I was diagnosed with Crohn’s disease at the beginning of 2015. That means I’ve been battling this illness for the past ten years—a journey filled with challenges, adjustments, and personal growth. When I first heard the diagnosis, I had no idea what Crohn’s disease was. I remember sitting in the hospital room and listening to the doctors explain that this condition would be life-long and life-changing. At just 25 years old, it felt like a part of my life had been taken away before I even had the chance to live it fully.
Looking back, I had struggled with stomach issues for as long as I could remember—cramping, diarrhoea, bleeding—but because the symptoms would come and go, I never thought too much of it. When things got bad, I’d see a doctor, but I was always given medication to ease the cramps and sent on my way. At the beginning of 2015, things took a turn for the worse. One week, my stomach pain became unbearable—I was curled up in a ball on my bed, unable to move. I went to the doctor four times, and each time, I was told something different. No medication helped. The pain and exhaustion were relentless.
It wasn’t until my mum saw me wasting away in front of her and said, “I can’t watch you like this anymore,” that things changed.
Sam
My mum rushed me to the hospital, where I was immediately admitted as an emergency case. By that point, I was severely dehydrated and had lost so much weight that I needed IV fluids right away. After a series of tests and scans, the doctors diagnosed me with Crohn’s disease. The severity of my condition shocked them—they told me I needed surgery immediately. They told me that I’d be given a stoma bag. Not just temporarily, but permanently. As someone who had always been fit, played rugby, and took pride in my health and physique, this news hit me like a ton of bricks. The idea of living with a stoma bag for the rest of my life at just 25 felt impossible to accept.
The next morning, the surgical team came to take me down, but something unexpected happened. They noticed a slight improvement in my white blood cell count and decided to delay the procedure by a day, to see if things would continue to improve. And, day by day, my test results improved. After 12 days in the hospital, the doctors decided to put me on a combination of Infliximab and steroids. Eventually, I was discharged without the surgery, but still weak, exhausted, and nearly two stone lighter.
Fitness is Sam's passion
One of the biggest challenges I faced during my recovery was my diet. What foods cause symptoms is completely different for every person, but for me I found even the slightest different to usual food choice could leave me in pain for days. Eating out with friends became difficult—not because I didn’t want to, but because many restaurants simply didn’t have options that I knew would be ok for me.
Then COVID hit, and things became even harder. Public toilets were closed, and with my condition, I couldn’t risk being out without knowing I had access to a bathroom. As a result, I spent most of that period stuck inside my house, feeling isolated and frustrated.
I remained on Infliximab for the next six years, requiring hospital visits every 12 weeks for a four-hour IV infusion. At first, I was just grateful for a treatment that kept me stable, but over time, the routine became mentally exhausting. Sitting in that hospital room for hours, often as the youngest patient there by 50 years, made me feel out of place. I looked and felt fit, I was still training and staying active, yet I was on a high dose of medication just to keep my body functioning.
Those six years weren’t easy. I had blood tests every six weeks, colonoscopies every six months, scans every four months, and hospital visits every two months—the hospital started to feel like a second home. On top of that, I had two major flare-ups that left me back where I started—unable to move, losing weight rapidly, and stuck in a hospital bed for weeks.
Sam continues to compete in fitness challenges
Over the past 10 years, I’ve also had two operations to remove abscesses—another tough recovery each time. But I’ve learned to handle setbacks. At this point, I almost expect them, and instead of letting them break me, they push me harder. Every time I get knocked down; my only goal is to fight my way back to where I was before.
I have really enjoyed using fitness as a way of proving that Crohn’s doesn’t define me. I’ve completed multiple Ironman races, and ran a marathon in 2 hours and 44 minutes. I’ve represented GB in middle-distance triathlon and stood on the podium in multiple competitions. But more than the achievements, I want to show people that having a chronic illness like Crohn’s doesn’t mean you have to stop chasing your goals. It’s not the end of the world—it’s just part of the journey. We all have our ups and downs, and this is mine. I refuse to let it hold me back.
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