Thanks, It’s the Crohn’s Disease
In the midst of a one-night stand made hazy by a couple of glasses of wine, the man I had met only a couple hours prior muttered, “You have such a nice body.” Before I could stop the words from flying out of my mouth, I replied with my typical biting sarcasm, “Thanks, it's the Crohn's disease.” I blame this response partly on my altered inhibitions, but mostly on my tendency to speak without a filter. Nevertheless, if you ever want to leave someone at a complete loss for words in the throws of an already awkward sexual encounter, I recommend you try this.
As if navigating the young-adult dating scene isn’t complicated enough, I’ve had to learn how to integrate potentially the most unglamorous illness into intimate aspects of my personal life. Most people my age typically struggle with excruciatingly normal apprehensions when it comes to romantic relationships.
“Do I really like this person or am I just lonely?”
“Am I ready for a relationship? Do I even want one?”
“Maybe I should just delete the apps and focus on myself for now.”
These are just some of the thoughts I wish were at the top on my list of concerns. Instead, my thoughts go something more like this...
“Does this place we’re going to have a bathroom?”
“What if I feel sick and have to cancel our plans?”
“What if my date wants to meet at a bar? If I drink, I’ll definitely be in pain later.”
I received a diagnosis of Crohn’s disease when I was 19. Crohn’s disease is a subtype of inflammatory bowel disease (IBD). It’s a chronic autoimmune disorder that causes inflammation and ulceration of the gastrointestinal tract. This condition is most commonly characterized by diarrhea, abdominal pain, weight loss, malnutrition, fatigue, fever, and nausea. I suffered five months of these debilitating symptoms, as well as dismissive doctors declaring my pain as a “psychosomatic form of anxiety” before being properly diagnosed. The prevalence of this disease is most common in Jewish young adults, ages 15 to 25. If there’s one very ironic silver lining, it's that this was the first criteria in my life I had ever fit perfectly. Up until that year, I had been healthy and completely oblivious to the privilege of what it meant to be able-bodied.
At the time of my diagnosis, I was in my first year of college struggling to maintain my old relationships (whether platonic or romantic) while simultaneously creating new ones. I say struggling because I became very avoidant of the relationships I held prior to my diagnosis. I feared that the people who had known me the longest would notice that I was no longer able to be the extroverted, wild, loud-mouthed person they all knew and loved. Instead, I became the buzzkill who needed to leave the party early and go to bed by 8pm. Every social interaction felt like an act — I forced myself to be who my friends recognized in an effort to make them more comfortable. In retrospect, my fears had much more to do with an identity crisis of my own, rather than anyone actually judging me. If my body made it incapable for me to be the fun, outgoing person I had been for nineteen years, then who was I?
A phrase used repeatedly in the chronic illness community is: “adjusting to a new normal.” When you are newly diagnosed this is the last thing you want to hear. An uninvited disease is manifesting in my body, and now I have no choice but to cater to it? I resisted caving to this notion for as long as I could, but this soon became exhausting. It’s taken me up until recently to acknowledge that I do need to adapt my lifestyle and relationships to fit my capabilities. Notice that I said acknowledge — not accept. In the five stages of grief, I still haven’t reached full acceptance of my diagnosis.
This segues into my current debacle:
Who’s going to want to date the girl with Crohn’s disease?
This is a constant, nagging thought I can’t seem to turn off. I find myself concocting hypothetical scenarios of being on a third date with someone and formally disclosing my diagnosis. I’ve even humored myself by googling “Crohn’s disease” just to see what someone would find if they chose to do some additional research. Want to know the first thing that comes up? “Bloody diarrhea” and “this condition cannot be cured.”
A slight blessing in disguise with regards to Crohn’s disease and other similar autoimmune conditions is that they fall under the umbrella of “invisible illnesses” — meaning that just by looking at someone you’d have no sense of what they’re battling internally. Whom I choose to tell about my condition is completely up to me. The anonymity of my disease has become a very sacred thing when something as personal as my own body is out of my control.
In terms of romantic encounters, I find power in this aspect of anonymity. I associate intimacy with vulnerability, and what’s more vulnerable than disclosing that you have a bowel disease? Circling back to my initial story of the one-night stand, my crude sense of humor (which already existed, but has since been intensified by an IBD diagnosis) helps me to find irony rather than insult when receiving comments about my appearance from others. Little do they know that the reason I remain petite is because I literally sh*t out everything I eat - but this is my little secret to reveal on my own terms.
Rejection is already a fear of anyone who’s entering the dating world - but in a strange way I’ve learned to appreciate it. In my circumstances it quickly weeds out the good from the bad. Either you accept my diagnosis as part of me, or it’s not going to work out. There is no time to waste on someone who can’t make way for something you have absolutely no control over.
This isn’t meant to be all negative. Due to my diagnosis, I have found community, purpose, and a new sense of resilience. I’ve learned to find humor in unfortunate situations and realized that growth comes from dealing with discomfort. I’ve also decided to major in social work in hopes to become a patient advocate and help others struggling with conditions similar to mine. The goal of most people with chronic illness is to reach some level of acceptance and find strength in the situations they do have power over. That being said, there’s no moral to this story, I'm just a confused college student navigating the complexities of young adulthood and sharing my experiences. Your early twenties are meant for being messy, mine just might be a little bit messier - both literally and figuratively.