Diet and Lifestyle has EVERYTHING to do with it

One thing I’ll never get tired of is sharing my autoimmune disease story with people who may benefit from hearing it.  My continual hope is that my life’s journey of learning how to heal and stay healed through natural ways will inspire others to realize that if I can do it, they can too.  

This month, along with the regular celebrations of the holiday season, I am also celebrating that it has been 12 whole years since the beginning of the end of my massive, year-long Ulcerative Colitis flare, and 11 years since I’ve last been on any sort of medication for U.C.  

In my very first blog post back in June of 2020 I told the whole very long, sordid tale in great detail, but today as a way to mark the occasion, I’ve decided to revisit my story, this time in a bit more of a nutshell, along with some reflections on what I’ve learned over the course of my journey.    

I was diagnosed with the chronic autoimmune disease, Ulcerative Colitis, back in 1999, at age 19.  I had been hospitalized after weeks of experiencing incessant bloody diarrhea that seemingly came out of nowhere.  At the time, I was just your typical college kid who had grown up on a steady diet of sugar, processed foods, and maybe an occasional vegetable.  Even so, I had never really been sick except for the regular gambit of childhood illnesses.  

I recall the doctor explaining the diagnosis to me and giving me a brief rundown of what Ulcerative Colitis is, since of course I had never heard of it or any other autoimmune disease at the time.  I remember hearing things such as “chronic,” “incurable,” and “managed by medications.”  All statements that were quite the punch to my already inflamed gut.

Over the next few years, sure enough, the chronic part of the disease rang true as flares popped up here and there, some mild and some not so mild, each one impacting my life in various, often embarrassing ways.  When symptoms would start appearing again I would routinely call the doctor who would increase and add extra meds and the flares would generally stop fairly quickly or at least stay manageable enough.  

It wasn’t until a year after my daughter was born, 10 years after my initial diagnosis, that my disease showed its full potential.  I had stopped nursing a few months prior, triggering a natural shift in hormones that, unbeknownst to me at the time, can create problems for women with autoimmune disease.  My old symptoms returned with an unprecedented vengeance, quickly taking me from a vibrant new mom to a bedridden hospital patient.  I was in and out of the hospital 4 times for weeks at a time over the course of 2010, as the regular medication regimens continually failed to get my symptoms under control, and any improvements proved to be temporary.  I got sicker and sicker by the hour.  After the typically effective drug cocktail of high dose steroids, multiple antibiotics, and strong anti-inflammatories failed to make a dent, I was forced to move on to the bigger, badder category of immunosuppressant drugs, which unfortunately tend to take some time to start working. 

It felt like I was trapped in hell, hoping every morning that when the sun came up that this would be the day I started to get better, and lamenting every night as the sun set, that it wasn’t.  Some of the worst moments of these months involved a stint in the Cardiac ICU, an NG tube insertion, a nurse helping me onto a scale and seeing that I had withered away to only 84 pounds, a surgeon visiting me on a daily basis to try to convince me to consider a complete colon removal (for which I proved to be too sick to safely undergo), two emergency blood transfusions, catching a glimpse of my skeletal body in the mirror and being completely horrified, passing out in the shower because my body couldn’t take the strain of the water hitting my skin, how it hurt to sit and walk because I had no fat cushion left on my rump or even on the bottom of my feet.  But the absolute worst moment was the realization that my own family was becoming afraid that my baby would have to grow up without her mother. 

Autoimmune disease is no joke, friends.

Because I’m trying to keep this short, I’ll summarize my initial recovery by saying that towards the end of that awful year, when when my symptoms had yet again become worse than ever, the steroids finally started working, and then after a first immunosuppressant had worked only partially in the months prior, I started on a second one that worked very well, and quickly.   After almost an entire year, I was back in remission.  The medications not only saved my life but they gave me my life back, and I am forever grateful for that. 

But I absolutely hated being on the immunosuppressant (a drug that literally shuts down the immune system), and terrified of the long term effects of such a powerful drug that had been my best friend, but who’s potentially highly dangerous side effects could eventually bring about my worst nightmares. 

So it was with that in mind that I walked into a follow up appointment with my gastroenterologist a few months after going into remission. 

“How long am I going to have to stay on the immunosuppressant?”  I asked naively.  His response was to give me a look like I had two heads and say, “Oh...for the rest of your life!”

That wasn’t going to work for me. 

I was a 30 year old mom.  I had my whole adult life ahead of me and most importantly, I had a little girl who needed her mommy to be present, healthy, and strong.  Spending my days wondering if my life would be cut short in a situation where the cure is worse than the disease, or even just living in fear of another severe flare arising if and when the meds stopped working, was too much to bear.

There had to be another way.

I was no health nut at the time, but by then I knew enough to know that food does certainly have an impact on your health, and that the standard American way of eating and living and pill popping does not result in a healthy, happy life.  And I knew I was going to have to make some radically counter-cultural changes to my life.

And so I decided then and there, that if there was indeed another way, then I was going to find it.  I started my journey by diving into whatever information I could find about natural healing, and more importantly, natural ways to STAY healed, mostly via discovering how real foods, along with a variety of good daily choices, promote healing.

I came to learn fairly quickly that DIET AND LIFESTYLE HAS EVERYTHING TO DO WITH IT.  And as I learned more and more, I applied more and more to my life with extreme, passionate discipline.  I had nothing to lose and so much to gain, so I dove in and I never looked back.

And I got off the immunosuppressants.  

And I stayed healthy and healed.  

And now, as mentioned above, incredibly it has been almost 12 years since my last flare up of the maybe-not-so chronic, maybe-not-so incurable disease, Ulcerative Colitis, and 11 years since I’ve taken any sort of medication for it.  

There is indeed a better way, and I’m beyond grateful to have found it.

Over the past decade I have learned the incredible power of the real, organic, nourishing foods that our bodies are crying out for, and the power of cutting out the foods that cause our bodies harm.  I have learned the power of yoga and long hikes in nature, the power of simplicity and sleep, the power of meditation, therapy, gratitude, and an honest chat with a trusted friend.  

I have had the gift of being here to learn from the paradox that is being a mother - the unparalleled experience of pure, unconditional love mixed with the interminable fears and anxieties that come along with having your heart walking around outside of your body.

Over the years I have been grateful to learn that healing your body is one thing, but healing your soul is another thing that takes a far greater commitment of daily purpose, intention,and patience.

And I’m still learning every single day.

Make no mistake, it's been a CRAZY journey, filled with plenty of missteps, frequent adjustments, persistent struggles and anxieties, a general weathering the storms of life, and a constant desire to do better and be better.  But every morning that I wake up I am thankful that I’m healthy and that I'm still here to learn.  

And I’d be remiss not to say, though I’ve worked really, really hard to heal and stay healed over the past decade plus, the fact that I have not had a single flare up during all this time cannot be fully explained except by saying that it is truly a miracle.  And for that, I am eternally grateful.

When I was in the hospital, feeling hopeless and alone, I wished so badly that someone could come in and tell me that, while it would be a long, sometimes brutal road, it really was going to be okay.  So in an effort to try to be that voice to those that need it, I started this blog.

As I always say, we can never guarantee that we won’t be affected by disease, but what we can do is everything that is in our power to prevent that.  And by seeking natural healing and health, I can assure you, we have been given a whole lot of power.

To see more of what I’ve learned, please read my other posts.  You may want to start here and here.  

Wishing you all a holiday season filled with peace, joy, and health.