a smaller town, it was hard to find someone who understood the trauma of being a young person with a chronic illness. Many times therapists would reinforce the adult disbelief of my sadness and hurt, an experience all too common with my other doctors. The trauma that comes with disbelief is off putting enough to avoid help. I did indeed find the right therapist for my young self and was able to stabilize my depression and grow comfort and knowledge from my experiences. 

As I grow older, I have much more complexity to my identity. So, it can be more complicated finding a therapist to support me in all my identities. Living in Chicago has helped open a door of resources that include free or sliding scale therapy and group therapy that allows me to work on my depression and anxiety everyday. I have recently found the right process for myself which takes the form of art therapy. It has taught me the ability to harness a practice. Creating something out of fabric is a way in which I am able to culminate anxiety or put importance elsewhere. Physical creation brings clarity to many life situations and it allows me to explore my pain through art. 

Reflecting back, I am so thankful to have parents that heard me when I said I needed help and support from a mental health professional. I needed help processing the bodily trauma that happened in such formative years in my life. Without therapy, there would have been no emphasis on my mental health at my GI doctor’s appointments because it was never addressed. I would have greatly benefited from a psychologist on staff at the gastro doctor or at least a referral after being diagnosed. Making mental health a priority in the puzzle of figuring out an IBD or any chronic illness diagnosis is vital to providing holistic health care to patients.

It's Not Just My Stomach

By Rachel Straining

It’s not just my stomach. 

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It’s the clumps of hair I had to watch fall out in the shower. It’s the fatigue that pulls you under like a crashing wave in the ocean and you have no other choice but to succumb to its current until you’re able to swim to shore. It’s the countless hours spent sitting in waiting rooms and on the cold, scratchy paper of an examination table. It’s being too afraid to eat that one food again, too afraid to go to that one place again, too afraid that it will happen all over again. It’s not just my stomach. 

It’s often just as much mental as it is physical. It’s often just as much whole body as it is, in my case, intestinal. 

I think that’s the thing that a lot of people don’t know about inflammatory bowel disease (IBD). I think that’s the thing that people without it will never know unless we say it - that it affects a lot more than just our “stomachs.”

It’s something that’s hard for others to understand because an invisible illness inherently brings with it invisible side effects that remain unseen. It’s something that’s hard to talk about because there’s this socially constructed stigma around it. That’s why I think that it’s something that we have to talk about, on our own terms, in whatever way we’re comfortable. 

Because the more we do, the more we can break that stigma for ourselves and for anyone else who is silently struggling and feels like they’re alone because no one else is talking about it. The more we make the invisible visible, the more we can gain back that power. The more we bring light to our darkest struggles, the more we can help guide others to see the moon. The more we illuminate the truth, the more we can live it.

Because the thing is, it’s not just our stomachs. And it’s time for people to know that.  

And yeah, there are days when I can put on a fire outfit and a hot red lipstick and stand tall in the face of everything that’s tried to tear me down. But that does not, and will never, take away from the reality of what I’ve gone through and what I’m going through. 

Even when others can’t see it, it’s not just our stomachs. 

It’s the fear of the future and the PTSD of the past. It’s current care and preventative care, needing to keep things under control now while simultaneously trying to make sure things don’t spiral out of control down the line. It’s attempting to gain control over something that can have a mind of its own. 

It’s trying to learn and relearn a body and a soul that are constantly changing, trying to learn and relearn how to live a life that’s continuously evolving with an additional layer of unpredictability. 

It’s knowing how much this disease affects different aspects of your life, but doing your best every day to not let it define your life - to not let it define you. It’s working to foster a kind of acceptance that on some days it just feels like it does. It’s working to foster a kind of belief that on days it feels like it defines your life, it doesn’t mean it will forever. 

Living with IBD brings with it different things for different people. But I think that, at its core, we can all agree that it’s not just our stomachs. We can all agree that everyone is going through something that others may know nothing about. We can all practice a little more empathy and implement a little more kindness because of it.

“The more illuminated the truth, the more we can live ours.”

7 Things You Shouldn’t Say to Someone with IBD

By Samantha Rzany

Photo by cottonbro from Pexels

IBD is a pretty hard thing to deal with. As an invisible illness, people can’t see everything going on inside my body. My body is waging a war against itself and no one can see it when they first look at me. I’ve gotten quite a few reactions when I tell someone about my ulcerative colitis. A lot of people react really well when I tell them, asking about symptoms, what my day-to-day life looks like, what kinds of foods I can and can’t eat, what treatment options there are, etc. But there are always those that suddenly become PhD level experts in digestive diseases as soon as the words IBD are out of my mouth. And these “experts” tell me everything I’m doing wrong. A lot of people just don’t quite know what to say. There’s no right thing to say, there’s nothing that someone can say that is going to cure my IBD. But there are definitely things that people say don’t help. I made a list of the top 7 things you shouldn’t say to someone with IBD. 

7

“Oh I know someone who has IBS! They changed what they ate and felt TOTALLY better!”

Irritable bowel syndrome (IBS) and inflammatory bowel disease (IBD) seem similar in nature and they definitely have overlapping symptoms. But they are not the same disease. IBS only involves the colon, does not cause ulcers or lesions in the bowel, and is managed with medications and lifestyle changes such as diet and stress reduction. IBD, however, causes ulcers in the tissue of the digestive track. IBS is a syndrome, while IBD is a disease. IBS does not cause any inflammation, rarely causes hospitalization or surgery, the colon appears free of disease or abnormality during an exam, and there is no increased risk for colon cancer. With IBD, there is destructive inflammation that causes permanent harm to the intestines, the colon is visibly diseased during exams, and there is an increased risk for colon cancer. While both definitely impact daily life, IBD cannot be managed by just lifestyle changes. While people that say they know someone with IBS is trying to relate, it’s not the same. I have IBD and even in remission I still have IBS too. They just aren’t comparable conditions. See the infographic from the Crohn’s and Colitis Foundation for America comparing the two, below!

6

“You should stop eating junk food and try a salad! Your stomach probably just needs a vegetable!”

For some reason, my body does not like to digest a lot of healthy foods. Vegetables with hard rinds, salads, some fruits… my body does not digest it. For the most part, what goes in comes out without it being broken down. The pain associated with eating these foods is often unbearable. Even in remission, I have to eat raw vegetables and roughage sparingly. When I was flaring last year, I couldn’t even have little bits of lettuce on a sandwich. I was a frequent flyer of McDonald’s because, for some reason, I could handle junk food better than I could handle healthy foods. It got to the point where I would do anything to eat a salad. I missed apples and lettuce and cucumbers so much. People often told me it must be nice to just eat junk food and not have to worry about eating healthy. But the junk food I could eat didn’t have the nutrients I needed. And I missed veggies so much. Then there were the people that would tell me my IBD was probably just caused by junk food or could be treated by eating healthy. If eating a salad and never having French fries again meant curing my IBD, I’d do it in a heart beat. Unfortunately, that’s not how it works – and shaming me for eating the few things my body could handle just makes it worse. 

5

“Can’t you hold it? You JUST went to the bathroom!”

No. I can’t hold it. When I was flaring, I was going to the bathroom within 5 minutes of eating anything. I was in the bathroom at least 20 times a day. And when I had to go, I had to go right at that moment. Middle of a store, an exam in class, driving down the road… whatever it was, I had to stop and run to the bathroom. Life would be a lot easier if I could just hold it. And crazy enough, I do know that I just went. That’s part of the disease, though. Frequent and urgent bathroom visits. Sometimes with no warning. Reminding me that I just went and making me feel bad for having to stop what I’m doing doesn’t make things move faster. 

4

“But you were fine yesterday – can’t you just push through it?”

My IBD symptoms change day to day, sometimes even hour to hour. I can commit to plans and have to cancel 5 minutes before. I can look forward to something for weeks, only to feel sick an hour before I’m supposed to go out. And it is the worst. If I can push through it, I do. I made it through college and starting my first job. I was in the hospital for 4 days the first week of my job. I got out on a Monday night, drove two hours to my infusion center to get my first infusion, and then went to work the next morning. There is a lot that I push through. Sometimes, I need to lay in bed and be close to the bathroom and that’s okay. I hate having to cancel plans. I hate feeling so sick that I can’t do the things I was so excited to do. Not being able to push through it does not make me a bad friend or a flaky person. It makes me a wise patient because I know my limits and my body enough to know when I need rest and when to take care of myself. 

3

“Have you tried reducing your stress? Maybe try yoga or something.”

While stress can certainly make my IBD worse, it does not cause it, and reducing stress does not treat it. My life can certainly be high stress. Being diagnosed with a chronic and incurable condition at 20 years old is definitely stressful, but I know how to manage my stress. If some stress-reducing yoga could stop the blood, the pain, the ER visits and hospital stays, and everything else that comes with IBD, I’d make a career out of it. But it’s not that easy. Knowing how to manage stress can help some symptoms during a flare up and help calm things down to a point. Stress management is not a cure for IBD and telling me to stop being stressed makes me more stressed. 

2

“Why are you so tired? You haven’t done anything today.”

This is one of the most frequent things I hear. To an outsider, it’s true. I am absolutely exhausted all the time. I could sleep all day and lay in bed all weekend and go to work Monday morning feeling like I pulled a week full of all-nighters, but that’s what a chronic auto-immune disease will do. I had one doctor explain my fatigue like this: remember how tired you feel when you’re fighting off a cold or the flu? Like no amount of sleep will make you feel awake? You feel achy and worn down and your brain feels like mush? That’s how someone with IBD feels all the time. Instead of their immune system attacking a virus like the flu, it is constantly attacking itself – all day and all night. Those with IBD often have weak immune systems due to the medications they are on, making it more likely to get sick. Our bodies are fighting double just to function the way a healthy body can. So yes, I am tired all the time. I may have slept 14 hours the day before and had two cups of coffee, but I’m still tired and I could always use a nap. I wish I had the energy that a 21 year old should. That would mean I could go out and do what my friends can. However, I have accepted that my body has limitations and I need more sleep than the average person to function at the same level.

1

“Just use oils! You need to stop pumping your body with all that poison!”

I will be the first to tell you, if an essential oil could make my immune system stop attacking itself, I would bathe in it all day and night. Sometimes, oils may help to an extent with headaches or nausea that come as side effects from medications I am on, but no essential oil or combination of oils will ever cure my disease. Of course I wish that something natural would work the way my immunosuppressant infusions do. Even a combination of 6 different medications at once did not help the way my current infusion medication does. It’s scary to have to pump a medication into my body every 6 weeks. Especially a newer medication that we do not know long term effects of. But it’s keeping me healthy and keeping me alive. And shaming me for how I am dealing with my chronic disease is never okay. 

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While all these are things I hear often and things that are definitely frustrating, I know they often come out of a place of not knowing how to respond and wanting to help. The most helpful thing someone can do is be there. Be there when I’m in remission and at my best, and be there when I’m laying in pain on the bathroom floor at my worst. Ask questions. Ask how you can help. Ask what my IBD means for me. Educate yourself. Don’t assume based on things you may have heard or things that work for a friend. In the end, be the kind of friend you’d want if you had IBD.

Why Me? Why Advocacy?

By Rachael Whittemore

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Reading the inspiring stories written by my co-fellows and having conversations about what it means to for each of us to be IBD advocates for young people prompted me to consider the different paths that led us to our roles in advocacy. Each of us have been through times of uncertainty, emotional and physical pain, bowel preps, needle sticks, treatments and more to hopefully get us to remission and the promise of life similar to what we had before we were diagnosed. We have different interests, different educational backgrounds, come from different cultures…maybe we’re even from different countries or different areas of the same country. I know my diagnosis story and IBD journey is different from theirs, and that’s ok, but above all else, we share a bond of navigating life as young people with chronic illness.

By this point, you might be wondering - why advocacy? Before I can answer that question, I have another admission: as much as I felt that I was strong and capable and felt like I took everything in stride, I was angry at the world and at my body when I received my diagnosis (I’m sure many of you can relate!). Even though I have an immediate family member with ulcerative colitis, it felt like everything I knew about the disease went out the window once my diagnosis became a permanent part of my medical record. I took care of myself, was always active, ate healthfully, and yet I still ended up with IBD. I felt like my body had broken up with me. Feelings of shame, exhaustion, and physical disconnection came to color those first few months of living with ulcerative colitis, as I realized I would have to figure out how to navigate something that seemed entirely outside of my control.

I won’t sugar coat things – it really did take a while for me to feel like I had a grasp on what my body was experiencing, and the various things I needed to process that, both emotionally and physically. But in time, with the support of family and close friends (and meds and diet changes), I allowed myself to process my diagnosis and my own lived experience, and as a result, I slowly found ways to get my symptoms under control. Still, one question lingered: what to do next? As much as I was frustrated, I thought about how it’s hard to talk about IBD, often viewed as a “bathroom disease,” with others.  It seemed like it would never be ok for me to openly discuss IBD and I found myself struggling to figure out how to approach the various aspects of my life that were inevitably impacted by it - from social situations to work requirements. At that time, I was working in a medical office to get experience before going to Physician Assistant (PA) school. To me, there was little clarity among the general public about what IBD was, and a lack of resources for those affected. I wanted to find some way to make a difference, even if only at a small level. This is how IBD and patient advocacy suddenly took on a whole new meaning for me.

“Take a deep breath. You can take that next step…”

I did some Google searching and got involved with the Carolina’s Crohn’s and Colitis Foundation (CCF) and got to know others with IBD. I worked on our local planning committee, attended our Take Steps walk to raise awareness and research funding and, while there, noticed how many young people were walking there as patients. My overlapping time working with CCF and learning how to manage my ulcerative colitis shaped my passion for patient advocacy and education. As a future medical provider (graduation coming up in December!), being a patient advocate was especially important to me since I’d spent extra time in my own patient shoes. This has continued as I became involved with CCYAN and as I started my final clinical rotations for PA school this year.

It may seem like my path to IBD advocacy was clearer cut since I’m in the medical field. While I believe my occupation certainly gives me additional perspective, it was really the weight and frustration I experienced as a patient diagnosed with ulcerative colitis that inspired me to take something negative and use it to positively impact others. For some of you, it might take some time to come to terms with your diagnosis or even recover from being diagnosed in the first place. You might have to recoup from surgery, get used to your infusion schedule, or use more courage than you ever anticipated to get past the ongoing medical visits and unpleasant exams we go through as part of our treatment process.

At the end of the day, even if you already feel ready and able to “do something,” give yourself time to reach a healthy place - physically and mentally. From there, think about your hobbies, passions, and the resources you wish you’d had when you were learning to navigate your own IBD journey. Who knows, you might just find your own path to advocacy. Keep in mind, the word “advocacy” itself might seem intimidating, but there’s no need to ascribe undue weight to it. There are so many things, both large and small, that can have an enormous impact on others. It doesn’t matter if it’s starting an IBD group at your school or a blog about your experience. Remember, the internet can be a beautiful thing and there are many ways to share your story and have it heard and supported by people who can both empathize with and learn from your experiences, even if they’re thousands of miles away.

Take a deep breath. You can take that next step – whether it’s learning how to share some of the uncomfortable parts of your story with your friends or beginning to forge your own path as an IBD advocate. Like many of our fellows have said before, this disease is part of you, but it doesn’t have to define you. Even something as small as sharing the #IBDvisible infographic during Crohn’s and Colitis Awareness Week in December can be a great first step to give others insight into your journey and create a space for dialogue where there was none before. I’ve only lived with ulcerative colitis for four years, but in that time I’ve made peace with my “body breakup,” and I’ve learned to be thankful for all of the amazing things I’m still able to do with this body as someone who is so much more than a diagnosis. And, as more time has passed, I’ve gone from the perspective of “why me?” to “why not? Why not make advocacy a part of my IBD journey?” I hope you’ll find that, in time, you can, too.

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Cooking With Colitis: Chicken Noodle Soup

Winter got you down? Watch as Rachael, one of our 2020 fellows, walks you through this soup that's great for cold weather or when you're not feeling 100%. Recipe is posted below and, as always, feel free to change to meet your dietary needs. Don't forget to check us out on our other social media platforms!

The recipe for this yummy meal can be found here:

Extra tips!

• If you have homemade stock or bone broth, that would be a great and nutritious addition. 

• I like to add several handfuls of baby spinach at the end to get some extra greens in there. 

• If you want to make it veg, use veggie stock and omit the chicken. Add any extra veggies you like - greens, white beans, canned tomatoes, etc. 

• Based on your dietary needs, change the recipe as much as you need! The onions, celery, carrots, garlic and oil are a good base for a lot of different soups - the world is your oyster with this recipe. :)

Recipe - 

Ingredients: 

• 1 medium white/yellow onion, chopped 

• 2-3 carrots, chopped

• 3-4 stalks celery, chopped 

• 1 Tbsp each of butter, olive oil - use either or based on dietary needs/preference!

• Pinches of dried thyme, oregano, basil, parsley (or to taste)

• 1-2 bay leaves 

• 2-3 cloves garlic, minced or ~1 tsp garlic powder

• Salt & pepper to taste

• 2 quarts of chicken stock (or homemade if you have it)

• Shredded rotisserie chicken (one small should be plenty)

• Slightly undercooked large egg noodles - use as much as you like, but usually ⅓ to ½ a bag 

Directions: 

1. Heat butter/olive oil at medium heat until hot, then add onion, celery and carrots. 

2. Cook, stirring occasionally until onions and celery start to cook down and become translucent, about 10-15 min or as needed. Add thyme, oregano, garlic (or garlic powder), bay leaves, salt and pepper. 

3. Cook a few minutes more, until everything smells  extra delicious, and add ~1 cup of chicken stock (at least enough to cover the veggies). Bring to  simmer.

4. Bring pot of salted water to boil to cook the egg noodles.  Make sure you underook them a bit by 1-2 min since they will finish cooking in the soup. Rinse/drain. 

5. Add egg noodles to soup mixture and simmer for 10 min. Add shredded chicken, turn heat to low,  and cook for ~5 more minutes or until heated through. 

6. Taste, season more as needed  and remove bay leaves. Congrats, you’re all done. :)

The Pathway to Body Acceptance as a Chronically Ill Person

By Amy Weider

When I was in fourth grade, I was going through the symptoms of my upcoming Crohn’s diagnosis. I was young and did not understand or have the language to explain the pain my body was feeling. While Crohn’s and IBD are invisible illnesses, i.e. one does not look “sick” to a normal passer byer, my constant puking and diarrhea made me lose a significant amount of weight. As a 4th grader this was a bit alarming to my folks, but the general reaction made by my peers and adults around me was to comment on my weight loss and uplift me for it. “You look so much better now” I remember this statement so vividly from a boy in my fourth grade class. “It’s super cool that you finally decided to lose some weight,” someone said to my ten year old body. I was ecstatic to hear this. When you are growing up Femme in a world that encourages you to hate your body and only allows you to idolize those who occupy an able body that wears a size two, it is fitting that this weight loss seemed like a success to me as opposed to a signal that I was chronically ill. I could not differentiate between healthy and skinny, they meant the same to me.

“I could not differentiate between healthy and skinny, they meant the same to me.”

I internalized so many of these comments and the general societal note that any extra amount of weight made me less than. When I was put on prednisone it induced me to gain all the weight back plus more and get “moon face” as well as stunt my growth. As a formally skinny person, I was embarrassed to have this body and it forced me to endure much body dysmorphia because of the quick changes. My mind didn't understand how this was supposedly a healthier version of myself.

When I think back to this time in my life I want to give my ten year old self a big hug. Healing with the body that I inhabit is treating it with the love and respect that I so desperately needed when I was actively a sick young person. My body size continues to change today even in remission. Body dysmorphia and trauma still occupy much of my life. When I was a size two I remember constantly thinking I was fat, now a size ten I do all I can to waste no more days worrying about my size. Acknowledging sizeism and fatphobia allows me to deconstruct and actively tear down these underlooked systems of oppression that taught me to hate myself and other bodies. Today, I know that my body does not even have to be healthy, skinny or pretty for me to love it. I love the way my body takes up space. I accept that my body is sick while simultaneously being an amazing vessel that holds all my thoughts and dreams. Learning radical self love was revolutionary for me and so many others.

“Today, I know that my body does not even have to be healthy, skinny or pretty for me to love it. I love the way my body takes up space.”

People gain and lose weight for SO MANY different reasons, folks with chronic illnesses deal with a fluctuation of weight due to their medicine, hospital visits or general “sick” stress. Even deeper, any kind of body trauma can induce weight loss or gain. Sure, if you are blindly assuming someone is unhealthy because of their weight, it allows you to think very highly of yourself but when we comment on one specific part of the body not the whole person, their whole experience and all the symptoms, your comments are worthless. In general, commenting on other folks’ bodies is a baseless way to assert a dominance on others.

All bodies deserve love! The body positive movement is currently challenging the notion that one specific body is healthy and beautiful and all the other ones must conform. Folks like LIZZO, Megan Jayne Crabbe (@bodyposipanda), Iskra Lawrence, Sonya Renee Taylor (The Body Is Not An Apology) are pushing back everyday by freely and openly loving themselves as a political agenda and are encouraging others to do so as well. Folks with chronic illnesses and disabilities are at the center of this movement and are helping bring nuance and love to it.

“Everyone poops.”

By Samantha Rzany

“Living with an invisible illness is hard. But every time I share my story, the illness becomes a little less invisible to those who take the time to listen.”

As Taro Gomi best said, “Everyone poops”. From a very young age, we became aware that, indeed, everyone does poop. But when I was little, I don’t think I could have imagined just how much I would poop…

I just passed my one year since being diagnosed with Ulcerative Colitis. After a year and a half of countless doctor’s appointments with no real results, I finally had an answer. I had my first colonoscopy the day before finals during my first semester of my senior year of college. The prep was anything but fun, but I went into the procedure not expecting anything to come of it, as had happened so many times before. After the scope, the doctor came into the room. I remember being pretty out of it from the anesthesia. She spent all of five minutes in the room with us, throwing out words like “ulcers”, “irritated”, and “diagnosis”. She told me I had ulcerative colitis, that I needed to schedule a follow up appointment with my regular GI, and that she’d write a script for some suppositories and enemas. At the time, I had no idea what those even were. Little did I know how familiar I’d become with them.

I smiled and nodded, certain that it was a “drink some water, reduce stress, and take some of this medicine” kind of thing - like the gut version of “ice and Advil”. I left the hospital sure that it was another diagnosis thrown around when they’re not really sure what was wrong. Then people started asking how I felt about my new diagnosis. I didn’t know anything about ulcerative colitis. Doctors threw around different diagnoses for the last year and a half of testing, and none of it really meant much. I assumed this was the same.

After a quick Google search in the car ride back to my dorm, I realized that ulcerative colitis was no “quick fix” kind of disease. It was chronic. And there was no cure.

A few weeks later, I had my follow-up appointment with my regular GI. She discussed my treatment plan, explaining that for now I was going to be on topical treatments – the suppositories and enemas – but that there were more aggressive treatments out there. She mentioned steroids and immunosuppressant drugs. She said that she never expected me to even need immunosuppressant medications, so there was no need to do the blood tests required to see if they would be safe for me. I went home feeling much more at peace with the diagnosis – I mean I could handle a few suppositories and enemas twice a day, right?

Over the next two months, I started to get sicker and sicker. I could hardly eat without extreme pain and very frequent bathroom visits. I was eating rice for every meal, since it was all I could tolerate. I eventually started eating baby food too because it was easy on my stomach and gave me the nutrients I needed.

Two ER visits in a span of 3 weeks later, the ER doctor prescribed me Prednisone. We in the IBD community lovingly call this the “Devil’s TicTacs”. The doctor told me he didn’t expect me to be on it for more than two or three weeks – just long enough to treat my flare up. He said I may gain 5 pounds or so, but that they’d fall right back off.

“I eventually started eating baby food too because it was easy on my stomach and gave me the nutrients I needed.”

The next three months were some of the hardest in my life. I was so sick. I was in the ER every couple weeks to get fluids and nutrients that I couldn’t retain on my own. I was having bad side effects from the Prednisone, but it wasn’t making things any better. I was also trying to finish up my last semester of college. Only because of my incredibly understanding and accommodating professors was I able to graduate a year early at the end of April with a degree in Psychology and Leadership.

I switched to a GI through the University of Chicago back home. He said I needed to start receiving immunosuppressant infusions, since I had failed each of the previous medications. We had tried so many times to wean me off the Prednisone and supplement with other oral mediations, and nothing was working.

A few days before I was scheduled to receive my first infusion of Entyvio (the immunosuppressant I chose), I was getting very sick. I spent four days in the hospital receiving high dose IV steroids and lots of nutrients and fluids. I was discharged from the hospital and went straight to the infusion center.

Within 6 weeks, I could tell a huge difference in my health. I was actually getting better. After 5 months and 47 pounds later (guess the ER doc was a little off on that one), I was finally able to get off of Prednisone. In August, I was declared to be in remission.

Since then, I have continued to stay in remission. We increased my infusions to every 6 weeks and I still have symptoms sometimes, but I am so grateful to be doing well.

I have found so much support in the IBD community. Whether it be online support groups, working as the Pilot Director in Illinois for Health Advocacy Summit, having a team for the Crohn’s and Colitis Take Steps Walk, or participating in this fellowship, the amount of love and support I have received is unreal. People I have never even met are the ones I can talk to about any and everything. I have found strength and courage in sharing my story and in reading other’s stories. While all of this support doesn’t cure my IBD or relieve my symptoms, it certainly makes me not feel so alone. Living with an invisible illness is hard. But every time I share my story, the illness becomes a little less invisible to those who take the time to listen.

My IBD Life: Travelling with an Ostomy

By Nikhil Jayswal

Hi everyone!

I hope 2020 has been good for you so far. I am looking forward to a great year ahead. The month of January was packed with many happy moments. The happiest of them was the marriage of my younger brother which happened a few days ago. The wedding was more beautiful than I could’ve ever dreamed and I was overwhelmed with emotions. However, the wedding was also quite a challenge for me. It pushed me to do something I had always been afraid to do and that is what I have decided to share with you in this post.

I have Crohn’s Disease, which unfortunately didn’t respond to any drug. Hence I was given an ileostomy. My stoma saved me, but it did bring with itself a different set of problems to be managed. Travel is one such problem. My stoma is a high-output stoma. I empty my ostomy bag when it is near 90-100% full, which usually happens every 4-5 hours. This poses a problem for me when travelling for more than 2-3 hours.

There are several issues here. I could empty my bag in a public toilet, but there are not many clean public toilets in India. Additionally, people with IBD and/or an ostomy are NOT recognised as disabled. We cannot use accessible toilets which are often much cleaner. Then there’s the taboo associated with poo and the disease and the ostomy bag. Then there’s my slight OCD. :P Because of all these reasons, I’ve never emptied my bag in a public toilet. It has always been my home or a hotel room. When I have to travel, I starve myself for a whole day in advance. It empties my stomach and I travel without worry. It works well for me if the duration of travel is less than 6 hours.

It was a 2-day wedding with a 14 hour long trip to and from the wedding destination. This meant that if I wanted to avoid emptying my pouch on the road, I would have to eat only twice within 5 days. I had never done such a thing before. Doing routine tasks on an empty stomach is very difficult with an ileostomy. This was a wedding! I also had to take care of everything from the groom’s side, which meant that I wouldn't get much sleep or rest. This wedding was going to test my endurance to the limits which made me very anxious.

Somehow, I managed to do it all for three days. But on the fourth day, I ate more than I was supposed to. I was feeling so hungry that I couldn’t stop once I started eating. Also, this was very spicy food which is a big no-no for me. It is a major flare trigger and makes my stoma go nuts. I emptied my pouch before I boarded the bus back home. After 5 hours, my bag was half full. In the next 3 hours, it was 80% full. I was nervous and trying to decide if I could hold out for 6 more hours. After an hour, my bag was full. I knew if I didn’t empty it, a leak would happen. That would make things much much worse for me. So I had to do what I had never done before.

The bus stopped near a restaurant for a short break. I took some wipes, garbage bags, gloves and a fresh pouch with me, and asked my Mom to accompany me. This was the first time I was doing anything like this. I wanted someone to be there to help me in case something went wrong. I tucked a garbage bag in my pants below my stoma and wore gloves. My hands were shaking. After a deep breath, I removed my pouch carefully from the two-piece ostomy system on my stomach and let it fall into the bag. I prayed for my stoma to stay silent for the next 2 minutes. Fortunately, it did. I quickly attached a new pouch and breathed a sigh of relief. I bagged my old pouch twice and then disposed of it. I then had a small meal. My stoma didn’t produce much output for the next 6 hours and by the time I was home, it was only half full. I slept that night with a full stomach which felt very peaceful after the long trip.

I had never done such a thing before, and I probably won’t do it again unless it’s an emergency or a long duration journey. This is an expensive workaround for me. Ostomy bags are not covered by insurance in India. I cannot keep throwing away pouches every 4 hours if I decide to eat during a trip.

I am going back to college after a week. It is a 2.5-hour flight. Adding the time required for travelling to and from the airport and the check-in process, I will need a quiet stoma for 6-8 hours. Hence, I will be starving myself for a day beforehand. Later in May, I have to travel from New Delhi to Chicago for Digestive Disease Week. The travel time is around 24 hours. I will be starving myself for a day again. However, I am planning to eat during the flight. I’ll replace my pouch either during the layover or mid-flight.

Having IBD with an ostomy creates many difficulties for me. Depending on my intestine’s reaction to the food I’m eating, my stoma activity varies. This uncertainty is difficult to deal with. Every time I travel, I wish there were cleaner toilets that I could use. Every time I travel, I fear leaks, because I don’t know what I’d do if one happens. I also wonder if people will be kind to me. Travel was stressful for me even when I didn’t have an ostomy and relied on diapers. I couldn’t change diapers everywhere. I feared the looks I would get from people if I did it in a public toilet. The lack of proper sanitation facilities for the IBD population creates so much distress that many young people do not leave their homes and stop socializing. This seclusion further leads to depression.

In India, being a young adult with IBD is a challenge. Most of us compromise on many other aspects of our life just to be able to work or study. As for travel, I think if we are allowed to use accessible toilets, things will be much easier for us. It will permit us to live a more fulfilling life.

I don’t like ending things on a sad note, which is why I generally refrain from sharing my story. As I share my struggles with you, I’d hate to leave you feeling disappointed. So I’ll leave you with a few words from “Beautiful Pain” by Eminem. These words often inspire me when I am disappointed. I hope they inspire you too.

I'm standing in the flames

It's a beautiful kind of pain

Setting fire to yesterday

Find the light, find the light, find the light

Thank you for listening to me. Have a good day! :)

What I Wish I Could Have Told My Newly Diagnosed Self

By Rachel Straining

Hey. I know you’re feeling a lot of emotions right now, a lot of emotions that might not make sense for a while. You probably don’t want to listen to anything else because you feel like you’re drowning in new words and the world you once knew is breaking into pieces. But I need you to do something for me. I need you to breathe. And I need you to listen.

Let’s take a deep breath, okay? I know your heart is racing as fast as the thoughts that consume your mind, but let’s just try to breathe in, and breathe out. It’ll help. Hold onto that practice. It’ll come in handy.

Before you freak out and your mind starts spinning in a million different directions, find that steady breathe again, and just hear me out.

Your life is going to change, but you’re going to be okay.

Your life is going to change, but not entirely in the way that you think.

Honestly, yeah. There are some things that are going to change for the worse. It wouldn’t be fair to lie to you. It’s not right to sugarcoat it, because that’s not reality, and that’s not how you’re going to grow. You’re not going to grow by shying away from the hard stuff. It’s going to suck sometimes. There will be a lot of doctor visits, a lot of doctor changes until you find one who will believe and listen to you. There will be a lot of you being your own doctor and especially your own advocate. There will be a lot of tests run, a lot of blood drawn, a lot of nights and days spent in the bathroom or in bed.

But amidst the pain and the tears, and amongst the ways in which, yes, your life will get harder, here’s what will get stronger: You. Your bravery. Your resiliency. Your power. Your appreciation for life. Your ability to empathize with others. Your knowledge about and intuition towards your body. YOUR body.

So, with that in mind, here are a few things I need you to know:

At first, you may feel like you’re the only person in the world who has this disease. You’re not, I promise. There is an entire community out there of other people your age who are fighting the same battles, who understand what you’re going through because they’re going through it, too. Please don’t wait to find them.

Listen to your mom. She will almost always be right, even when you don’t want to admit it.

You are stronger than you even know and you will grow stronger every day, even when it doesn’t feel like it. That unrelenting strength will be right there, right inside of you.

Your past isn’t your present and your present isn’t your future.

Your bad days don’t equal a bad life. Your bad days are not forever.

You are going to cry and you are going to need to cry. Let yourself ride the waves and feel it all because keeping it hidden or bottled up will only make things worse.

You are going to need rest and you are not weak because of it.

You are going to have to give yourself grace through it all. It’s the only way. You are going to have to learn how to be kind, gentle, and patient with yourself.

Remember to breathe.

Find something every day to be thankful for, even when it’s hard.

You are not any less deserving of love because you have a chronic illness.

Do not settle for anything or anyone’s opinion.

You are not an inconvenience or a burden.

You can’t compare your health or your journey to anyone’s else’s.

You can’t put a timestamp on healing. Healing doesn’t happen on straight timeline and it doesn’t have a set end date. It’s complicated and hard and messy as heck. Putting in the work and putting yourself and your health first will always be worth it.

You know your body better than anyone else. You are going to have to fight for it.

You will often have to separate to elevate - from certain people, from negativity, from anything that holds you back and holds you down.

Your thoughts hold great power; thoughts become things if you let them. Both positive and negative.

Your chronic illness is an important part of who you are and what shapes you, but it does not define you.

Your story is worth sharing. Your voice deserves to be heard.

Your pain will become your power.

I guess what I’m trying to say is this: you’re going to go through a lot, but you’re going to learn from it and grow from it. You’re going to fight through it because that’s what warriors do. There will be days when you’ll feel so angry that you have this disease that all you can do is go to bed and hope tomorrow will be better. But there will also be days when that hope for a better tomorrow seems to finally exist in the present, when the anger starts to fade into the background and you feel like you can not only handle but conquer this life you’ve been given. This life is going to be good and bad and everything in between and you’re going to make it through.

I just wanted to tell you that.

Piecing Together My Chronic Illness Puzzle

By Grady Stewart

Photo by Hans-Peter Gauster on Unsplash

“There’s the me who existed before I was diagnosed with ulcerative colitis, and there’s the me who is living now after my diagnosis.”

There’s this fuzzy feeling that sticks to me sometimes when I think about the past. It’s especially prominent when I reflect on dusty memories wedged in time between late 2015, the season of my diagnosis with Ulcerative Colitis, and today. It’s sticky, soft, and sickly sweet like an overripe peach turning into a goopy marinade. It’s not an unpleasant feeling, or even unfamiliar. It flows through my body, sending tingly waves crashing through my veins, and turning all of my nerves to spiderwebs. In these periods of reflection, I feel incredibly present and grounded, yet out of place. The clips of my life are lifted out of their slots, and thrown into a random order.

Poetry aside, it’s hard to explain why I feel so odd when I think about who I was in the past. Maybe it’s melancholy. Maybe it’s nostalgia. If you ask me, it’s my body’s autoimmune reaction to change. It turns out I’m allergic to more than just seasonal pollen. When you live with a chronic illness, from the moment you’re diagnosed, the world becomes more chaotic. When I woke up from my initial colonoscopy, everything was spinning around me. That could have been the result of the anesthesia wearing off. However, it was also the first time I stopped recognizing my own body.

To go from being healthy to sick forever is a gigantic change. It’s looking into a murky puddle and seeing ripples rippling your reflection apart. You’re still the same person, but in that instant, you’re completely different too. An experience like that is enough to send anyone into a tailspin. On top of all that, when you’re diagnosed with IBD, everything else in your life seems to start changing more frequently and much faster. You change doctors. You change medications. You change diets. Sometimes, even your friends change.

You change so much when you’re chronically ill and the rest of your life starts to feel unfamiliar. Most people go through several periods in their lives. They have a childhood, teenage years, young adulthood, adulthood, and older age. I’m working my way through those life periods too. However, the difference is that change has shattered the stages of my life into two fragments. There’s the me who existed before I was diagnosed with ulcerative colitis, and there’s the me who is living now after my diagnosis. As a result, my past and present selves feel disconnected. The puzzle pieces of my life don’t quite fit together. There’s too many corner pieces, and not enough patchy centerpieces.

I’m learning to accept the changes that have changed my life and the changes that I can’t control. I am different from who I was, but I’m proud of who I am, and who I am becoming. Living with a chronic illness isn’t easy, and accepting a new life isn’t any easier. It means giving up on normal. It means embracing imperfect, and living with the unexpected. Over time, I’ve learned that isn’t failure or an insurmountable obstacle. Change has forced me to grow, to learn, and to adapt. I’ve met new friends, and I’ve accomplished things that I never thought were possible in the past. Acceptance isn’t a solid thing, it's a fluid and evolving process. Today, I’m less concerned about the pieces of my story being perfect. Instead, I’m happy to have a jumbled pile of pieces to put together in my own weird and unique way.

Besides, who wants to be normal anyway?