Editor's note: Tampa Bay Lightning forward Michael Eyssimont was diagnosed with Crohn's disease eight years ago at the age of 21. Since then, he's found a way to manage the disease with treatment and a strict diet. Here, in a special essay for NHL.com, he writes about getting his diagnosis, fighting the stigma that comes with having inflammatory bowel disease, and how he is trying to help others with the same experience.
Routines are a big part of hockey.
Obviously, a lot of things in this sport are unpredictable: You can't control where the puck bounces. You don't get a heads up when momentum is about to shift.
But you have to be prepared to compete in those circumstances. That's why every NHL Player develops his own routine to stay ready, physically and mentally, to perform at the highest level.
My routine as a forward for the Tampa Bay Lightning is pretty similar to what most guys do… except for one thing:
Every six weeks, I spend two hours at the doctor's office to get infusion therapy for Crohn's disease, an autoimmune condition that causes inflammation in the digestive tract.
I've learned a lot about Crohn's since I was first diagnosed eight years ago. And, actually, the most important lessons have nothing to do with the science of the disease. They're all about how you navigate a challenge that you weren't expecting – especially if that challenge is almost invisible to the people around you.
So, I thought I'd share my experience in case it helps anyone who might be in a similar situation.
Let's start here: I could've been diagnosed sooner if I was a bit more honest with myself.
When my symptoms began – during my junior year at St. Cloud State University – I tried my best to ignore them.
You can't digest food properly when Crohn's is active, so I was losing weight and energy in a really unhealthy way. It got to the point that I'd need to catch my breath on the sofa after walking up a few steps to my apartment.
Somehow, I was still playing hockey, but every trip to the rink reminded me that something was wrong. I couldn't skate one lap without hearing my heartbeat pounding in my head.
My coaches even asked me directly: “You look pale. You look sick. Are you okay?”
Of course, I said I was fine.
It's not easy for anyone to admit that they need help. But looking back, I was probably stuck on the idea of what a ‘hockey guy' should be.
You know, the typical hard-headed hockey player. Never gets hurt. Is always going to be okay. Can battle through anything.
Until he can't.
A couple of days after my coaches checked in, I was depleted enough that I had no choice: I walked to the trainer's office, explained how I was feeling, and let him take me to the hospital.
And then I was officially diagnosed with Crohn's.
Was it a relief to have an answer after 8 months of symptoms? Definitely. But as I sat in the hospital for 5 days to start the recovery process, it was hard to deny that I made my life much more difficult by trying to manage everything on my own.
That's a lesson I've carried with me ever since: Doctors are your friend. They are there to help. You should never be ashamed to ask for help and accept help.
And there shouldn't be any shame associated with having a chronic illness.
When I first got diagnosed, I struggled a lot with that concern. It doesn't take long to notice that Crohn's comes with a weird stigma because it's a type of inflammatory bowel disease (IBD), which affects what you can eat and how you go to the bathroom.
In the early days of my treatment, someone on the hospital staff was explaining what I should expect, and they made me aware of the stigma by putting it this way: “Crohn's is not a sexy disease.”
If I'm being honest, I didn't like the word choice. It felt like I was supposed to be embarrassed about what I was going through.
I remember telling my mom about it, and she had a great response – in retrospect, the only response that makes sense: “There's no such thing as a sexy disease.”
So there's no reason to worry about anyone else's opinion of IBD.
These days, I've gotten to a place where I'm very open about it. I don't mind explaining why I keep a clean diet and avoid certain foods that aggravate my Crohn's (the list of foods is different for everyone; you find out from trial and error). I'm not upset when I can't have chicken wings with the boys on a Friday night. And you won't find a lot of sauces or spices in the recipe for my meals, but that's just me doing everything I can to stay healthy.
Plus, I've found another reason to be as open as possible: It can make a positive impact on other people with IBD.
When you cross paths with children who were recently diagnosed, you realize that they might be scared about what comes next. I always try to have a conversation with them about my story, and I've seen how it can make them feel a little less alone and a little more hopeful that things can get better. Those interactions mean a lot to me – One of the first kids I spoke to about Crohn's, who I got to know when I was playing in Winnipeg, gave me a bracelet that I still wear pretty much every day.
I've also had the opportunity to raise funds for the Athletes vs. Crohn's & Colitis Foundation, which promotes awareness of IBD and provides support for young athletes with the disease. The driving force behind the Foundation is Larry Nance Jr., who shows what's possible as an NBA player who was diagnosed with Crohn's at 16 years old.
The more you talk about it, the more you find that many people already know someone with IBD. And if they don't know anyone right now, maybe someday they will.
I've grown up a lot since I was diagnosed. Crohn's has made me very disciplined in how I manage my diet, sleep, and stress levels. Sometimes I think of it like a blessing in disguise, because there's a list of non-negotiables for how I need to treat my body. The consistency of those good habits almost gives me a bit of an edge as a professional athlete.
Crohn's has also made me closer to my family. We were always close, but things took on another level when I got sick.
And it's given me greater appreciation for an idea we've all heard before: Everyone is dealing with something that you can't see.
I think the best example comes from my first season of pro hockey, when I had less than one year of experience living with Crohn's. My roommate, Chaz Reddekopp, had a lifetime of experience living with Type 1 diabetes. But there were still days when he struggled to keep his blood sugar in a good range.
So picture this: I'm coming back from my infusion. He's pricking his fingers and adjusting his insulin dose. Sometimes we'd just look at each other and laugh… like, isn't this crazy?
Two pro athletes trying to navigate life with these diseases… How is this normal?
And maybe that's the point. Maybe no one is.
Now, when I get my infusion every 6 weeks, I try to put it in perspective. It's just two hours for a treatment that lets me keep Crohn's symptoms at bay. And, honestly, the time goes by quickly with Netflix (If you have recommendations, I'll take them… I tend to pick stand-up specials, but I recently started The Crown, and I think it's pretty good).
At the end of the day, managing Crohn's has become part of my routine: It's what I need to do to be the best hockey player and healthiest person I can be.
Everyone's routine is a little different, but I'm really grateful that I've been able to figure out the blueprint for my own journey – without letting this disease hold me back.
