Ostomy Memories of Real Freedom

EVEN THE EAGLE STAYS WITHIN RANGE of its nest.  So too must the ostomy person.  I can’t get too far from my supplies.  It keeps me from doing stupid things, like running away from home or becoming a mercenary.  It’s safe to say I won’t be disappearing into the anarchist underground any time soon.  But I regard this as more of a safety device than an impingement upon my freedom.  “Freedom,” said Jean-Paul Sartre, “is what we do with what is done to us.”  So, this ostomy is what some surgeon did to me years and years ago.  I don’t even remember his name, and I’m sure he’s dead now anyway.  But that surgery, drastic as it was, made it possible for me to leave that hospital alive.  Isn’t that freedom?  In any event, I have tried to treat it as such.  If there are restrictions, it is nothing too limiting for the things I truly want to do, and I’ve done a lot.  Freedom isn’t running away; it is being productive.  No rearrangement of my human plumbing is going to disengage or inhibit my brain or my other bodily functions.  So I can bring my remaining operative equipment to bear upon my chosen field, and linger at whatever well I wish, and give the middle finger to negativity.

Hello HenryM.

Thanks for another pertinent and interesting post. I can understand your perspective of ‘freedom’ from the point of view of an ostomate. However, during my working life I had to develop my own definition of ‘freedom’ to suit the sorts of people who are forced to live in a society where there are so many forces at work trying to control their thinking and behaviour. These forces often set up resistance, frustration and mental health stresses which needed to be addressed if individuals were to maintain some vestige of balance and equilibrium in their personal lives.

My ‘contention’ was/is that: ‘FREEDOM  IS THE EXTENT TO WHICH ONE IS SELF-ORGANISED’.

The theory gets a lot more complex as it is explored deeper, so I will desist in elaborating on it here. However, I do recall a rhyme I wrote in the 1980’s which tried to capture my thoughts on this subject, at a time when my rhymes were not so consumed by inequalities, unfairness, politics and sociological issues. 
This is another rhyme that I will need to type out afresh, as it was written by hand and not stored on a computer – which came much later.

Best wishes

Bill

 

IN SEARCH OF FREEDOM. 

There I was with other sperm
all racing to be free.
Thoughtless, mindless little worm
gets trapped in ovary.

I joined an egg so naturally, 
was this just meant to be?
That I should rush so readily
to change identity.

The curtains part, life’s stage is set,
Thus, came the little ME ,
as from restrictive womb all wet
I struggled to be free.

I must escape and find a way
where no restrictions lie.
Through dreams it seems I get away 
and I can walk or fly. 

This is a place I love to be 
where I can be alone. 
A world of thinking, inside me,
that no one else can own.

                                  B. Withers 1989

                              (In:  ‘Evidence’  1992)

Then there are the days when you find yourself wishing... ah, if only I could have stayed in that nice safe, warm womb.  Henry Miller once quipped that coming out of a vagina was a pretty good way to enter life.

Uh, not so much for the owner of the vagina.

. There's no way in hell I'm responding to this thread because I'd get way too into it and probably couldn't dig myself out. Plus, Eefyjig is healing and I don't want to cause her too much pain right now. Crap, I guess I did reply to this thread but you people know what I mean. Let freedom ring...

Brilliant message, Henry!

Right on!