YOU CAN LOOK THE OTHER WAY, but you won’t be any more successful at making something unpleasant go away than the dumb ostrich sticking its head in the sand. Everyone on this website is aware of that, of course. You know you’re having a bad day when the good news is you’re going to have a bag attached to your belly. But then come the good days, the days of realization and relief, when it dawns on you that perhaps that sound of something whistling past your ear was you dodging a bullet. You walk slow when you first get out of the bed with the bars on the side, but pretty soon you discover that you haven’t lost your singing voice, your imagination, or your memory of good things. Maybe there are some familiar faces around to sustain your recovery of your self-confidence and your personal integrity, those parts of you that perhaps went into hibernation during your detention in a hospital gown. But now your stamina and courage are rewarded with the opportunity to make your own bed again, and you remember that the outside world looks a hell of a lot better when you’re not seeing it through the institutional glass of a hospital window. Few things are better than birdsong in the morning with a cup of your own coffee. Welcome home.
Amen... Home recovery is the way to go. I personally pushed my doctors, and by day 8, I was home. Mind you, sleeping sitting up on the couch, but the smells and sounds of home with my dogs and my hubby was the best medicine.
Home Sweet Home
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About seven years ago, just about every aspect of my life was ostomy related. From the moment I was told an ostomy might be needed until some months down the road I existed as a person afflicted with a colostomy. I feared someone other than my immediate family might find out I had a bag. Ugh! What could be worse? Suppose it filled real fast when I was out with no place to hide and take care of myself. God forbid should it leak in church! Suppose I roll over on it in bed. I was a lesser creature, destined to a life of emotional anguish and physical routines different from most of the rest of the world. I felt like a freak. Then I found folks like you guys here, read your stuff, really “listened” to what you had to say and I began looking at things differently. We know perception is everything and I began to understand how good things were relative to what they could’ve been. So many folks had it so much worse than I did. That didn’t make my discomfort go away but it exposed how fortunate I was to be dealing with my stuff and not their’s. I felt a little guilt, maybe selfishness but quickly forgave myself by understanding I just wasn’t smart enough to fix my feelings. Then, I wonder what smarts have to do with feelings. My perception was warped so my perspective toward my existence was warped.
I learned over the last few years with the help of lots of folks right here at MAO that I could be better at living just by accepting some facts. It is what it is and so what? It’s not the worst thing to happen to a person.
I think everything is, in some way, related to everything else. I just put the ostomy thing in the back seat and drive forward.
Respectfully,
Mike
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I've been saying that for a while now, that when you realize your life is better with a stoma than being six feet under the grass, accepting reality and dealing with it, some days are harder than others with leaks and new pains where there weren't any before, that make you worry, but we're alive and doing what we have to for another day.
I do miss all the nurses. But being home is way better and what a person does with themselves is 100% up to them. Sit around and mope or heal up the best you can and get on with whatever it is you do. It's your life, you only got one, either waste it or make the most of it, it's all on you. Anyone wanna go....
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Staying Hydrated with an Ostomy with LeeAnne Hayden | Hollister
The feeling of fresh air on the face as you exit the hospital doors was one of the best feelings ever, felt like I'd exited some horrible limbo land of zombies into the land of the living.
The reaction of my dog seeing me for the first time in weeks was pretty good too, but she didn't understand why she couldn't hurl herself into my lap like usual!
In recovery when you're finally allowed to drive, nothing like planting the foot on a long stretch of road to feel like you're back to normal.
The Hollister may hold up, but I reckon the dangly bits flappin' in the breeze may need a holster/jockstrap of some kind!
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