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Your Ostomy is Just the Beginning- Part 2

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By Makeda Armorer-Wade

Who knew that having an ostomy would be such an enlightening journey?

I was terrified. But my ostomy was just the beginning of this new experience for me and my entire family. When I received my first ostomy, it was an emergency surgery. There was no time to prepare, learn or even have a voice. It was life or death, and since I spent the previous three decades fighting for my life, I chose the ileostomy. Up until that point, I knew nothing much about an ostomy, other than I didn’t want one. When I considered that point, I realized it was because of the cavalier attitude of a medical professional, who told me,“what’s the big deal, a lot of people live with ostomies.”

I quickly learned that I had to live that Possibility Lifestyle. I learned that I was in charge of my mindset and could change it at any time with a little motivation. I don’t want to give the impression that it was easy, because it wasn’t. But I would need to learn because I was being discharged. When I got home, I decided to take myself to ostomy school. I did as much research as I could, in order to be able to function and live some quality of a life.

It was very difficult and took about 90 days to get accustomed to my new best friend. By the time I was beginning to accept my ostomy, I was given the date for my takedown. I still had a month to go and I had already lost 100 lbs. I was already counting down. I believe that my biggest challenge with my first ostomy, was the fact that Crohn’s Disease had ravaged my body. So, it wasn’t just the ostomy, but I was so weak and depleted, and unable to absorb any nutrients. At one point, I had a TPN line to feed me.

When the day came for me to go to the hospital, I celebrated and gave away all of my ostomy products to patients that I thought could use them. Simply said, I was done and over it. My recovery didn’t happen as quickly as I wanted, which required me to be patient and work my P.L.A.N.© I needed to Prepare and figure out what my diet would be to help me put some weight on. I was down to 98 pounds. I had to Let go of the shame that I was feeling, realizing that all of this was out of my control. I had to ask for help, because I just didn’t have the strength to do it myself. And I vowed to Never give up, because I desperately needed to live The Possibilities Lifestyle.

I knew that the possibilities for my life were endless, if I could just hold on. I just had to believe.

It took me about 12 weeks to be strong enough to go back to work. I had to believe, that just maybe my doctors and nurses were right. Everyone couldn’t be wrong. The messaging was consistent. “God must have something special for you to do”. Every time I met a new medical provider who reviewed my record, they would say, “Wow you have some story. You must have something important to do, with all that you have been through.” The Residents would ask permission to interview me.

I truly believe that when you receive an assignment from God, you will have the necessary experiences and pressure to become masterful. Just like the pressure needed to produce a diamond. I have learned so much with each surgery and recovery.

Fast forward six years. And here we go again. Crohn’s disease was causing significant problems with my health. After a conversation and encouragement from my gynecologist, I called my surgeon and made an appointment. After numerous tests, we made the decision to move forward with another Ostomy. This time a colostomy. (A colostomy is a surgical opening in the large intestine that is brought through the abdominal wall). This surgery was different, in that I initiated the conversation. I was armed with information and I had some semblance of control. This all matters in your perception of your ostomy.

Climbing the valley after this surgery started like the others, on a walker and a liquid diet. And the determination needed to propel myself forward was there as well. I was looking up knowing I had made the right decision. I began sharing and supporting other ostomates in monthly meetings at the hospital.

The more I encouraged others the better I felt about my own situation.

I began working with a life coach who encouraged me to be kind to myself and set goals that continued to positively impact my recovery and healing. This was the best thing that I could do. I knew from my conversations with ostomates that they needed an adjustment period and continuous support. With everything I shared, she continued to reinforce that my story was no longer mine. She said “do you think you went through all that you did, just to suffer?” My answer was no. I already knew what I had to do. It was all in the Value of the Valley. If you want to know how that turned out, stay tuned.

Your Ostomy is Just the Beginning Part 1

Editor’s note: This educational article is from one of our digital sponsors, ConvaTec. Sponsor support along with donations from readers like you help to maintain our website and the free trusted resources of UOAA, a 501(c)(3) nonprofit organization.

Your Ostomy is Just the Beginning

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By Makeda Armorer-Wade

How many times have you thought “why me?” Well I get it.

An Ostomy is not an elective surgery. Most people who get one are having challenges with a health condition, or an accident that will require them to get one. I got my first Ostomy after a four-decade battle with Crohn’s disease. I remember that day like it was yesterday. I can’t remember which bowel resection I was up to. But I know that something had gone dreadfully wrong. I had the surgery and had just moved from step-down (one step below ICU, where you are kept until you become stable), to a regular room. 24 hours into that room assignment something inside began to rupture. That night I contacted my doctor who scheduled me for an intrusive test five hours later. I was in too much pain to tolerate the test, at which time they realized that I would have to have an emergency ileostomy. I was in the loneliest place in the world. I had just had a seven-and-a-half-hour surgery and I had to go back in. I did not know how my body would be able to handle it.

My family who had come to the hospital in the wee hours of the morning, were told once again, that emergency surgery would have to be done in order to save my life. Nobody was prepared for the news of an ileostomy. (An ileostomy is when they divert your intestine from the inside to the outside of your body, usually at the lower end of the small intestine called the ileum.) Neither myself or my family knew what this was, and while they explained it to me I began to ask what other options we had. Of course, the answer was “none if you want to live”. I responded the way that I always do with “ok, let’s just get this done”. I didn’t have time to express fear. Because, I saw the look on my family’s face as they began to draw on my belly in the elevator to determine the site of the surgery. I was scared, angry and worried because I had no control, so I prayed.

My ileostomy taught me a lot about life and stamina. I became even more determined to learn everything I could to make this a smooth transition.

After the surgery I had my consultation with my WOC nurse and began my new journey. She was pretty amazing in how she explained everything and made sure that I understood the mechanics of taking care of my Ostomy. It was a daunting task. It was one of the longest days of my life and a big blur. My family was super supportive as I was so weak. But they didn’t have a clue what to do. They were ready to take direction from me. And while I have managed to keep a stiff upper lip through the first 14 lifesaving surgical procedures, this was different. I was grieving. I knew I had to figure it out, and my only consolation was that eventually it would be reversed (this is called a take-down). Well, I can probably tell you about that in another blog.

My ileostomy taught me a lot about life and stamina. I became even more determined to learn everything I could to make this a smooth transition. After learning to walk 10 steps from death’s door, over the course of 18 different surgeries, I eventually learned to work my P.L.A.N.© and you can too.

P.L.A.N.© stands for Prepare, Let go of Shame, Ask for help, Never Give up!

I tell my clients all the time that “life will teach you some things; that which you want to learn and that which you don’t.” In life we don’t always get to pick our lessons, but I am so happy that I learned a ton of them here. It allowed me to come to the conclusion that my fellow Crohn’s Warriors and Ostomate brothers and sisters needed the same support that I did after surgery. And so I am here. I am not a doctor or a nurse, just someone who cares about you. I wrote books and created a learning platform ThePossibilitiesLifestyle, to support your experience with the books and provide The Possibilities Lifestyle Coaching. My goal is to help and support as many people as I can. Please, I want you to remember this.

 

Editor’s note: This educational article is from one of our digital sponsors, ConvaTec. Sponsor support along with donations from readers like you help to maintain our website and the free trusted resources of UOAA, a 501(c)(3) nonprofit organization.

Scott Steehn’s Story

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Finding Hope in the Stories of Others

By Scott Steehn

All stories have a beginning, and mine is no different. It started on a cold, slate-colored February day in Erie, Pennsylvania in 1992. I was a successful standup comic who had headlined clubs and theaters in all 50 states and seven foreign countries. I was recently engaged to my soulmate, and we were making plans for a big October wedding. I was just finishing up a great week at a terrific comedy club in Erie and, as I prepared for my two shows on Saturday night, I felt like everything couldn’t have been going any better. But, in just 12 hours, none of those things would matter.

It started when I was onstage during the first show. I began having abdominal pain on my left, lower side. It wasn’t a huge pain and mainly felt like a had a fairly intense need to move my bowels. I finished up my show and made a beeline to the restroom. And…nothing happened. Nothing at all. The NEED was still there, and, in fact, it was getting worse. I, of course, had been constipated before, but this felt somehow…different.

I did my second show, but the pain was now almost unbearable. I headed back to my hotel, stopping only at a drugstore to pick up a laxative. I had convinced myself it was just constipation and had even assigned the blame to the shrimp dinner I’d had the night before. “Fresh Shrimp” in February…in Erie?! What did I expect to happen?

I took the laxative. And I waited. And tried. And waited some more. And then the pain got bad. Real bad. I could barely walk and couldn’t move without intense pain shooting out from my left side. Now I had a new theory. Burst appendix. This was before the days of Web MD, and I was limited to only what my imagination could conjure to freak myself out. So, not wanting to die a ridiculous death in the Erie Hilton, I called a taxi and headed to the hospital.

They got me into an exam room in short order. The doctor examined me and, taking advantage of his fancy medical degree, immediately eliminated appendicitis. So much for that. He then told me he had an idea what it was but wanted an MRI to confirm the results. A quick trip through the “donut of doom” confirmed his initial diagnosis. It was something called diverticulitis. He explained how we all have small abscesses in the colon and how they usually don’t cause any problems. Sometimes, however, those abscesses become infected. It causes horrible pain and constipation, and once it gets this bad, it has to be treated with antibiotics and mass quantities of fluids. I spent a painful week in the hospital and was discharged with very specific instructions on how to adjust my diet and lifestyle to prevent a recurrence. I thanked all the staff for the great job they did, signed some papers, checked out…and promptly ignored his instructions for the next 20 years.

Christmas Eve, 2012. My wife has had enough. The final straw came when I was unable to make it upstairs for the family gift exchange. As soon as it was over, she came down and told me we were going to head to the emergency room. I didn’t have the energy to argue. Plus, I knew she was right. I’d been feeling terrible for almost three years. Something was definitely not right. It seemed like it emanated from the “diverticulitis spot” that I had become intimately familiar with due to the flare-ups I suffered through two or three times a year. The only confusing part was I had undergone a colonoscopy six months prior and had received a clean bill of health. Only much later did I learn that I had received a negligent result. My doctors all agreed- there was no way my problem could have been missed.

I should have known I was in trouble when, after the emergency room doc saw me initially, he asked me if I’d like anything for pain. I jokingly said, “Sure, how about some morphine?” He immediately replied, “Okay, we’ll get that going for you.” Uh oh. A little later he told me I had a blockage that had been caused by a buildup of scar tissue from the repeated flare-ups of diverticulitis. They needed to get rid of the infection and then remove the two damaged sections of bowel. Surgery was scheduled for New Year’s Eve. Merry Christmas and Happy freaking New Year!

I spent the next week in a morphine haze. I met my surgeon, a brilliant young lady who looked impossibly young for someone with that much schooling. She explained that they were hoping to remove the damaged sections laparoscopically. It was a relatively simple procedure that would require a couple of days of recovery in the hospital, a week or two at home, and then back to my normal life. The alternative would be invasive surgery, much longer recovery time, and, while the healing took place, I would need to have a colostomy. Due in part to my opiate fog and also due to my refusal to accept reality, I was 100% convinced everything would be done laparoscopically. No worries.

The first thing I noticed when I came to was something in my throat. Something huge and foreign. As my world blinked into focus, the nurse was there to explain to me that the damage was much worse than they had anticipated. Full surgery had been performed and I was going to be in the hospital for a while. The drugs were very helpful in allowing me to deny exactly what exactly that meant. I was much more concerned with getting the tube out of my throat and the catheter out of the other end. That cavalier attitude about my situation would soon change.

The nurses and staff were great. They changed my colostomy bag for me and allowed me to STILL not grasp my situation. That all changed when I met the ostomy nurse. She was tasked with teaching me the intricacies of daily life with a colostomy. Reality came crashing through the door when I spent 30 minutes hiding in the restroom in tears unable to change my bag. I can’t do this! This isn’t fair! (Conveniently forgetting the 20 years I had spent ignoring my doctor’s orders) Gathering myself, I sucked it up, and FINALLY was able to do it on my own. I was discharged and sent home to recuperate and heal for 30 days before heading back to the hospital for takedown surgery.

I’d like to tell you a story about how well I adjusted. About how I was brave. About how I was thankful to be alive. About how I now appreciated my friends and family even more. About how I would now refused to take all the beauty of life for granted. That’s the story I’d like to tell. But I can’t. It would be a lie. Even though none of you know me, I promised myself I would be 100% honest about my journey. Warts and all. So here goes.

It was awful. I hated every minute of it. I thought having a colostomy was gross. And hard. Life wasn’t fair. NOTHING was fair. I can’t do this. There were the usual indignities. Accidents. Broken seals. Excess gas. I was in hell. Never for one moment did I think how my situation affected those around me. How my actions and attitude affected my family, and, my wife in particular, who only wanted me to get better and get back to being the man she married. As an added bonus, I was also taking 12 Oxycodone a day for pain, and, rightly suspected, now had a raging opioid addiction. My day consisted of sleeping, crying, bitching at my family, thinking about death, and dealing with my new, hated, appendage. Day after day. Rinse, lather, repeat.

Then, one day while noodling around on the internet, I found UOAA. I started reading about my condition. And I started reading other people’s stories. I found out just how many dealt with this particular challenge. I was stunned. And the more stories I read, the more my respect grew. People who had to deal with this for years. For decades. Tears streamed down my face as I read their stories. I’d love to tell you everything changed that day. How my attitude changed overnight and how I became Mr. Positivity. Alas, it wasn’t that simple.

What DID happen, is I became embarrassed about my actions. I had always prided myself on being a tough guy who dealt with problems head-on. The more I read on ostomy.org, the more I knew this was a lie.

Every day I read the stories of real heroes. Men and women who possessed the biggest superpower of all, the ability to live a normal life despite adversity that was currently bringing me to my knees. To say they inspired me, would be an understatement. Closer to the truth would be, they saved my life.

They gave me practical advice, “insider tips” on everything from bathing to sex, and something I hadn’t felt in a long time. They gave me hope. I never posted on the UOAA discussion board. Hell, I don’t think I even registered. Due to my “temporary” status, I really didn’t think anyone wanted to hear my whining. If everything went well, my life would go back to “normal,” while these people would continue to lead quietly heroic lives day after day, year after year. I didn’t feel worthy. And I still don’t.

That’s my story. Sure, there’s more, including an unsuccessful takedown, massive infection, emergency surgery, and an ileostomy for a few more months. There was a wound vac, and an in-home nurse to change my dressing daily. And, of course, after 6 ½ months of daily opioid use, I still had to deal with that King Kong-sized habit. Yet, in the end, I was okay. It probably took almost two years to feel like me again. And even that isn’t completely accurate.

I recovered, I felt better physically, but “myself” was different. I was more appreciative, more humble, and more thankful. I was well, but I’d never be the same.

So, thanks for reading. Thanks to Ed Pfueller for giving me an opportunity to share my story. Thanks to the whole team at UOAA and, for that matter, all of the sites designed to educate, inform, and help everyone on this particular journey. Lastly, more thanks than I could ever express to all the men and women who bravely shared their stories through blogs and forums. Thanks for your bravery. Thanks for your humor. And thanks for giving me the courage to understand and accept my condition with, what I hope, was grace and determination that would make you all proud. God bless each and every one of you and may your lives be full of the joy and love that you so richly deserve. I am forever in your debt.

 

Annie Gammell’s Story

My colostomy story began when, at age 56, I discovered that I had late-stage colorectal cancer.  A large tumor was discovered during my first colonoscopy, and it was cancerous.  Thus began a long journey that eventually led to colostomy surgery on my 64th birthday.  After the initial surgery to remove the tumor and part of my colon and rectum, I had radiation and two rounds of chemotherapy.  The radiation permanently damaged my intestines and caused a bowel blockage that required more surgery, followed by years of chronic diarrhea and abdominal pain.  I finally found a surgeon in my home state who cut out some of the intestinal damage and gave me the surgery that infinitely improved my quality of life.

Before the colostomy, I was on a very restricted diet, but I can now eat many raw foods, including what I had missed the most for six years—salads!  It has taken me a while to adapt to changing and wearing the pouch, and I have had some “accidents” along the way.  These are usually caused by my skin allergy to adhesives, which causes the skin barrier to fail when I have had a significant amount of stoma output.  Still, I usually have enough time to get to the bathroom before the leak causes a major problem.  I have, however, received some valuable tips on handling and preventing problems online, because there are no ostomy nurses or support groups near where I live.  I have also shared information on how to reduce skin allergy problems and passed on what has worked and not worked for me.

My background:  I am originally from Baton Rouge, LA, and have a Master of Journalism degree from Louisiana State University.  I am a retired Army officer, having spent 20 years on active duty, mostly as a Public Affairs Officer.  I served two overseas tours in Germany and met my husband when we were both Army majors stationed at the Presidio of San Francisco.  My cancer was diagnosed in 2007, while I was working as a civilian for the US Army Cadet Command at Fort Monroe, VA.  My colostomy surgery was performed by Dr. David Beck at Ochsner Medical Center in New Orleans.  He is also retired from the Air Force.

Tricia Hottenstein’s Story

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Saying that my ostomy gave me my life back is not an understatement. I don’t think I have ever felt better in my entire life. I was diagnosed with Crohn’s when I was 15 and in the 12 years I suffered before having surgery, I never once achieved full remission. I missed more school than I attended, had to take a medical withdrawal from college, and struggled to find and keep a job. I was in so much pain and having so many symptoms that I couldn’t leave the house for entire days at a time.

After having my son I finally agreed to undergo ileostomy surgery after I had refused it for years. I was concerned about having a bag on my belly and the effect it’d have on my life. When I had a bunch of questions I referenced UOAA’s resources including the website and Facebook page especially when finding a bag that wouldn’t leak or cause skin issues. It has been incredibly helpful to see what products others are using. There’s always a great tip or trick within the community.

The truth is since my surgery I never felt more alive. I’m not afraid of road trips or adventures and I finally have the health and strength to do whatever I want to do. My entire outlook on life changed for the better and instead of being embarrassed about my symptoms, I am now confident and happy and proud to tell the world I’m an ostomate! I go to ostomy support groups and will always share my story and be available for questions. Sometimes it’s good just to know there is someone else like you.

Ray Elvey’s Story

I had ulcerative colitis that was unresponsive to any treatments including remicade infusions. In January of 2006 I had ostomy surgery. My first comment was “It is so quiet down there.”

After three horrible years my life was given back to me. I am now disease free and colon cancer is no longer a worry. My ostomy surgery has allowed me to have a more rewarding relationship with my wife and family. Having an ostomy has not stopped me from enjoying activities such as cycling that I participated in prior to surgery.  I still ride whenever I can.

As soon as I was physically able one of the first things I did was join a local UOAA affiliated support group. The support group was a lifesaver for me. When I first joined I was having terrible skin problems and there seemed no solution. The support group facilitator made one suggestion and my skin problem was completely resolved!  

As a result of my ostomy I have discovered a new passion in my life that I probably never would have done otherwise. I am now a freelance writer on ostomy topics that are of interest and concern to ostomates and their families and friends.  My articles appear in our support group newsletter and the Phoenix magazine. I want people who are facing this surgery to know that their quality of life can be restored through ostomy or continent diversion surgery. It truly is lemons into lemonade.