I FIGURE I WAS BORN TWICE, once when my mother gave birth to me way back when, then again when I came out of recovery after the ileostomy surgery. I was twenty-one that time. I think that surviving after the second birth was the most difficult. The first birth presented me with a blank slate; the second birth a blank slate with obvious, confounding erasures. Following the first birth, I was a new baby with parents to take care of my daily needs. With the second birth, I was a new adult forced to forget all that came before and figure out how to deal with a bizarre new reality pretty much on my own. There was, of course, the physical element, the need to regain my strength following a lengthy hospitalization and learn how to manage my ostomy. More complicated was the psychological component, for suddenly I found myself the odd man out, as it were. What should I think about this thing that had happened to me? Was it a curse or a blessing? Without it, I would not have lasted much longer and, I only learned later, had beaten the odds just by surviving the surgery. As it was, Time, the master of us all, permitted me to heal at my own pace. That was so long ago, 1964, and here I still am, typing these words, chewing gun like a teenager, and looking forward to stuffed salmon for dinner. If there’s a lesson here, it is that Time will be your ally, if you allow it to be on your side.

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Your ostomy doesn't have to keep you from enjoying food.
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