Last year I was hospitalized for three nights due to dehydration related to kidney issues. It's difficult enough to sleep in a hospital bed, but one night I awoke and slowly became aware of a nurse standing over me. She didn't say anything at first. It must have been sometime between midnight and 2 AM. Finally she spoke up: "Can I see your ileostomy?" I must be dreaming, I thought, and turned away from her. I had flashbacks of fifth grade when Prissy Fortallo said to me, "I'll show you mine if you show me yours." Then: "Can I see your ileostomy?" she said again. Now it was getting serious. Sleep interrupted, and not for the usual temperature taking or sleeping pill idiocy. "It's the middle of the night," said I, burying my head in my pillow. Finally the young lady backed away and left the room. I must have fallen back to sleep but eventually, laying there thinking about it, it dawned on me what she wanted. She'd never seen an ileostomy before and was curious. For her, it was just a bit of medical education, as it were. An hour or so later, she came back in just before shift change. Being the accomodating sort, I gave her the thrill of her young life.
Hi Henry, when I had resection surgery a couple of years ago, I had a young nurse come in to do the usual routine of BP, temp, and so on. But looking at my chart, she saw ileostomy and asked if she could look at it. So, I showed her, and she asked if it hurt. I said yes, the incision is fresh, the staples are still in, and she points to the stoma and says, "No, the red thing." I touch it and said no. So, she asks if she can touch it. Then I knew she was a rookie. On a different note, a couple of days later, they wanted to move my IV, and the same nurse was given the task and failed badly as she was fishing around in my arm for the vein. I told her to stop and get someone else, which she did.
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This site is a godsend. As a newbie (colostomy on Nov 8, '21), I look at it every day for a number of reasons. Reading what people are going through makes me grateful that my elective surgery because of a severe case of IBS-C is nothing compared to what they have been through and are still living with.
I don't have to go to the hospital for anything related to my ostomy. I feel sorry for those who do and am in awe of those who can use humor to describe their ordeal. I identify with those who express their fears. I especially identify with those who are depressed because I am clinically depressed and have general anxiety disorder. How ironic that having a colostomy eliminated some of the depression and anxiety that the IBS created. I've been widowed twice and I'm on match.com.
I immediately included my operation in my profile and am pleased to say it doesn't seem to make a difference.
And there is much humor on this site and it's one of the reasons I enjoy it so much.
I could name numerous things I've learned from reading people's comments/questions/answers.
After months following on a daily basis, my only negative comment is I don't like listing the most popular members.
It's not that I don't like these people; I do. It's that I think it elicits some "Facebook"-like banter or comments that are gratuitous.
I don't do any social media and think that its merits are overshadowed by too much negativity.
Meetanostomate is in no way negative. I just think the gallery of "popularity" detracts from what is an excellent website that deals with a serious issue that causes a myriad of emotions.
I can sympathize with your experience re the bungling nurse who couldn't do the IV. I've had the same thing happen. Stay well, Ron.
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Hi Henry,
You gave her the thrill of her young life... but did you ever show her your ostomy?
;0)
bob
A few years ago, I had a tiny skin issue on the edge of my stoma requiring a 5-minute treatment each day for a period from the local nurses. Our District Nurse practice for the village is interesting for being three nurses, all male.
As the days passed, I was boggled by how each day I would see one of the usual nurses plus one, if not two, I had never seen before! After a while, I twigged - stomas are a very rare sight in rural France, so they were inviting all their colleagues from neighboring practices to 'drop in for a peep'. It didn't bother me, but I did wonder how much they charged for the tickets...
How to Adjust to Life with an Ostomy with Bruce | Hollister
Hi All, How this post brought back memories... thanks, Henry. I was only 15 when I had my surgery at a NYC teaching hospital. I'd spent the previous 3 years, in and out for weeks and months at a time, for treatment for a very active case of Ulcerative Colitis. So, by the time I was having my surgery, I had a lot of "friends" - medical students, doctors, and nurses on staff. But my primary caregivers for this 4-month (two-operation) stay were three student nurses, as well as several medical students who were on my doctor's service. They never treated me like a "kid," and this was a time way before there were stoma therapists. Once the surgeon did the surgery, he was finished, and it was the hospital staff that helped me learn to manage my stoma. In some cases, they knew less than I did. In those days, more experienced ostomates, from the various Ostomy associations, were called in to help advise about supplies. But because I was in the hospital so long, I didn't get a chance to meet those who would later be of help in finding more permanent pouches. But if it hadn't been for the interest and the help of all those students...nurses and doctors, I really would have felt alone. I was an oddity to say the least because at the time, Ulcerative colitis, and the resulting surgery was not as common in young people. I kept in touch with those student nurses for years, as we were only about 5 years apart in age. Eventually, as I got on with my real life, we lost touch. I also met one doctor... (who was a 4th-year medical student at the time of my surgery) and then was a resident when I came back 4 years later for final surgery. He used to visit me on his off hours...helped me learn to change my disposable pouch, reprimanded me when I was childishly uncooperative, and helped me develop the confidence to cope with what had happened to me. It was years later that I realized that I was a "learning" experience for all of them! I estimated that "Henry" was about 10 years older than me. A number of years ago, I tracked him down (he's a gynecologist in NJ) and actually called him, and thanked him for all the time and attention he had given me at the time. Truly must have been a voice from the past for him, and sadly, he didn't remember me. But it made me feel better to have called him, to let him know.