Change can be a scary thing. Change can be positive. It can also be negative. Change can be the seasons. Change can be choosing to do your hair differently just because. It can be because you feel you have to. Change can be tiny, or it can be huge. Change can separate who has been there for you all along, and who never really was. Change is a risk. It can petrify you more than you ever thought possible. Change can be through choice. Change can make you or break you. Change can be the day turning to night, or the sun bringing illumination to the darkness on a new day. Each day is a chance to change. Most of all through my experiences, I have learnt that change can sometimes be a one-way journey despite how petrified you are. In this sense, change is inevitable and has to be embraced, before what is the present becomes no more and is the difference between waking to see a new day or not.
Just over three and a half years ago now I had my surgery. People say that in time things get easier. I agree, or at least, things seem to get easier. Maybe this is because we learn to adapt more and learn that we must make the changes to move forward and progress. I am certainly not the type to admit defeat, but change sometimes in many aspects of life can make you feel like you are really taking on more than you can deal with and sometimes makes you want to hide in bed, wrapped tightly under the covers, in the hope that time will slow down and somehow things will not seem as daunting.
I sit and reflect on the last few years and see just how far I have come and the things I have achieved. I have taught myself to tolerate food properly again and managed to keep food consistent, although sometimes this can still be harder mentally than it seems. I can enjoy food again, and have that bag of sweets if I feel like it and not dread that pain will follow. Some foods I have to avoid, but this is a huge improvement on not being able to tolerate anything. I have visited many places that would not have been possible before. I have stood in the shower for longer than necessary just to keep warm, but for this time through choice, not because I dread getting out because the slightest bit of cold gave me crippling stomach pain and I did not know how much longer I could stand from being so weak. I have learnt a lot about my body although I am still learning when to know when enough is enough and listen to my body, but maybe that is just because I’m stubborn (and maybe a little stupid!). I have managed the last few years without any maintenance medication or steroids; besides anti-depressants and my pill I am medication-free. These are just a few of the things I could mention which I find in themselves a big achievement.
Physically, I have had to adapt to the changes inside my body and outside. I have found the biggest challenge for me to be the physical changes. Even now, I sometimes get my down days or moments where things run through my head about what it would be like to not have a permanent ostomy bag, and I wish I was “normal”, but then I wonder, what exactly does define “normal?”. I still sometimes have to shake my mindset away from just seeing my scar and bag when I look in the mirror, and remind myself that I am more than what my surgery has meant for me. I sometimes feel disgusting and worried if I have to explain to somebody new to me about my bag, but regardless of how I feel and how anxious I get and upset sometimes, why really should I feel disgusting? I am more than an ostomy bag and a scar, I am a person, and that does not define who I am. I have to tell myself that over and over some days. I see so many models and people in the media that make me feel so insecure because of how my body has changed, but then again I think the media is hugely responsible for a lot of our insecurities today in society. Ostomy bag or no ostomy bag I think this would still be the same. So many of us feel we have to live up to the ‘standards’ set by the media and all the airbrushed photographs that make people feel like that is how people actually are in reality; that that is somehow ‘perfect’. I see so many models with flat, toned stomachs with no scars or an ostomy bag and part of me inside cries to be like that, because I do not see how how I am could be portrayed as beautiful, but then I just ask myself, what is beauty? Beauty to me has many senses. But things that help to define beauty are the stories behind the people, the challenges people have faced and overcome, eyes that have cried many tears yet people still manage to put on a smile, the battle scars, the courage, the determination and the bravery. Beauty is not just about what is straight in front of our eyes at first glance. Everybody has a story. Everybody has a unique story, that has shaped them into that person they have become.
I still struggle with sitting in a quiet classroom with other people, or talking one-to-one with somebody at work and worrying about my stoma making a noise. It gives me clammy hands and makes me tense up the second I feel my stoma needing to pass wind, and I automatically go to shield what noise I can by placing my arm over my stoma. It gets me down some days that I still struggle with narrowings and I have to dilate my stoma twice a day. It makes me sad when I’m having one of those days that I cannot wear tight fit dresses without having to be more cautious about how fast my bag is filling up to stop the over obvious ‘bag bulge’ appearing like I’m pregnant on one side of my stomach. I struggle with my depression sometimes, I would not wish it on anyone. I struggle with getting my head around sharing a bed with someone and my bowel relaxing and becoming really active when I sleep and being really noisy. I struggle with the idea of sharing a bed with someone then waking up in the morning for cuddles with them and them putting their arm around me and bam! there’s this full bag of wind and waste on my stoma like a small balloon… really does not make me feel in the slightest bit attractive. Intimacy does bother me in that sense, the thought of suddenly having to empty my bag or having to attend to a leak on the odd chance it happens. I just have to remind myself that I just have different plumbing now as I call it, and that even the Queen uses the toilet and farts and no, it does not smell of roses! I guess as far as friendships and relationships are concerned, then as I have always told others, if somebody cannot learn to love and accept me for the person I am just because I pass waste out of my body differently, then they are not worth the time or space, and karma someday may visit them. All that being said, I am very lucky to have met those close to me at the moment that do make me feel beautiful, special and appreciated and have opened my eyes to being able to smile and laugh about having an ostomy bag and the little dramas that come with it! I would not deny somebody of being accepted and loved for the person they are just because they are “different” and have had to go through a whole load of crap (no pun intended!).
This post just shows that even three and a half years after my surgery, it is still a journey for me that I am not 100% comfortable with and that I am still learning about it and how to adapt in many aspects of my life. But what it does also show is that I am here to embrace it as best as I can. If it wasn’t for my bag then I would not be breathing or writing this now. I can do so many things now that I could not do for the majority of my life. I do not remember anything of my childhood besides being poorly, so surely the fact that my bag has given me my life means that I can try the best I can to make something truly incredible of my adulthood and work hard now I have the ability to keep pushing myself. I have a job that I love in a career that is so promising and rewarding that I would not have even had the energy for before. I go to college and do exams that I would not have been able to sit through before without running to the toilet or feeling too faint. I can do so many things that I could not have done before. That in itself is a gift – having my life.
Until next time,