When Dr Andrew Davidson first uttered those words all those years ago - "It won't kill you. But… there may be times when you wish it had." - I didn't know whether to laugh, cry, or run for the hills.

​

Looking back now, he was right on every level.

 

Crohn's hasn't killed me. But it's taken its best shot at derailing my life, my career, my confidence - and some days, my sanity.

 

There have been moments when the pain, the fatigue, the frustration, and the sheer relentlessness of it all felt like too much. Moments when I've wanted to throw in the towel, lock the door, and give up. Moments when that hospital bed seemed like the most honest place in the world - where pretending everything was fine was finally, merci-fully impossible.

​

Now, over thirty-seven years later, I understand what he meant.

​

My Crohn's journey has been thirty-seven years and counting. It has preoccupied my life in ways I never antici-pated when I first heard that diagnosis. So much so, that when I decided I wanted to try and help fellow sufferers,

those first diagnosed, long-term sufferers and their loved ones, I thought it would be an easy task that I could cram into 100 pages or so. I was wrong.

​

It has taken me over eight years to finish this book, but I'm glad I was patient enough for the task, because I hadn't

realised the massive amount of knowledge I have accumulated over the years.

 

At least Crohn's has given me something I hadn't realised before - a great deal more awareness about the resilience of the human body and mind than I ever imagined I possessed.

 

The Teacher You Never Wanted

 

Crohn's disease isn't terminal, but it is life-altering. It's a slow, relentless teacher that doesn't take "no" for

an answer. It tests your limits - then moves them. It strips away your assumptions about health, control, and fairness.

​

It brings you face-to-face with pain, vulnerability, and the hard truth that not everything can be fixed, managed, or overcome through sheer determination.

 

It teaches lessons you never signed up for:

That your body is not a machine you can push indefinitely

That plans are provisional, and flexibility isn't optional

That asking for help is wisdom, not weakness

That some battles are won by adapting, not fighting

That dignity can coexist with dependence

 

But it also does something else - something unexpected, something that Dr Davidson's wry warning couldn't fully

capture. It forces clarity.

 

The Unwanted Gift of Perspective

 

Crohn's makes you take stock. Of your health. Your habits. Your relationships. Your time. It teaches you what 

matters - not through gentle guidance, but through the brutal economics of limited energy and unpredictable

capacity.

​

It introduces you to a version of yourself you might never have met otherwise - the one who endures, adapts,

rebuilds. The one who learns to find humour in humiliation, strength in vulnerability, community in shared

struggle.

 

When you can't take your body for granted, you stop taking other things for granted too. When energy becomes

precious, you spend it more wisely. When plans become tentative, you appreciate the ones that work out more

deeply. So no, it won't kill you. But it will change you. And if you let it - if you stop fighting the change and start working with it - that transformation can become a source of unexpected strength.

 

WHAT OVER 37 Years and Counting Have Taught Me

 

The man who walked out of Dr Davidson's office in 1989 was different from the one writing these words today.

Not diminished - transformed. Changed by every flare, every recovery, every adaptation, every moment of

choosing to continue rather than surrender.

 

I've learned that resilience isn't about bouncing back to who you were. It's about growing forward into who you're

becoming. The scars aren't just marks of damage - they're evidence of healing. The limitations aren't just restrictions - they're boundaries that teach you to live more intentionally within them.

 

I've discovered that courage isn't the absence of fear - it's showing up for your life despite the fear. It's attending the meeting with the port and brandy already working its magic. It's calling Mark to fly to Rotterdam when you're in hospital. It's hiring a driver when independence requires it. It's writing this book when sharing your vulnerability feels terrifying.

​

THE PARADOX OF CHRONIC ILLNESS

 

Here's the strangest truth about living with Crohn's: it takes things away from you - energy, predictability, sometimes dignity - but it gives things back too. Not different things. Better things. It trades superficial connections for deep ones. It exchanges busy schedules for meaningful priorities. It swaps the illusion of control for the wisdom of adaptability.

​

It replaces the burden of perfection with the freedom of authenticity.

 

You learn to value:

The friends who stay when you must cancel yet again

The colleagues who accommodate without making you feel guilty

The family members who learn the language of your illness

The medical professionals who treat you as a whole person

The moments when your body cooperates with your plans

​

You discover capabilities you never knew you had:

The ability to sleep anywhere when exhaustion demands it

The skill to locate toilets with supernatural accuracy

The capacity to have meaningful conversations with fellow patients

The wisdom to know when to push through and when to rest

The humour to find absurdity in the most undignified moments

 

You Are Not Your Diagnosis

 

Let me be clear about something that took me years to understand: You are not your diagnosis. You are not your symptoms. You are not the scar or the setback or the stoma. You are still you - just a more experienced, more compassionate, more resilient version.

​

Crohn's disease is something you have, not something you are. It's a chapter in your story, not the whole book. It's

a condition you manage, not an identity you adopt.

 

Yes, it changes how you live. Yes, it influences your decisions. Yes, it requires accommodations and adaptations.

But it doesn't erase who you were before diagnosis, and it doesn't limit who you can become after.

 

You are still capable of:

Love that deepens through shared vulnerability

Work that matters within sustainable boundaries

Joy that feels more precious for being harder won

A contribution that draws from your unique experience

Relationships that are strengthened by authentic communication

A life that is meaningful, purposeful, and worth living

​

This is an excerpt from It Won’t Kill You… But

​​

​

If any of this feels familiar...you're not alone

​