College is amazing. It's a place where you can be who you want, do what you want, eat what you want. You have complete control over your life, and also complete responsibility. It's a dream come true for a woman like me - I thrive on independence and I love being free.
When I got into my dream school, I was thrilled. Being a freshman was a completely new experience and although the move away from home was tough, I was ready. It felt like things were falling into place and making sense. I felt like a normal college student, most of the time.
Here's the thing, though.
I am not a normal college student. I was diagnosed with Celiac disease in the first grade. Celiac disease is a chronic autoimmune illness based around the inability for the villi in my intestines to absorb the gluten protein. There is no cure, except for the gluten free diet, so I spent most of my grade school years living in a gluten free household. My whole family was either diagnosed with the disease or dealing with gluten intolerance. It was easy to eat safe. I had a group of people exactly like me, who understood what it was like to suddenly not feel good, and maybe not understand why it was happening. My body was healthy, for the most part. I didn't have to think about how sick I could get so easily, and my family helped me eat food that would keep my intestines and immune system on track.
Suddenly, things were not so easy.
I wasn't allowed to eat the things other people could so easily. I was getting sick incredibly often, and I found that I was dealing with my autoimmune illness on my own. I was missing classes because I was too tired to get out of bed. I was completely unable to eat somedays because of my nausea. My work was not getting done.
Celiac disease is slightly different for everyone - but my symptoms are intense and difficult to overcome.
During a flare-up, someone with Celiac can experience a multitude of things. For me, the symptoms are endless. I experience brain fog, inability to focus, exhaustion. My limbs turn into lead. I will take hour long naps and wake up just as tired. My legs break out in topical dermatitis. My face gets puffy and I'll break out in acne. My body hurts and bloats - my stomach will swell due to the inflammation in my intestines. I experience episodes of depression and anxiety. I get nauseas and am unable to eat despite the need to. My weight will fluctuate - my body either thinks I am starving and will put on weight, or I will lose weight due to the malabsorption in my intestines. Most times I am confined to my bed, too tired to get food or go to class, too out of it to focus on homework. I would get colds or fevers due to the lack of protection in my immune system. Dozens of these flare ups have occurred over my first semester, leading to permanent damage in my intestines and making it easier for me to get sick through food that I can eat when I'm healthy. My intestines got so bad that I had to take vitamins every day due to deficiencies like iron.
There are ways to heal your gut, but
college dining doesn't always have the best options for my body. I struggled with eating the food that I know will give me the energy to get through the day when I'm sick and the food that will heal my intestines.
It began to affect everything -
I couldn't partake in typical college activities on the weekend for fear that my immune system would worsen. I would run out of energy or suffer a depressive episode randomly, and suddenly all my plans for the day wouldn't make sense or I wouldn't be able to get to them. I would stay in my room and isolate instead of going out or seeing friends. I struggled to explain to them what was happening, and I never felt so alone before. I was used to being around my family, who knew what it would take to get me healthy and give me the support I needed. At college, no one else really understood what it was like to suddenly not be okay, and not be able to pop a few Advil and muscle through it.
So I did what I could to explain to the people around me.
I opened up a conversation with my professors. I visited disability services and gave them the proper paperwork so the college understood what was happening to my body on the bad days. I visited tutors, I studied with friends, I did everything I could to stay up to date on my work when my body failed me. I told my friends when I was feeling sick, and they gave me support despite not totally understanding what having a chronic illness meant. I got in the habit of taking care of myself better, a job I was so used to my family doing. I would take my vitamins and my medication everyday, make sure I got to therapy, and keep open communication with my professors about my illness.
The responsibility that comes with college was so much more for me.
I was in charge of myself. Not just my schedule and my future, but also my health to an extent that other students didn't experience. I learned the signs that a flare up was coming, whether it be a mental or physical one, or both. I learned the best things I could do during a flare up, and I learned how to save my energy for the most important things that day - whether it be studying for a test tomorrow or a club that I knew would help me feel better by going to.
It's taken time - and it still takes time.
The end of the first semester is coming, and I am nowhere near healthy, but I am getting better. I still experience frequent flare ups past my control, but I am slowly understanding what I need to get better. I have created a support system around me that doesn't completely understand what having an autoimmune illness at college entails, but they are here for me through all the ups and downs.
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