Medical School With Crohn’s Disease: How To Manage & Succeed

I didn’t go to med school, but I was deep in the pre-health track. I earned my degree in Molecular and Cell Biology. Heavy labs, dense lectures, the whole thing. Back then, I thought the hardest part would be keeping up with the workload. But it turns out the real challenge was dealing with my body.

I have Crohn’s colitis, and during my university years, my symptoms went from manageable to intense. Looking back, it’s not hard to see why. My diet was terrible, I barely slept, and the constant academic pressure kept my nervous system in fight-or-flight mode. That combination created the perfect storm for inflammation.

So, even though I didn’t end up pursuing medical school, I know what it’s like to try and survive a demanding academic path with Crohn’s disease. I want to share what I’ve learned and what I’ve seen others go through, especially those who kept going and actually made it through med school with this condition. Because yes, it’s possible. But the road looks different, and that’s okay.

Crohn’s Disease is a chronic inflammatory bowel disease that can affect any part of the digestive tract. Mine was mostly in the colon, but others deal with inflammation higher up, like in the small intestine. It’s a condition that doesn’t follow rules. Some days are fine, others hit like a truck.

Symptoms can show up as diarrhea, fatigue, bloating, joint pain, and skin issues. For me, it was an ever-changing mix. I didn’t always look sick, but my body was in chaos. That disconnect between how I felt and how I looked added another layer of stress, especially in a setting where people assume you’re either “fine” or you’re not trying hard enough.

Yeah, it is. I’ve seen people do it. I had classmates and mentors with Crohn’s who made it through pre-med, the MCAT, med school, and even residency. But their path usually involved a lot of adapting. They had to figure out how to study during flares, advocate for themselves during rotations, and sometimes rework their schedules when their health didn’t cooperate.

In my case, I stopped before med school. Not because I didn’t care or didn’t have the grades, but because my body was giving me signs I couldn’t ignore. Still, I’m always inspired by the people who do keep going. Their journey doesn’t look like the traditional one, but honestly, whose does?

Stress is the big one. University alone pushed my gut into overdrive, and med school is another level entirely. It’s long hours, constant exams, clinical rotations, and pressure to always be "on." That kind of intensity isn’t great for inflammation.

When your symptoms show up unannounced, it adds logistical stress too. You can’t always leave in the middle of a lecture or a clinical session. I remember sitting in long lab sessions during my undergrad, counting the minutes until I could bolt to the bathroom. It’s a weird mix of urgency and restraint.

Plus, there’s the mental side of it. The quiet fear of being seen as unreliable or “not tough enough.” That part can wear you down more than the physical symptoms some days.

During undergrad, I didn’t tell anyone. I didn’t want to seem like I was looking for excuses. But the reality is, accommodations exist for a reason, and I probably would’ve saved myself a lot of unnecessary stress if I had used them.

From what I’ve seen, most med schools have a disability services office, and they’re used to working with students who have chronic illnesses. You don’t need to go into every detail, just enough so that when things get rough, there’s a system in place. That could mean extended testing time, more flexible scheduling, or simply having someone in your corner when you need it.

My undergrad experience taught me that your environment matters a lot. Back then, I was eating whatever was quick and cheap, running on caffeine, and sacrificing sleep to keep up with assignments. It felt like the only way to stay competitive, but in hindsight, it made everything worse.

Managing Crohn’s in school means getting real about your limits. For me, that looked like blocking off time to rest, even if it meant skipping social events. It meant cooking basic, gut-friendly meals instead of relying on campus food. And it meant accepting that my study schedule couldn’t look like everyone else’s.

Later, when I launched GutMellow, it came from that same realization: that healing takes intention, and sometimes you have to build your own system when the one around you isn’t working.

I didn’t get to clinicals, but I’ve talked to people who did and I know this part is brutal.

You can’t predict when a flare will hit, and rotations don’t wait for your body to catch up. You might be on your feet all day, skipping meals, running between patients, and trying to look sharp while your gut feels like it’s imploding.

What I’ve seen work is preparation. Some people pack flare kits with meds, electrolytes, and extra clothes. Others scope out bathrooms ahead of time. And if a rotation turns out to be incompatible with their health, they work with their school to switch things up.

It’s not about giving up, it’s about staying in the game in a way that’s sustainable.

Brain fog is a real thing. When my inflammation was high, focusing felt like trying to study through a sandstorm. I'd read the same sentence over and over again and still not absorb it.

What helped was breaking study blocks into short chunks. I didn’t call it the Pomodoro technique back then, I just knew I couldn’t sit for hours at a time. I also used recordings and podcasts when I was too wiped out to read.

Some days, I had to accept that 30 percent effort was the best I had. But over time, even those small efforts added up.

Chronic illness messes with your head. I dealt with anxiety, fatigue, and that constant low-level guilt that I wasn’t doing enough. It’s a tough mindset to break, especially in a competitive academic environment.

I saw a therapist during my final year of college, and it helped more than I expected. I also started practicing mindfulness, not perfectly, not every day, but enough to notice when my thoughts were spiraling.

When I started GutMellow, part of what motivated me was that I wanted to create something I wish I’d had back then, a reminder that you're not weak for struggling. You're just human.

During my pre-health years, my diet was a disaster. I lived on protein bars, instant noodles, and takeout. I didn’t realize how much it was contributing to my flares until I started cleaning things up.

Eventually, I began experimenting with a gentler, anti-inflammatory diet. Lots of broths, soft veggies, collagen, and easy-to-digest carbs. I also learned to prep meals in bulk, because when you’re tired and flaring, the last thing you want is to cook from scratch.

This shift in nutrition was one of the things that led me to develop GutMellow. It's not a magic cure, but having the right ingredients on hand like marshmallow root, gelatin, and collagen made a noticeable difference in my gut health.

After a decade of trial and error, I finally found a combination of strategies that actually worked. I went from constant flare-ups to long-term remission, without biologics like Stelara or surgery. I created GutMellow to share my experience and help others navigate their own healing journey.

The GutMellow Remission Roadmap includes everything I wish I had when I was first diagnosed. It’s a comprehensive resource that outlines the exact steps I took to regain control of my gut health, including:

This blog is for informational and educational purposes only and is not a substitute for professional medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. While I am sharing my personal experience, every individual’s health journey is unique. Always consult with a qualified healthcare professional before making any changes to your diet, supplements, medications, or lifestyle. Healing is a personal journey, and what worked for me may not work for everyone.