Well, I knew it was bound to happen at some point. Inevitably, the system fails and one must deal with the repercussions. And I suppose that works not only for an ostomy but also for the body as a whole.
So Melvin--innocent swatch of pink on my side usually encased in medical tape, glue, and plastic--burbles along his merry way in life. This open patch on my abdomen exposing my intestines doesn't have timing, bowel movements flowing to the rhythm of peristalsis, where food is naturally moved through the digestive tract by a series of auto-controlled contractions. For a "normal" body, the remaining matter of said food is collected and packed in the rectum, awaiting a time where it can be properly evacuated. While there is an urgency to this process, it's not the same as how my colostomy works. Melvin can't store anything--when it hits the exit point, it has to go somewhere. There is no sphincter control there for me to try and stop it, like trying to cover a water hose only makes the water come out at a higher pressure. Everything empties into the bag as soon as it arrives.
Normally, everything is caught smoothly by a bag that clips to the part that actually sticks to my abdomen. I've already had a minor blowout--too much pressure on the bag at the wrong angle meant that the contents (thankfully mostly air) had to escape somehow. But this was a different caliber of disaster, one that involved a lot of hurried commands, a mad dash to the bathroom, a load of laundry, carpet cleaner, and bleach.
Not only was there a massive leak, it was leaking from both sides, a steady stream from under both the right and left of the appliance. I had two hands on it and was trying to direct Andy on how to best help. After he had brought some needed supplies closer to me, I had him hold the loose pieces so I could wash my hands and carefully remove my shirt and pants, trying not to drag any additional part of them through the small, brown puddles. Once that was out of the way, it was much easier to start the cleanup, working with four hands to clean the skin, prep the bag change, place the new bag, and then start cleaning up the aftermath.
Andy was incredibly supportive through this, almost cheerful, even. After I had my hand on the fresh bag, warming up the putty with my body heat to help the glue stick a bit better, he was wiping down the counters, putting bleach down the tub (where effected garments were rinsed), and starting the laundry.
I felt like a child. I can remember one of the first times that I was sick and threw up on the carpet or some such thing. I felt terrible because I was sick, but I also felt guilty watching my parents (I forget which, here) clean up the mess. I know it wasn't my fault, then or now, but I still felt guilty for making the mess in the first place. And I felt helpless. The only worse thing would have been having to clean it up by myself.
That new change lasted the night. I had an even bigger blowout the next morning. The whole bottom of the appliance came out in the force of that one, naturally just after I had finished getting ready for work. After the initial blorp, when we had taken the bag off, I felt the rising pressure of another wave, and had enough presence of mind to realize I wasn't going to make it to the toilet: with a hasty lurch, Melvin pooped into the sink instead.
And with that, I was on my third bag in twelve hours. I'll throw this out to the world--these supplies are not cheap, and I can only order so much at a time under some of my insurance specifics.
Andy texted work to let our respective managers know we might both be a little bit late and I sat with the heating pad on Melvin, helping the glue adhere again, while Andy finished cleaning and his own morning routine. Meanwhile, I reached over to my hidden stash of chocolate in the bedside drawer. Andy even brought me my phone that had been left in the bathroom, specifically so I "wouldn't have to be alone with my thoughts."
Needless to say, that colored my day (and frankly my week) a healthy shade of brown. Thankfully, I was already slated to go talk to an ostomy nurse that same day to check in and talk strategies for taking care of my colostomy. This did mean that I would be performing yet another bag change, so that she could check Melvin directly. I was afraid to eat all morning. Eating tends to result in movement for me about twenty to thirty minutes after. I just wanted to make it to my appointment without pooping my shirt or needing another emergency change--with the way the last few hours had gone, I brought a change of clothes to work in any case. Apart from being scared to eat, I was also hypervigilant, moving my fingers along the edges of the appliance to make sure it wasn't leaking, running my mental systems check to note what was happening in my body, and re-tucking in my shirt I don't know how many times within the day after stealing another glance.
After my appointment, my nurse told me that she hoped what we had discussed would help me have greater confidence. I'm still mulling around those words, acknowledging that they were absolutely spot on. Blowouts are inevitable, sure, but they can be uncommon. This is only my third in as many months, to be fair, and this period has all been about adjusting.
And yet, I felt down. My illusions of control and general confidence in my ability to perform my day-to-day functions were absolutely shattered. I still need to sit in a tub of bubbles and mope for a while yet, if I'm honest.
I was talking to a friend about this a bit, since he had asked me earnestly how I was doing, and he gave me a piece of advice that I really needed: "Give yourself as much grace as you would give someone else in your position." I think this a reminder that we all need from time to time, that it is very easy to be far too hard on oneself particularly when I know I would be telling anyone else in my position not to be so harsh to themselves. I'm too close to myself, sometimes, and need to take a step back. I have been expecting perhaps a bit too much of myself to be okay in this situation.
Or as an alternative theory, I think I've been trying not to feel the full extent of everything, only dancing on the surface of the weight of my circumstances. What I mean is that I don't feel much overwhelming relief or gratitude regarding my surgery and general situation, but then I also don't feel much grief yet either. I'm avoiding a lot of this major processing--both consciously and subconsciously-- to focus instead on acting, tying up loose ends, and getting on with the different things that need to be done. I've learned this habit, shutting out the emotional toll of my health concerns so that I can manage the other aspects of it and, sometimes, to simply survive it. Only when things have reached a certain point do I feel I can process them, and that certain point is always put further an further off. Hence, therapy. And in therapy recently, we've talked a fair bit about having compassion on my body instead of my general sentiment of distrust and frustration. That means, being gracious to my body is not something that I've been good at for a while now. Hell, I've said this before in different words, so it makes all the more sense that I would fall back on familiar strategies.
And I think that's partly why this week has thrown me off so much, in that my circumstances have forced me to confront some of the grief that I had been evading. New habits, healing old trauma, sorting through the new, this is going to take a lot of work. I feel simultaneously that I am addressing this and ignoring it, which means that I need to give myself a fair bit of grace here, too.
I think we're all guilty of failing to be gracious to ourselves, whether we've had reason to or not. Reacting with compassion instead of anger or frustration for ones body as well as ones mind, it's a tough cycle to break out of. I would urge you to try this: any sympathy that you might feel for me in reading this, put that same compassion back into yourself, if only this once. I'm going to try to do the same. Please bring some of that kindness back to yourself. Blowouts happen; be gracious to yourself.
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