I recently connected with a fellow IBD patient on Twitter named Jessica Pérez-Cámara. Aside from both of us battling Crohn’s disease and both of us taking Humira, we’re also both journalists. This week—Jessica shares an emotional piece about what it was like to take on inflammatory bowel disease, amidst a natural catastrophe, mid-flare. I’ll let her take it away.

Life with IBD is hard enough. Try having a flare during the worst natural disaster in the history of your country. It happened to me. I survived.

On September 20, 2017, Category 4 Hurricane Maria made landfall in Puerto Rico, causing a humanitarian crisis. Maria left nearly 95 percent of the island without communications, water, electricity and with limited medical access.

Many of the 3.4 million U.S. citizens living on the island had restricted access to resources like food, fuel, among many other essential needs. No communication, no cell phones, no internet. Nothing. I am a journalist who, at the time of the storm, was working as a communications assistant in the local Government. My job was to share news to the public before and after the hurricane. My country ended up getting hit with two hurricanes, and my beloved grandmother passed away a few weeks earlier. She died the day before Hurricane Irma. It was all such a whirlwind, as the stress mounted, so did my flare.

I was diagnosed with Crohn’s Disease in August 2015, even though I’ve lived with IBD for more than three years, I’m still learning to navigate my illness. Upon my diagnosis, I was put on Asacol and Budesonide. I had been fearful of going on a biologic and did all I could to avoid them. But, deep down I knew the moment would one day come.

Nonstop work after Hurricane Maria

I worked nonstop for months on the initial hurricane recovery efforts. As I took on this responsibility, I was flaring badly. Many hospitals were not working full capacity, running on generators and with shortages of basic medications like IV bags.

I was feeling terrible, exhausted, the fatigue and diarrhea were worsening, but I kept working through the pain. I was putting my duty for my country before my health. I was working long hours and when I got home, it did not get any easier, because life was not the same. Basic things like food, water, fuel for the generators, gas for the cars and even having a good meal or taking a shower were more difficult. My body ached from head to toe. The food was scarce and what was available was mostly junk food, fried food and canned food.

One morning I decided to stop in my GI’s office. He had lost the A/C unit and the office was flooded during the storm. He ordered some labs, an emergency colonoscopy and a few days of rest. I was anxious, exhausted, scared. After the colonoscopy, I was prescribed prednisone for a month and then started Humira.

Humira without electricity at home

I began using Humira in November 2017. My initial four loading dose shots were at my parent’s house, because they had two power generators and could have the refrigerator running 24/7. They kept my Humira for the rest of the blackout for us, which lasted 114 days.

It’s now a year later. I am back to normalcy – to my new normal- of giving myself painful shots. I’m in the process of receiving the Citrate-free (pain free) Humira and I can hardly wait! Unfortunately, I deal with some side effects from the medication (general body aches and joint pain, fatigue and weakness). That being said, the minor side effects I deal with are manageable and worth it to keep my disease under control.

An important conversation about chronic illness

As a Crohn’s patient and as a Puerto Rican, I hope my experience sheds light on what it’s like for those in the chronic illness community as they endure the repercussions of natural disasters. It’s a critical conversation that needs to happen—preparedness for the IBD community in the face of weather disasters. How can employers, government and society step up to the plate?

One year ago, I began walking the path of the Hurricane to the path of remission. I look forward with a sense of hope for the future both as a person and as a patient.