Listen up, ladies. New prerequisite for marrying someone is that they will help you change your ostomy bag in the event that you should ever need one. I know that someday soon I'll be able to do the changing by myself. For now, I need help, and I have the most amazing man by my side helping and encouraging and supporting me. I consider myself very fortunate.
I may as well tell you, today was the first serious output day of the stoma. Believe me, it's a good thing, since yesterday the nurses were a tiny bit concerned that I hadn't had much output at all since early on in my hospital stay. It's so strange to poop out a hole in my belly. It's so in your face (well, not really, unless someone was really short, but you know), and visible. It's not hidden by sitting on the toilet. It isn't nearly as neat and clean as crapping in the potty. An ostomy forces one to deal with poop head on, whether you want to or not.
I thought all kinds of things this morning. I worried about smell, the bag falling off, the mess. My gut reaction was, "Holy hell, that's poop! Get it in the toilet!"
It all turned out okay, as I'm sure we all knew it would.
Can you believe that even NOW, I still sometimes jolt to reality and think, "This is really happening to me."
There are funny moments, like when Eric attached an ostomy appliance on Reese. We joke about making a date to change my applicance.
We've come a long way, and I think we're doing pretty okay.