Laugh at my experience and expense if it's funny to you. This is meant to be self-deprecating and a bit of a cathartic post. Maybe there's a tip in here somewhere for anyone who has acquired a stoma recently.
My first bag was put on while I was still in surgery. My second bag change happened with the wound care nurse in the hospital the day before I was discharged. The third was with my wife in our bathroom before a shower, and that is the tale I'll tell that took place several weeks ago.
We knew we were on our own. Still had the gross blood and goop and floaters in the bag. My stents hadn't been removed yet. Nothing like infection or bad care, just after-surgery normalcy. It was terrifying!
The wound care nurse added the sticky extenders; the adhesive Hollister uses is damn good! Too good, one might say. I picked at the edges and slowly lifted the adhesive patches from my skin. I was laconic, no words in fact. Just moving like a sloth in the winter, dipped in molasses. Slowly, the extenders were removed fractions of a millimeter at a time.
Everything was still super tender, and I was obsessively deliberate in every action. I thought we were home free with the adhesive finally taken off. Alas, I was wrong. The depth of my disappointment was as deep as the Mariana Trench. The bag backing around the stoma was also some type of adhesive! I had no idea! I knew it had to seal, but I wasn't aware it was seal sealed. I just assumed moderately attached with a sorta-sealed seal.
Carefully, like that sloth mentioned above, I separated skin from bag seal. I asked Alexa what time it was from the bathroom; we've been at it for twenty minutes or so. Twenty excruciatingly long minutes, and the bag still wasn't detached. A few missteps caused some pain, which further dampened my already negative enthusiasm, but we persisted. My wife gave encouragement and cut the hole in the new bag 5mm smaller than the previous bag. The paper template went in the trash; we were gonna wing it!
Finally! As careful as Indiana Jones swapped the golden idol for a bag of equally weighted sand, I removed the bag... we plugged the stoma by placing the tip of a tampon on the opening.
Four hands, moving with the uncertainty of a toddler trying to walk for the first time, clumsy and hilarious, we felt stuck. What now?!?!?!
Clean it! But how?! We knew how, but didn't want to touch too rough, didn't want to contaminate, didn't want to upset the already angry stoma overlord that now had me as its thrall.
My wife started to laugh. I started to laugh. The nervous laughter mixed with genuine amusement at the situation. Our hands were full. Tampon in one hand, a sterile pad in three others. My wife had a wet bandage in hers and her phone looking at a tutorial video on "how to do it"... so the tampon was dropped in the trash can, which was under me.
The light laughing turned into real laughter at the situation. That's when I learned kidneys apparently retain urine or the ureters have a capacity they can hold. Because my real laughs caused muscles to do what they do, and urine shot out of the stoma with velocity. We were stunned into silence!
What the hell!?! Our makeshift surgical theater was now all wet.
Then the previously silenced laughing switched back on, and we did our best to clean everything up, dry the stoma area, apply the powders, skin seal stuff, and attach the bag before my stoma decides to let the flow loose again.
The new bag was finally attached, and I jumped in the shower to a new sloth-like cleaning process. Total time spent was around 40 minutes.
Fast forward several weeks to tonight. I started the shower water. I ripped the tape off around the bag in about 10 seconds. Pulled the bag off carefully because the stoma is still healing, jumped in the shower and bathed, dried off, and attached a new bag like it was old hat.
My point in all of this is to go at your pace; nothing is wrong with being scared, repulsed, grossed out, or even laughing. Just keep moving forward.
Cheers, all


