Warning: this blog entry contains very frank content regarding bodily waste. It may not be appropriate for all audiences. Plus, you may learn more about me than you really want to know. But, if you’ve been reading my blog we both know that ship sailed a long time ago.
I mentioned in an earlier blog (Crohn’s Update: Life as an Ostomate – What I’ve Learned So Far) that “accidents” will happen. Yesterday was for me the perfect storm of accidents and I thought I’d share to illustrate my point.
You should understand that I had last changed my appliance on Saturday morning. I should change it every 3 to 4 days in the perfect world, so I had planned to change it in the evening before retiring for the night as by my count that would have been 4 full days. It’s also best to change the appliance (aka “the bag) when the stoma is less active. Which is usually in the morning or two or three hours after I last ate. In general though, I was feeling a little cocky as this had been the longest I had gone without incident in the past 4 weeks. I thought that I had gotten the hang of it and there would be nothing but smooth sailing from here on out. Riiiight.
I got through most of the workday without a problem. Then about an hour after lunch – when I knew my stoma would be active again (by the way, some people name their stomas – and possibly other body parts but that’s none of my business – I haven’t. My fingers don’t have names nor my toes, why should the stoma be any different?). I felt the the bag fill up. I went to the restroom – conveniently located across the hallway from my office – to empty it and discovered that I had a small leak from the left side of the ring. The good news was that the dressing from my wound had absorbed most of it so my clothing was still dry including my underwear. I didn’t bring my emergency kit (extra bag, seals, etc) into the restroom so I cleaned up and went back to the office, shut the door, took out an extra seal from my kit and patched the leak. Problem solved! I could make it through the rest of the day – darn, I’m good. But, I determined to change the bag as soon as I got home.
I went the rest of the workday without a problem, as expected – yay, me again – and on the way home I remembered that I needed to stop at Costco to get my new membership card (I had signed up last week during a promotion at work). My patch was holding so I exited the expressway and went to the store.
Got my card with no problem, except the wait – not sure what the issue was but there were about five associates and one supervisor crowded around a cash register trying to help one customer while the line grew longer. Not Costco’s best “customer service” moment, but having spent time in retail I understood and waited patiently. Unlike the woman in front of me who left and the man behind me tapping his toe. But, I digress. I felt that my bag was getting a little full so after I got my card I went to the restroom to empty it before I looked around the store. I noticed the $1.50 hot dog combo and thought that I might have found my dinner.
In the restroom, much like anyone else would do, I sat down to do my business. For those who haven’t dealt with an appliance before, I found that it’s easier to empty from the sitting position. When standing it splashes too much and there’s a greater chance of mishap – or so I thought. This does involve dropping “trou” as they say and I’m sure most of you are familiar where the clothing ends up in front of you and the bowl. I removed the velcro fastners which keep the opening of the bag closed and flipped the opening towards the bowl. Instead, I release too soon and miss completely! The the contents, mostly liquid, spill onto the floor, into my pants and my underwear. PANIC ensues!
I wad as much of the flimsy toilet paper as I can and blot up the mess from the floor, my pants and underwear. I got the floor pretty clean, for a public restroom at least and I was confident the next person wouldn’t notice the spill or end up with any residue on their clothing. My pants and underwear, not so much. I felt that I had no choice at this point. I wasn’t about to go to the sink half naked to rinse off the remaining waste and I couldn’t sit there all day waiting for my clothes to dry. So, I pulled up my clothing, fortunately the contents all spilled inside and I didn’t see any obvious stains on the exterior of my clothes, winced at the wetness, untucked my shirt to cover as much of my pants as possible, and exited the stall. I washed my hands while checking myself in the mirror to see if I had covered up any spots that might start to show. On the way out I grabbed a handful of napkins from the snack counter (hey, I’m a member now) and passed up the quarter pound hot dog with drink for $1.50 (sigh) and headed straight to my car. “Have a nice day!” the cheerful attendant (guard?) at the door called after me. Too late ma’am, too late.
At my car I put down the napkins on my seat to hopefully absorb any liquid that might soak through and drove home sitting in my own filfth (if you have a better way to describe it, feel free). Lovely…
Once at home I was pleased to find that the napkins I was sitting on were still dry and that the stain guard of my new pants, pleated to better hide the appliance, must work both ways as they seemed to contain the remaining moisture pretty well. Changed my clothes and checked my appliance. My patch from earlier in the day was still holding so I thought I might as well go visit my mother and like a good son take some laundry with me (I didn’t want the stain to set into the afore-mentioned new pants). For those who don’t know, unlike many adults living on their own I don’t own a washer and dryer. Hey, I have to have some social life right? And what’s more fun than a trip to the laundromat on a Saturday night? But I digress.
My mother was gracious enough to allow me the use of her washer and dryer while I helped her with the crossword and we watched a little television together (Wheel of Fortune, Jeopardy, and NCIS for those interested). When NCIS was over I folded my clothes, noticed that my bag was once again filling up so I emptied it, and then headed home to change the appliance. Life was good and everything seemed fine.
I got home, took my laundry in and started to put it away when I felt a wetness in my pants. A wetness that started to flow down my leg – down both legs! Dagnabit, I exclaimed, I sprung another leak. I once again “dropped trou” only to discover that I had not sprung a leak. I had neglected to re-attach the velcro straps after the last time I emptied the bag. My now active stoma was dumping itself straight through the bag and down my leg. At this point I did what any self-respecting ostomate would do in this situation. I uttered a few more well chosen exclamations (shoot, crud, and golly-gee if I recall correctly) and cried.
In that moment I just wanted to be normal again, I was tired of having this thing attached to me (after only 6 weeks), I hated that I was having more problems and accidents in one day than I think I ever had in 30 years of suffering with Crohn’s. I felt like a freak who couldn’t take care of himself and I just wanted it to go away.
Then, like a big boy, I stood up. Realized that the pity party wasn’t going to do any good. Also realized that two of the three incidents I just had were my own fault for being careless. Took myself and my jeans to the shower and cleaned up. I also thought of that saying, “people say to me ‘I don’t know how you do it’ and I reply, ‘I wasn’t given a choice.'”
Then I changed my bag, watched some reruns on television (American Dad followed by Hogan’s Heroes) and went to bed, warm and dry.
As Miss O’Hara would say – tomorrow is another day.