Aging with an ostomy is no different than aging without one, but that doesn’t make it any easier. You have to pay attention to your diet, but for slightly different reasons than before. Clothing choices, you discover quickly, take into account something other than “Does it make my butt look good?” Staying in shape takes on a whole new level of factor consideration. And travel…that can get even more complicated than usual. I once had an airport security guard confiscate from my carry-on the scissors from my ostomy kit. I shouldn’t have packed it there. But as I’ve gotten older, I’ve found that I ease into the little life style changes that accompany the process. I like animals more and dislike children less. I watch the gray whiskers push out with a philosophical shrug and only cut it about once a week. [The beard is long gone.] I still find it irritating that I have more hair growing in my ears than on my head. There’s always going to be those choices over which you anguish regularly. Should I do it, or not? Should I eat it, or pass it up? Should I say something, or let it go? “You can live to be a hundred,” said Woody Allen, “if you give up all the things that make you want to live to be a hundred.” I’m sure there’s a country music song somewhere with a line advising the down-to-earth, blue-collar staple: you gotta keep on keeping on (even after you’ve been flushed from the bathroom of her heart).
Keep on keepin' on; maybe so. However, I have a couple of favorites that I find I have been singing more now that I've reached octogenarian status…
🎼🎶Drop Kick Me Jesus Through The Goal Posts Of Life🎶🎶
🎼🎶Prop Me Up Beside The Jukebox If I Die 🎶🎶🎶
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Well, I hit the two year mark. I went back and read my posts from when I first found this site. I was very fortunate in that I stumbled upon it only 4 weeks post op. I have said many times that this community really saved me. The first 2 weeks after my surgery I shut down completely. It wasn't until about the 3rd week that my son came in to my room, flicked on the light and told me I was going to have to get back to living because I was scaring him. I had fallen into such a depression. He ticked me off, but it also made me stop and think- what was I going to do? Feel sorry for myself and sulk, or be grateful I was alive.
I've re-read my journals from that time and it was after my son kicked my butt, so to speak, I took an honest inventory and had to dig deeper than I've ever had to. I mean, I had survived a pretty nasty divorce, after a pretty crappy marriage and that was tough. But this was different. I felt like I was now a handicapped person who would be limited in their life and be looked at as a freak. My mental state was precarious, at best.
But then I found this site. I just lurked a bit before posting. I read so many of the other stories and I started to see just how full my life can be, I was not handicapped, and certainly not a freak! The stories of survival, the sense of humor, the support and compassion was inspiring. It was then I made myself get out of the dark, and get my sh*t together.
Not all rainbows and sunshine at first, hardly! But with grace from myself - to myself, and the kindness and willingness of the folks here to be supportive, non judgemental and openly share intimate details about their life circumstances, l not only survived but thrived.
I think of all the years I had suffered with such extreme pain, barely functioning, and the many hospital stays and how that is all behind me now. (All fingers, toes, and legs crossed that I never have to go near a hospital for myself ever again. I think I'd rather have a fork stuck in my eye. I loathe every about them.)
So, to everyone who has been a part of this journey with me, to say thank you is not enough. I'm forever grateful to know you all. My Angels, each one of you.
And as the Grateful Dead famously said,
"what a long strange trip it's been!"
Im so happy I'm tripping with you all.
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