My confidence is continuing to grow, expanding my comfort zone of where I will take myself and not worry constantly about my ostomy bag. Some of this is due to specific adaptations, new habits, and calm in my own ability to handle a crisis. Some of this, too, is simply the overall adjustment to Melvin as part of my life. Here are some of the components that I've noticed, starting to re-introduce social situations back into my routine.
With Crohn's, I've had to keep an eye out for bathrooms in my vicinity for a long time; it's second nature by this point to log in my brain the location of the bathrooms or briefly scope out where it is likely to be in whatever restaurant, building, whathaveyou that we go to. I'm never sure when I might need one. That certainly doesn't go away now with Melvin, though it is a little different. I wonder whether I will be able to navigate that particular bathroom to empty out my bag. I wonder if I will receive a condescending look if I go into the handicapped stall (honestly, I feel this one is a matter of time). I wonder how many people think I haven't flushed the toilet, just because Melvin's "dust" doesn't usually settle well with one flush, and I'm also worried about making people wait so I don't want to sit there and watch it each time. Or other times, there is a clump of poop that sticks at the top of the bowl, where it's easier for me to aim and where there is less water to help wash it away; sometimes, I grab another piece of toilet paper to push it along, annoyed in the back of my mind that these weren't necessarily built with my needs in mind. I wonder whether the toilet paper will actually rip with only one hand or if I'll sit there flailing a bit, trying not to use three feet for a six inch job. My preferred method, too, it two squat in front of the toilet to minimize splashback, which is at least partially visible to the person next to me--I wonder how much other people wonder.
Even going to someone's house doesn't free me from all these worries. Firstly, I look at how you set your toilet paper. The toilet paper should come over the top. No, there is a right answer to this: it should come over the top. Here's why: when I am trying to get the toilet paper one-handed because the other hand is keeping attention on not spilling the contents of my bag on the floor, toilet, my shoes, etc., I need the paper to roll out smoothly and tear smoothly. If the roll is underneath, it takes extra fumbling to get it to roll out nicely. I do make a mental exception to cat owners and those with small children, since I know that they can also take advantage of how easily the toilet paper rolls out. Also, I am face to face with everyone's toilet, public or private, and I do judge that, too, whether I mean to or not. Not to say that my house's toilets are pristine, but I always do take a longer view of this area than most. These things cross my mind in an instant, sizing up the scene after I close the door behind me.
Regarding visiting with friends, there is one other weird element worth mentioning--I do not like dogs as much as I used to. If the dog jumps up and is tall enough to reach my stomach upon doing so, I'm worried. I am not keen on the idea of those paws more or less directly on my intestine. During my first run with an ostomy a few years ago, we had a neighbor with some very poorly trained dogs. While the dog was jumping up and placing its paws directly on my abdomen, I froze and was decidedly uncomfortable with the situation. The neighbor kept assuring me, "oh, he's friendly!" as if that made it okay. It did not. I was genuinely scared and rightly so. Just a couple thin layers of cloth and plastic between me and some serious issues with those paws. It is not safe, and I still feel a rise of panic thinking about it. Now those with smaller dogs are not completely off the hook--there is a second issue with dogs. Melvin smells weird. I mean, apparently really weird to dogs, at least. Their noses are drawn right into that spot on my stomach as they try to sort out what in the heck is going on there. I'm patient the first time, let them take a few test smells if their nose isn't too firmly fixed there. If their nose stays glued to my side, I will push them away from me on the couch, chair, sidewalk whatever. That being said, I wouldn't want anyone to feel they had to put any well-behaved dog away if I were coming over--it is still your dog's space before it is mine--but I would hope that my pushing the dog away from my intestines is understood without offense taken.
Other than visiting someone's house nearby, I pack the car a little bit differently once we are a certain distance from home. There is a small black bag that spends a lot of time in the glove compartment of our car, with a complete bag change and supplies. If I'm going to be out of an hour radius from home for more than half a day, I probably have a second bag change, just in case something catastrophic happens as well as a change of clothes. Something that stays close by, something that is handy in my luggage, and the knowledge that I will excuse myself and ask for help when it is needed. Andy is one of my best helpers, so his proximity is another factor in my confidence--how available and/or helpful will help be if I need it? Related question, do people really vomit at the smell/sight of poop or is that just a thing in the movies?
While I have a great many shower conversations and components planned, I know that I cannot plan for every contingency, which means I've mostly stopped trying. This is overwhelming and simultaneously liberating because I feel confident that we'll figure it out in the moment. It's that part in the planning when I'm ready to just go with the flow, knowing that I've done everything I can. That being said, I'm sure I'll still have a good story the first time Melvin goes through the airport, hopefully just to report that all went well.
My confidence fluctuates from time to time, particularly when I have a leak, but I don't feel chained to my home and my stock of supplies. This has been an important part of reclaiming my life, feeling comfortable and confident in my environment again. That radius will continue to grow as time continues on, I think. And I look forward to these new adventures. I imagine, too, that some things are changing so slowly that I don't even realize that I'm making these changes. It just is. I don't think that I can say that it's normal yet, but it's real without being quite as heavy. There are still waves of grief that roll through, but they at least don't feel as frequent, unless I've just gotten used to that, too. Moments when I'm working out and wary about performing a move because it brings my knee close to my abdomen, twisting to reach something and hearing plastic crinkle, a sudden sneeze that hurts specifically along my weakened abdominal muscles, and others are sometimes nothing and sometimes entirely devastating. But the world continues along anyway, and I continue to be my small part in it.
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