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Ostomy Memories Gets Poetic


                       ODE TO AGING

This aging business isn’t fun; it’s weighty;

It hits me upside the head today, as I turn eighty.

The aches and pains, the medicines; I once felt fine

Back in my recent youth, when I was seventy-nine.

One knee is weak, my chronic kidneys balk.

At young attractive women I no longer gawk.

My doctor tells me how I’m doing great;

What’s he know?  He’s half my age and soon I’ll be ‘the late.’

Of all my maladies, at least I lack neuralgia,

But memories assail, I do smack of nostalgia.

My dawn of time was in the midst of war,

I hesitated to come through the vaginal door.

I kept my mom in labor that prolonged

My time in utero where I belonged.

So as my body sags and all my whiskers whiten,

My views of my surroundings tighten,

I watch the news, grow hypercritical,

All due to misgovernance political.

My focus narrows more on ostomy appliances

Then on the hoity-toity arts and sciences.

And every day I love my solitude;

In every way sustain the attitude

That all the blood pokes and the nurses’ stares

Won’t compromise my carefree cares.

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My favourite poem about 'growing old' is Warning by Jenny Joseph. 💜💜💜

When I am an old woman I shall wear purple
With a red hat which doesn’t go, and doesn’t suit me.
And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves
And satin sandals, and say we’ve no money for butter.
I shall sit down on the pavement when I’m tired
And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells
And run my stick along the public railings
And make up for the sobriety of my youth.
I shall go out in my slippers in the rain
And pick flowers in other people’s gardens
And learn to spit.

You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat
And eat three pounds of sausages at a go
Or only bread and pickle for a week
And hoard pens and pencils and beermats and things in boxes.

But now we must have clothes that keep us dry
And pay our rent and not swear in the street
And set a good example for the children.
We must have friends to dinner and read the papers.

But maybe I ought to practise a little now?
So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised
When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple.


 Happy Birthday Henry. Enjoy your day:)

I once sent a birthday card to a friend that said, "shit yer old." The reply was, "yup damn lucky." Hmm ... "Chicken Soup for the Aging Ostomates."

Reply to SallyK

That's a great poem.  My question is:  why is it single-spaced, and mine, altho' I pasted it on as a single-spaced poem, ended up all stretched out?  Perhaps it is just the difference b/t a post vs. a reply to a post.  They ought to fix that.


I have no idea. 🤓 LOL

Happy Birthday Henry! 🥳


Your birthday today?


Happy Birthday


Hello HenryM.

Happy birthday, and I love the poem.

I had a lot of trouble trying to get my rhymes to reproduce on here as I wrote them in 'Word'.  Eventually, I asked a friend who knows about these things and he told me to try 'soft-returns' instead of 'hard returns'. 

Just in case you are like me and don't understand this sort of language:
1) A 'hard return' is where you press 'enter' to go to the next line.
2) A 'soft return' is where you press shift, simultaneously with 'enter.

This seems to do exactly the same as a 'hard return' only it doesn't mess it up when you copy and paste.

I tend to press that little semiquaver-like icon at the top of the page which shows me in graphic form what I have done and where I am still going wrong, so that I have a chance to put it right before copying and pasting. 

Let this information be my birthday present to you today!

Best wishes


Sally K. I also like the concept in ‘Warning’: When I am an old woman, I shall wear purple. I particularly enjoyed the bit where she says she ought to get some practice in before she gets old, so that people can get used to the idea.

I have always considered age as being ‘relative’ to the individual, in the sense that we tend to live from birth to death, and very few of us can predict how long that might be. 
None of the males in our family history live longer than 60years, so I grew up with the understanding that 60 years would probably be my lifespan. This type of thinking prompted me to cram in as much as possible whilst time seemed to be on my side.
I also made up my mind that I would not want to die a long, lingering, painful death, so put in place a plan to take control of my own death whenever that might be. So that people would understand my position on the matter I penned a poem entitled ‘My Living Will’. However, I seem to have lasted way longer than expected, so I felt the need to add a codicil when I had a stoma. 
If I was to write this poem now, in the last line of each verse I would change the word ‘happy’ for ‘contented’. So, it would read: ‘Still- while I can be contented- I will’.     
Obviously, I could not pass up the opportunity for sharing the rhyme with you, which you will see was first written in 1996 and added to in 2011, and yet I am still here!

Best wishes



My living will I will update.
As I’ve become an ostomate.
Now shit flows freely from my tum’.
And mucus oozes from my bum.
--- Still! – while I can be happy – I will.

But other things remain unchanged.
So they need not be rearranged.
I’ll share with you my previous will.
And add this as a codicil.
--- And! – while I can be happy – I will.

                                             Bill Withers 2011


My feet will sometimes hurt and swell
They have some ingrown nails as well.
Cold winter's wet I will avoid 
'Cos all my joints are rheumatoid 
‑still ‑ while I can be happy ‑ I will

Achilles tendons play up still
but they don't make me feel that ill.
It's pain from cramps that I compare
to a thousand volts and umpteen ampere
‑still ‑ while I can be happy ‑ I will.

Resolving the piles predicament.
Left me quite incontinent.
The stricture helped to keep shit in.
But split and bled each time I'd been.
‑still ‑ while I can be happy ‑ I will.

Both knees and hips are giving way
and lower back, ‑ well what can I say
Irritable bowel I can't abide
For that pain comes when others subside.
‑still ‑ while I can be happy ‑ I will.

I often lose my sleep at night.
With broken ribs both left and right.
I have to lie upon my back.
Snoring ensuring the insomniac.
‑still ‑ while I can be happy ‑ I will.

When I eat, I tend to bloat
And bile so vile sears to my throat.
This makes it very red and raw.
So, I don't eat as much, therefore.
‑still ‑ while I can be happy ‑ I will.

That ulcer of mine.
Remains doing fine.
But the pain in my shoulder.
Gets worse as I'm older.
‑still ‑ while I can be happy ‑ I will.

My teeth are always going wrong.
I don't suppose I'll keep them long.
And glands within my neck swell up.
Which makes it rather hard to sup.
still ‑ while I can be happy ‑ I will.

My eyes have never been quite right
And now my hearing's very slight.
My hair, though there ‑ is somewhat symbolical.
Problems with roots and also the follicle.
‑‑still ‑ while I can be happy ‑ I will.

Blood disappears from hands with ease.
But this appears in Reynaud’s disease.
With bronchial blocks and weakening lung
I guess ‑ I am no longer young.
‑still ‑ while I can be happy ‑ I will.

My blood is thin, my heart will miss
I even have a job to piss.
Foul farts flow free ‑ and the baddest of breath
force friends to flee or get gassed to death.
‑still ‑ while I can be happy ‑ I will.

Whilst I can THINK ‑ I'll not succumb.
To these things that I've become.
But if ever I lost my INNER-drive
I would not want to stay alive.
‑still ‑ while I can be happy ‑ I will.

I may meditate upon a sigh.
And contemplate a life gone by.
But if I leave this frail old frame.
I would not want it back again.
‑still ‑ while I can be happy ‑ I will.

Do not be sad for me my friend.
when I have come to mortal end.
For I'll be glad I've lived my life.
With job, the dogs, the kids, the wife.
‑still ‑ while I can be happy ‑ I will.

I want to make my feelings clear.
In case my mind should disappear.
Do not feed me, ‑ let me die.
You should not need to ask me why.
‑still ‑ while I can be happy ‑ I will.

I've got my organ donor card.
and though it may well be quite hard.
When I depart, you can feel free
To use the useful parts of me.
‑still ‑ while I can be happy ‑ I will.

Further still ‑ If I can't be happy ‑ my will. (This is)

                                                               B. Withers. 1996



A very Happy Birthday Henry!  You are a great poet.  Your body may be aging, I'll take your word for it, but the mind seems pretty sharp to me.  You put most people to shame, regardless of their age.  Just keep doing what you're doing my friend!





Happy Birthday....

Suzanne Somers, 73, reveals she has sex twice daily with 83-year-old husband

Reply to Maried

Holy crap, it makes me tired just thinking about that!

Reply to Maried

Now there’s a good woman. 😁🤭


Happy belated birthday 🎉 Henry xx


Belated birthday wishes being sent your way, Henry.

Reply to AlexT

And a better man!


No idea how I missed this one, Very belated Happy Birthday my friend 

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