I have had Crohn's disease for almost 50 years. This means I have had a ringside seat to what was once referred to as a 20th-century illness that was treated with 19th-century medicine for so long.

Things have improved over the last 50 years with the advent of biologics and new surgical techniques, such as strictureplasty. The latter was a game changer in my care as my illness precluded simple resection of the inflamed and diseased areas as they were spread over 40 percent of my gut. The technique, pioneered in England in the 1970s by the noted surgeon John Alexander Williams and introduced to the North American GI scene in the mid-1980s, is a form of plastic surgery on the areas scarred and narrowed by treatments for flareups.

I guess the fact that I have battled this disease for close to half of a century and can still function is something of a victory. But it has brought serious morbidity in its wake and has adversely affected some of my organs, not the least of which are my kidneys. The production and retention of calcium oscillate, in particular, has blessed my body with recurring bouts of kidney stones. Partial blockages of the ureters and bouts of hydronephrosis are but a few challenges to kidney health.

One such blockage, in which the stones were impacted and did not respond well to various attempts to loosen and dislodge them, resulted in a serious case of sepsis and an accompanying week's hospitalization. But more than the pain and discomfort of being "kidney stoned"  is the actual hospitalization.

I have lost count of how many hospital stays I have been treated for, only to say that their incidence over the years and frequency as of late has not made them any easier to bear. Quite the contrary: the difficulties of the health care system from staffing issues to the use of broad-spectrum antibiotics with their side effects, coupled with the infantilizing nature of patient care which gives added meaning to the term "invalid" (read as in-valid) can make such a hospital stay both emotionally unsettling and destabilizing.

Waiting for the system to recognize you—with staff overworked due to nursing shortages, especially post-Covid—can add much insult to injury. Being seen as a "person within the patient" is a right and prerogative I have had to fight for on too many occasions. I have long found that I fare much better with a bit of humanistic care from my healthcare providers. A listening ear and caring look from the person in the white coat can shave and stave off a layer of despair. Sadly, it is all too often lost in the clinical shuffle.

It is no small matter of benign neglect. Rather is it an essential component to the desired and much-needed care pathway, which can stem flowing and ambitious waves of fright and fear; an added layer of pain that robs the patient of the needed modicum of strength to overcome yet another notch in the gut and clinical setback.

It doesn't get any easier with time. I don't suspect that my 50th anniversary will bring me any comfort but more side issues and increased morbidity.

I can only hope for some good angels to carry me through the rigors and sidebars of the illness's course, to blunt the pain and provide some much-desired hope and interruption from the assault on body and spirit.