Empowering Canadians with IBD: Inspiring Resilience

Carla’s journey with ulcerative colitis (UC) began in her early twenties, while living alone far from her family in Chile. At first, the symptoms were frightening and isolating—constant urgency, blood in her stool, and no clear answers. "Even drinking tea would trigger me," she recalls. Over five months, she visited doctor after doctor, but no one could explain what was happening.

Eventually, Carla moved back to her mother’s house. With her support, Carla finally received a diagnosis: ulcerative colitis. But the consultation left her feeling adrift. "I was told I’d be on medication for the rest of my life, with little explanation of what that meant." It was a crushing moment for someone just beginning adulthood.

Still, Carla pushed forward. She moved to Canada, built a blended family with her husband and their three teenagers, and embraced life as a proud "dance mom," cheering on her daughter’s dreams. But behind the scenes, she continued to struggle with flares, setbacks, and treatment hurdles.

Things began to change when Carla sought out additional support — not just medically, but emotionally. Participating in the PaCER program at the University of Calgary connected her with others living with IBD and opened her eyes to a different kind of healing. “I heard so many stories,” she says. “People just diagnosed, people who’d been struggling for years, and that's when I realized I needed to empower myself to advocate for my own care.”

Building on that sense of empowerment, Carla made her mental health a priority. Therapy, self-advocacy, and a renewed outlook all became part of her path forward. Earlier this year, she finally received confirmation: her test results were normal. For the first time, she felt like she had genuinely reclaimed her life. "Looking at that test result, seeing it was normal, it was everything," she says. "I proved to myself, to my husband, to my family, that healing is about more than medication."

Matthew was diagnosed with Crohn’s disease before he turned three. Though he was too young to remember life without the condition, his early experiences shaped how he learned to adapt and move forward. “Crohn’s has always been part of my life,” he says, “but I’ve never let it define me.”

Managing Crohn’s has not always been easy, with Matthew facing ongoing challenges, including a serious flare-up in high school that cut a family ski trip short and required emergency care. “When your health is poor, it becomes your only concern,” he recalls. “But once you have it under control, it opens the door to everything else.”

As he got older, Matthew learned to manage his Crohn’s and found joy through the things he loved most – hockey and music. “With my condition being stable, I am able to live a healthy and active lifestyle,” he says. While he eventually stepped away from competitive sports, his passion for piano only grew stronger. That path led him to McGill University’s Schulich School of Music, where he is now completing a master’s degree in jazz piano performance and composition.

Matthew also channels his experiences into advocacy. In high school, he and his family organized a series of benefit concerts in support of the Gutsy Walk, bringing his hometown community together through music. “Every year the audience grew… and the music got better too,” he says. “I’m really proud of the concerts that we put on.”

Jennifer was just nine years old when she was diagnosed with Crohn’s disease. The signs were subtle at first: she stopped eating, began losing weight, and at one point, had a green bowel movement. Her mother, alarmed, brought her to their family doctor, who quickly referred her to CHU Sainte-Justine in Montreal.

That was the beginning of a new reality. There were colonoscopies, endoscopies, bloodwork, and the dreaded barium tests that became all too familiar. “It felt like you never had time off.”

From that point on, hospitals became routine. There were constant follow-ups and frequent reminders that she was different. “My entire life has been impacted by Crohn’s disease,” Jennifer says. “I don’t really have memories from before.”

In school, she did her best to keep her diagnosis invisible. After surgery, she avoided the locker room and changed in the shower stalls to hide her scars. She remembers feeling isolated, unable to explain why her body looked different. But at home, her parents stood firmly beside her, her mother present at every appointment, her father sleeping beside her in the hospital. “They were really 100 percent there to support me,” she recalls. “I was lucky to have good parents who could be there.”

As she got older, Jennifer found some control in what she ate. Fruits, vegetables, foods meant to nourish, were often the most harmful. She kept a mental list of safe meals, adapting year by year to a shrinking menu.

That strategy worked, until a cancer diagnosis forced her to stop her Crohn’s medication altogether. After finishing treatment, she hesitated to begin a new regimen, afraid it might worsen her condition or cause additional complications. “I was afraid to start new medication, I delayed it as long as I could,” she says. But the delay proved costly. Her Crohn’s flared severely, leading to two emergency hospitalizations and ultimately, a third surgery.

“It was like a reset,” she says of that operation. “Since then, things are 200 percent better.” For the first time in decades, she could eat without fear. Peaches, pears, carrots, once triggers, returned to her plate. “Seeing colour on my plate still makes me happy,” she says. “Even now, I get excited.”