Old Scars, New Flares: Returning to Starship and Facing PTSD-Triggered IBS

Back to Starship—Full Circle, With a Twist

Stepping into Starship Children’s Hospital again, I felt that old knot in my stomach tighten. The bright hallways, the soft beeps, and the clean antiseptic smell were familiar, but for all the wrong reasons. As a kid, I walked these halls bald and nauseous, brave because I had to be. This time, I walked them as a parent, my child’s small hand tucked in mine, here for chemotherapy. Déjà vu hit like a wave. Then, my gut chimed in—cramps, urgency, the whole irritable bowel syndrome (IBS) rollercoaster I thought I’d left behind.

On day one, I split my time between the bedside and the bathroom, battling bloating and stabbing pains just as my child battled nausea and fear. It felt like betrayal. But it wasn’t betrayal at all. It was memory—my body’s, not just my brain’s—springing into action to “protect” me from danger that wasn’t happening now but had happened before. That’s the sneaky, relentless part of post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD): the past can crash the present without knocking.

The Body Remembers—Loudly

PTSD rooted in childhood medical trauma can flip a switch you didn’t even know was still wired. A whiff of alcohol swabs, the swish of a curtain, the look of an IV bag—the smallest cue, and bam, your internal alarm screams like it’s code red. Logically, I knew I wasn’t the patient anymore. But my nervous system didn’t care. It recognized the scene and ran the old script. And for me, the script plays in my gut.

We use phrases like “gut punch” and “butterflies” for a reason. The gut is a chatterbox, a second brain, and mine is… expressive. When my stress circuits fire, my digestive system fires too—cramping, churning, speeding up or slamming to a halt. PTSD doesn’t limit itself to nightmares or flashbacks. It often recruits the body as its megaphone, and IBS is one way it shouts.

Why Trauma Hits the Stomach: The Gut–Brain Connection

Here’s the basic wiring diagram (no medical degree required):

• Two-way line: Your brain and gut are in constant conversation via nerves (especially the vagus nerve) and chemical messengers.

• Two modes: The autonomic nervous system toggles between fight-or-flight (sympathetic) and rest-and-digest (parasympathetic).

• Stress chemistry: When a trigger hits, stress hormones like adrenaline and cortisol tell digestion to downshift. Blood flow reroutes to muscles, gut contractions get weird (either too slow or too fast), and nausea or diarrhea can crash the party.

  
  

With PTSD, the alarm system is set to hair-trigger. Triggers that resemble past medical trauma can launch a full stress response, even if today’s “danger” is a routine treatment room. If you already have IBS, that stress can turn whispers into sirens: heightened sensitivity, painful spasms, bloating, urgency. This isn’t weakness. It’s biology doing what biology does—sometimes a little too enthusiastically.

Bottom line: PTSD and IBS aren’t random roommates. They’re physiologically linked. Knowing that softened the self-blame and gave me a plan.

Parenting Through PTSD and IBS—The Tightrope

Being a parent in pediatric oncology is a tightrope. Being a former patient there yourself? That’s a high-wire act in a windstorm. I was simultaneously caregiver and triggered survivor, soothing my child with one hand while steadying my own breath with the other. Some days I’d hum a lullaby through a procedure and then slip out the second it ended—straight to the bathroom, doubled over.

Cue the guilt spiral: “Why can’t I hold it together? Why now?” The truth I had to learn: my reactions were normal responses to abnormal past events. That shift—from judgment to understanding—mattered. It didn’t fix the IBS flare on the spot, but it did change the story I told myself while it was happening.

What’s Helping (And Might Help You, Too)

I’m not handing out miracle cures. But these have made a real difference:

• Name it, to tame it. Saying, “This is PTSD, and my IBS is my body’s alarm,” gave me clarity and control.

• Micro-grounding. 4-7-8 breathing, feeling my feet on the floor, running cold water over my wrists, stepping outside for fresh air—tiny resets that calm the sympathetic surge.

• Gentle gut care. Small, bland snacks (crackers, bananas, rice), warm tea, staying hydrated, and a heating pad on my abdomen. Helps more than it sounds.

• Support on purpose. Hospital counselors, parent support groups, and one trusted friend/partner who knows the code word: “pause” = please tag in.

• Boundaries with compassion. If a relative visits, I let them sit bedside while I take a shower or a short walk. Self-care isn’t abandoning my child; it’s refueling so I can return steadier.

• Education for the circle. I told close family what PTSD-triggered IBS looks like for me. Now, pacing or a quick exit isn’t drama—it’s data.

• Mindful media & music. One calming playlist. One guided meditation. One silly sitcom episode. Tiny anchors when the room spins.

• Medical partnership. Loop in your GP or GI about stress-related flares. There are evidence-based options: dietary tweaks, gut-directed hypnotherapy, CBT for IBS, medications when appropriate.

  
  

If you want to dig deeper into the science, these accessible resources are helpful:

• American Psychological Association on PTSD: https://www.apa.org/topics/ptsd

• Harvard Health on the gut–brain connection: https://www.health.harvard.edu/diseases-and-conditions/the-gut-brain-connection

• National Institute of Diabetes and Digestive and Kidney Diseases (NIDDK) on IBS: https://www.niddk.nih.gov/health-information/digestive-diseases/irritable-bowel-syndrome

  
  

(External links are for general education and don’t replace medical advice.)

Rewriting the Ending, One Visit at a Time

Returning to Starship reopened old chapters I thought were closed. But something unexpected bubbled up alongside the pain: a chance to heal while helping my child heal. Every time I sit through a beeping machine without bolting, comfort my child through a rough day, or ride out an IBS spike with kindness instead of anger, I’m also caring for the scared kid I used to be.

No, my IBS isn’t “fixed.” Some days the blandest soup still backfires. Some mornings a dream yanks me back to the 90s, and my gut reacts before I’m fully awake. But now I understand the why. And when the cramps hit, I can say, “Hey, body—I hear you. We’re safe enough right now.” Then I breathe, sip tea, press the heating pad, and get on with the day.

The more I validate my experience, the less explosive the flares. They’ve become signals, not sentences—messages that I’m overwhelmed and it’s time to pause, not proof that I’m failing.

Practical Mini-Toolkit You Can Screenshot

• Breathing: Inhale 4, hold 7, exhale 8—three cycles.

• Grounding: Name 5 things you see, 4 you feel, 3 you hear, 2 you smell, 1 you taste.

• Gentle fuel: Crackers, oatmeal, bananas, ginger or peppermint tea, electrolytes.

• Body soothers: Heating pad, light stretches, a short walk, loose clothing.

• Ask for cover: Have a “tap-in” buddy. Use a simple code word.

• Self-talk: “My body remembers. I’m safe enough right now. This will pass.”

• Professional support: Therapist familiar with medical PTSD or GI-focused CBT.

  
  

For Fellow Caregivers With Old Scars

If your child’s illness is pulling you back into your own medical past, you’re not broken—and you’re definitely not alone. Your anxiety, tears, or IBS flares don’t mean you’re weak; they mean you’re human, deeply empathetic, and carrying a load most people can’t see. Give yourself the same compassion you give your child.

FAQs

What is PTSD-triggered IBS? It’s when PTSD symptoms (like hyper-arousal or triggers) activate the stress response, which disrupts digestion and provokes IBS symptoms—cramping, urgency, bloating, diarrhea, or constipation.

Can trauma really cause IBS? Trauma doesn’t “cause” IBS for everyone, but it’s a strong risk factor. PTSD and IBS often coexist because stress chemistry and nervous system sensitivity directly affect gut function.

Why did symptoms come back at the hospital? Environmental reminders—smells, sounds, sights—can trigger the body’s alarm system. Your gut reacts even if your rational mind says, “I’m okay.”

What helps during a flare at the hospital? Short grounding breaks, warm beverages, small bland meals, a heating pad, tag-team caregiving, and speaking with a counselor or GI specialist. Over time, skills like gut-directed hypnotherapy or CBT for IBS can lower reactivity.

Is this forever? Symptoms can improve. While triggers may remain, many people experience fewer and milder flares with support, skills, and compassionate routines.

Gentle Takeaway

Old wounds can reopen in fluorescent hallways—but they can also knit stronger with care. Returning to Starship forced me to face what once broke me. Now, step by wobbly step, I’m learning to carry the past without letting it carry me. My child and I are writing a new ending together—one grounded in understanding, support, and stubborn love.