YOU HEARD IT HERE FIRST! Santa Claus has an ileostomy. After years of squeezing down chimneys, which everyone knows are filled with carcinogens, Santa got rectal cancer. It ultimately spread into his colon and Santa got sick as hell. One of his trusty elves, who happened to moonlight at a second job in a gastroenterologist’s office, made an appointment for him and, sure enough, Santa needed surgery. He ran into a problem when, at the onset of the following Xmas season, little children jumping into his lap at the mall caused several accidents. A new elf researched the issue and ordered him a stoma guard and a special protective belt which seemed to solve the problem, especially after he remembered to keep the little kiddies on the side of his lap away from his appliance. He retrofitted his North Pole bathroom to more readily enable him to change in a more ostomy-friendly environment, with more counter space and the addition of a heating element. It wasn’t too long after his surgery that his old ho-ho-ho returned in full throat and he even named his stoma Rudolph.
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“I mostly read and still feel like I belong.”
“Doctors took notes; they want others to find this website.”
“From midnight blowouts to big wins, there’s always a hand to hold.”
Well, I hit the two year mark. I went back and read my posts from when I first found this site. I was very fortunate in that I stumbled upon it only 4 weeks post op. I have said many times that this community really saved me. The first 2 weeks after my surgery I shut down completely. It wasn't until about the 3rd week that my son came in to my room, flicked on the light and told me I was going to have to get back to living because I was scaring him. I had fallen into such a depression. He ticked me off, but it also made me stop and think- what was I going to do? Feel sorry for myself and sulk, or be grateful I was alive.
I've re-read my journals from that time and it was after my son kicked my butt, so to speak, I took an honest inventory and had to dig deeper than I've ever had to. I mean, I had survived a pretty nasty divorce, after a pretty crappy marriage and that was tough. But this was different. I felt like I was now a handicapped person who would be limited in their life and be looked at as a freak. My mental state was precarious, at best.
But then I found this site. I just lurked a bit before posting. I read so many of the other stories and I started to see just how full my life can be, I was not handicapped, and certainly not a freak! The stories of survival, the sense of humor, the support and compassion was inspiring. It was then I made myself get out of the dark, and get my sh*t together.
Not all rainbows and sunshine at first, hardly! But with grace from myself - to myself, and the kindness and willingness of the folks here to be supportive, non judgemental and openly share intimate details about their life circumstances, l not only survived but thrived.
I think of all the years I had suffered with such extreme pain, barely functioning, and the many hospital stays and how that is all behind me now. (All fingers, toes, and legs crossed that I never have to go near a hospital for myself ever again. I think I'd rather have a fork stuck in my eye. I loathe every about them.)
So, to everyone who has been a part of this journey with me, to say thank you is not enough. I'm forever grateful to know you all. My Angels, each one of you.
And as the Grateful Dead famously said,
"what a long strange trip it's been!"
Im so happy I'm tripping with you all.
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My Ostomy Journey: Jearlean | Hollister
