Climbing with Colitis

Ulcerative Colitis. It sounds bad, it’s not fun, I’ve never written about it in a public format like this and it’s a part of me.

Me, in the tie dye shirt, around the time I was diagnosed with UC. I’d lost a lot of weight and was frequently fatigued.

UC is a chronic inflammatory bowel disease that causes ulceration of the lower intestine. With it comes discomforting inflammation, bloody diarrhea and abdominal pains that knock the breath right out of you. I was diagnosed when I was ten years old. A young case, I knew something was wrong when I passed my bowels and saw droplets of blood expand in the toilet water. I didn’t tell my parents. I’d had severe asthma as a child and hated hospitals, IVs and tubes. When I was in the hospital, people seemed sad and I didn’t want to see anyone cry. Especially my mother. I’d only seen her cry once or twice, usually it was just tears welling up that never fell—but they were the most powerful, because I knew if she was crying it was really bad. Being a nurse, it didn’t take my mother long to figure out something was wrong. I’d lost a lot of weight and didn’t have my usual energy, so she took me to the hospital.

After the diagnoses began the treatment of steroids and anti-inflammatory drugs, along with monthly blood work and visits to Albany Medical Center. I was seen by a pediatrician who mainly worked with cancer patients, so most of the kids I got to know where undergoing chemotherapy. “It could always be worse,” my mother would frequently reflect as we drove home. I’d nod and gaze at the corn fields and dairy cows. Along with the medicine, my mother put me on a strict diet absent of flour, sugar and dairy to reset the microbes of my gut. In hindsight, it made me much stronger. But, in the early months of treatment I hated the way my body felt. The medicine I took made my face and stomach bloat. When I was upset, I’d ride my bike along the rutted tractor lanes until I got to the creek. Then I’d throw my bike to the side, pick up large rocks and chuck them into the swift current. I’d hit sticks against the trunks of trees until my cheeks were hot from sweat and tears. I didn’t want to be sick. I didn’t want to die. Though the diagnoses of ulcerative colitis is rarely a fatal one, the risk of colon cancer later in life is a real concern. And those kids sitting next to me in the waiting room had cancer. They had what could be worse. Needless to say, it was a lot for my young mind to process. Thankfully, I had a strong support system around me. As I got older, the flare ups were less frequent.

My mother helped me understand my disease.

Then I had a bad one at the age of 16 that landed me in the hospital for five days. It was the start of our varsity soccer preseason and I ran around the field once before doubling over and laying in a fetal position. The coach called my mother and she took me to the emergency room. With a temperature of 105 and serve abdominal pains, I was almost wheeled in for an appendectomy before the charts came back to reveal no swelling of my appendix. On a morphine drip, the world around me became fuzzy.

“She has ulcerative colitis,” my mother kept repeating while the doctors pondered over my test results, searching for a virus- or bacteria-caused infection. On the fourth day, my fever broke and a week later I was back on the soccer field. I’d lost fifteen pounds and a good amount of muscle mass in my legs. I pushed myself to get back in shape, eager for the season to begin. The previous season I’d been a first round pick on our league’s all-star team and this year I’d been selected as captain. Our first tournament was at home under the lights and by halftime my legs were fatigued and jelly-like. An act I’d never committed before, I put up my hand to be subbed and sat on the bench for the second half. We won the tournament and yet I was heartbroken. At home, I peeled off my cleats and shin guards and curled up on my bed. In my room, posters of Mia Hamm, Michelle Acker and other members of the US soccer team spanned my walls. While I’d been in the hospital, my teammates had brought me a stuffed soccer ball. I pulled it to my stomach and sobbed, my body heaving. There was a knock on my door.

“Beth? Can I come in?” My father asked.

“Sure.” I sat up and sucked the snot back into my nose. He walked across the room, sat next to me and put an arm around my shoulder.

“You’ll get better,” he said. I nodded and bit down on my lower lip.

“Remember, everything happens for a reason and our struggles make us tougher,” he said, and rubbed my back.

“I know,” I sighed. It was one of my father’s favorite lines in the face of adversity and I knew he meant well, but sometimes it wasn’t that simple.

“I just want to play,” my voice broke off and I buried my face into his shoulder.

“Oh, Beth, I’m sorry.” He clasped his arms around me and we rocked side to side while we cried. That fall, my legs didn’t recover and I had a less than mediocre season. I played soccer and basketball in college, but my seasons were interrupted with flare ups and doctor appointments and I never reached my full potential as a college athlete.

Climbing with Colitis

After college, I began hiking in the Adirondacks in 2009 and felt something change. My legs got stronger. I became mindful about the food I put in my body. I gained patience with my UC and found faith in the mountains.

This past fall, I asked my mother if she was comfortable with me pursing higher mountains.

“Yes,” she’d replied without pause.

“Yeah?” I’d questioned.

“Yes,” she’d reinstated with a firm nod. “When you climb, you take better care of yourself.”

And she’s right. When I was younger, I wanted to travel and explore. But lots of my ambitions weren’t acted on because I was afraid to get sick in a faraway land. In college, I was resentful about my condition and intentionally didn’t take my medicine. Today, I tend to everything that’s within my control. I’m not perfect, and I try really hard to maintain regular doctor appointments and colonoscopies, balance western medication with meditation and yoga, keep a regular diet and exercise regiment. And even when I do all that, I know there are hundreds of things out of my control. That’s life. Ironically, having a chronic disease has made me a stronger person. Ulcerative Colitis is a part of me and I take it everywhere I go. And that doesn’t scare me anymore.

It empowers me.

I’m thankful for every day I’m healthy enough to climb a mountain.
Categories: Climbing with ColitisTags: , , , , , , ,


  1. I shouldn’t have read this as Grace lay next to me in dialysis, surrounded by other patients and nurses in an open ward. I should have waited until I was alone, in the dark. I knew as soon as I started it, but I couldn’t stop. The memories and heartache of you being sick came right to the surface. I thought of you and Grace and how hard illness is and a very loud sob escaped from my mouth. The tears just fell. I am so thankful to have watched you live through your disease. It gives me hope and strength that Grace stand tall and inspire others, just as you have. I am so very proud of you Bethany!

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Hi Beth!!!

    Just wanted to send along an email to say i LOVE reading your updates and writing – and am so excited about your adventure!!! sending you so much love and best wishes.

    xoxo m

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Hey Bethany, good description of what Crohns/UC people go through. For me, getting on a plane or long car ride takes a few days of planning, 24 hour fasting prior, and often all sorts of anxiety. It ruined my NCAA xc ski racing chances (filling a toilet bowl with blood before races pretty much takes a few minutes off your finish time), and I was pretty convinced that i had bowel cancer until I wound up in hospital with full bowl infection at age 32. Finally being diagnosed was a relief, and now life long meds and watching diet has helped (although people are often shocked when I pass on vegetables and other “healthy food”). In my case, flare ups are still a monthly thing, and I cannot ever be sure when I can head out the door each morning without issues. But doing outdoor endurance activity is a huge relief, always has been, and offers freedom – hence reason my work life always revolved around work outside where “emergency” relief is easier. It’s funny as well when people often note “oh, I have irritable bowls syndrome as well” – I just chuckle and think “you have no idea”. It’s certianly is manageable, but is a part of my daily life. Thanks for bringing this issue forth. And if you are ever looking for someone to tag along for a hike, let me know (I’m an hour away near Middlebury, VT).


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