Ostomy, Schmostomy

During the summer of ’99, my then boyfriend (future husband, future ex-husband, and future good friend of mine) travelled to Yellowstone National Park to work for the summer. We stayed until the end of the summer season, which was mid-October and then came back home. Having been gone from home so long, we were anxious to make the trip back. We took turns driving in an effort to cover more ground quickly, and it was during a stretch of driving through Iowa that I was up at the wheel. If you’ve never driven through Iowa, then don’t. I don’t care what the geography books say, Iowa is the longest state in the U.S. Nothing but fields of wheat, or corn, or whatever it was, for as long as the eye can see. Here we are heading down the interstate surrounded by vast stretches of nothing, when “it" hit me. Stomach cramps. The kind that make you want to double over and cry. Also the kind of cramps that say, “You better find somewhere to pull over soon.” I started to panic. There was no bathroom of any sort anywhere. Beads of sweat formed on my forehead, I clutched the steering as another spasm hit my stomach. I was pretty sure I was going to shit my pants before we could find civilization. At long last we see an exit sign. No clue what lie ahead, but it didn’t matter. My bowels were on the verge of exploding inside my car. We veer off the interstate on two wheels, and whip into a gas station/restaurant. I ran into the store, and practically yelled at the cashier/waitress that I needed a bathroom. STAT. She pointed in the general direction, and I made a mad dash, only to find myself inside one of the top ten nastiest bathroom stalls I’ve ever been inside. Normally, toilet seats don’t bother me, but this was the exception, with obvious residue on the seat from the last few people to use it. I quickly grabbed handfuls of toilet paper and covered the seat, dropped trou, and managed to get both cheeks on the toilet before having my insides turn out. That was a close one.

The point of this? Everyone poops. Everybody. It is the lowest common denominator for humans. Rich or poor, black or white, male or female; at some point during the day, we all sit on the porcelain throne, pants around our ankles, and drop a deuce. It is one of our most vulnerable moments. Heaven forbid, if intruders burst into your home while you’re making a stinky. However, for me, I no longer have to worry about finding a private room in which to do my business. It’s one of the benefits of having a colostomy. Since my operation, many people have had questions. Like, what does it look like? How does it work? Do I still pass gas? So I thought this would be a good time for an educational piece; we can call it “Life with an Ostomy”.

First there are different types of ostomies: colostomy (large intestine), ileostomy (small intestine), and urostomy (bladder). I have what is known as a sigmoid or descending colostomy, the most common type of ostomy surgery, in which the end of the descending or sigmoid colon is brought to the surface of the abdomen. It is usually located on the lower left side of the abdomen. The end of the remaining portion of the colon is brought out to the abdominal wall to form the stoma.

No, it doesn’t hurt. Now, granted, if someone punched me there, it would, but then again, it hurts to be punched anywhere. And while I’m sure nobody would rush out to get one, there are certain benefits to having one. For example, as I mentioned above, I no longer have to “be somewhere” to do my business. I could be driving through Iowa (but let’s hope I never again have to), having dinner with friends (yes I have, and you never knew), or reading a book on my sofa. It just happens when it happens, with no fuss or mess. Also, as a bonus, I have saved several dollars on toilet paper and wet wipes.

Ostomies have come a long way in the last several years. There are as many different pouching systems as there are electronic video games. Open end pouches, closed pouches, clear, opaque, one-piece, two-piece…. and the list goes on. I have found that the manufacturers of these products are more than happy to send you free samples, so if you should ever find yourself in such a position, I highly recommend getting as many samples as you can until you find something you really like. For me, I prefer a two-piece, closed end pouch. When I was in the hospital I used what they had, which was a one-piece, open end pouch. Of course, back then, at the expense of getting graphic, my poo was very liquid, so it made sense to use an open end pouch that can be drained. However, nowadays, my poo is more solid, much as it is for everyone else with normal bowel function, so a closed end pouch is preferable. When it gets full, I simply, peel it off, throw it away, and replace it. I can do this in less than a minute. It’s that easy. One of the reasons I prefer a two-piece pouching system is that I can easily remove the pouch itself (as mentioned above) very quickly and only have to remove the entire system a couple times a week, about every three or four days, although it can last for up to a full week at times. Even with a full system change, it still only take a few minutes. It’s painless, pretty effortless, and I have gotten quite adept at it. It’s now just a part of my normal routine.

Another benefit is that most pouches these days are lined with charcoal filters. This means that when I pass gas, (and yes, I still do) it has no odor. Guess what? I can now say my shit doesn’t stink and actually mean it. Secretly, I always knew I was better than everyone else….. ;) Ha! Just kidding, peeps.

But really, it’s no big deal to me anymore. When they first told me I would have to have one, I thought the world was ending. And to be honest, it was mostly vanity that made me think that. We live in a world where perfection seems to be the goal. Perfect bodies, perfect lives. And all I could think was how horrible it would be to have a bag of poop attached to my stomach. But, after what I have been through, most especially last fall, when I was undergoing radiation, chemo, and had c-diff, I was in so much pain and so sick that I decided a colostomy wasn’t the worst thing that could happen. I lost over twenty pounds in only a couple of months. I was so sick some days that I never got out of bed. I really thought I was dying. And to be honest, I was looking forward to anything that could make the pain go away. And it did. It saved my life.

I have embraced my new appendage. I even have colorful pouch covers made for my by friends, plus a few I ordered online, to wear to the lake or beach or anywhere really. And nobody points and laughs or calls me a freak. I have plans to attend the UOAA (United Ostomy Association of America) in September, where I look forward to meeting others with ostomies, and maybe snagging some more samples to try from the various manufacturers. As I said before, I highly doubt anyone would volunteer to have one, but if you do have to, then you should know that it’s really not that big of a deal. You will adapt. And there is nothing that I could before, that I can’t still do. I can swim, I can jog (I don’t - but I could), I do Yoga, and I still drink beer. I hope this helps to answer some of your questions, but if not, feel free to ask. I will answer as many as I can. Poop on, my fellow humans!