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More Adventures in Dating – Guest Post

RedGlassHeartIMI’ve been following Jackie’s blog for awhile now and after her recent post about dating with jpouch and the negative comments she received after it went live, I felt the need to step in and give my perspective on dating as a permanent ostomate.

From what I’ve seen and heard, many ostomates, male and female, are concerned about how others perceive them. We worry that our appliance can be detected under our clothes or that if people see our bags, say if we wear a swimsuit or something similar, then we’ll be labeled as “abnormal” or “gross.”  For those of us who are single and interested in dating, we have additional concerns: Will we be seen as unattractive? Will a prospective partner not want to have sex with us? Will dates be freaked out?

Speaking from my own experience, I have never once (that’s right, not a single time!) had a date or sexual partner react negatively to my ostomy. One guy knew I had one because of our mutual friend. When we became intimate, I asked him, “so you really don’t care that I have an ostomy?” and he responded, “why the hell would I care about that? You’re beautiful.” Another guy I met online and after a few dates I told him about my ostomy. His two questions? Would sex hurt my ostomy and did my vag still work. When telling another partner, he just held my hands and said “an ostomy isn’t who you are, it’s just a small part of you, and regardless, I want to know all of you.”

Maybe my experience is abnormal, I’m not sure. But I do know this: when I tell or talk to people about my ostomy, I come across with confidence. I don’t make a big deal out of it, mainly because I don’t see it as a big deal. Aside from the three people mentioned above, I’ve been on multiple dates with others whom I did not become sexually involved with, but who certainly tried their best to get in my pants – all the while knowing I have an ostomy.

I don’t know how other single ostomates tell dates or partners about their ostomy, but I like to keep my approach simple. Once I find an appropriate and casual segue into the conversation, I say something like this: “So I got really sick a few years back, have had some surgeries to make me better, and one of them saved my life. The result of that one is that I now have an ostomy. I don’t think it’s a big deal and neither should you, as it really doesn’t affect anything.” Most of the time my date won’t know what an ostomy is, so I tell them very briefly and will sometimes show it to them so that they can see what a small part of me it is. The typical response? “Is that it?” or “That’s all it is?”

I’m not trying to downplay the negative experiences of other ostomates in the dating world as I’ve heard stories of dates reacting poorly, but I do have to wonder how the topic is being talked about or explained and whether the ostomate is coming across as confident or insecure. Perhaps a few readers can chime in and detail their dating adventures instead of just attacking Jackie for not understanding the permanent ostomate’s experience since she has a j pouch? I’d be interested in understanding what other ostomates are going through….

My adventures in dating

So I’m dating. Well, I started dating. Let me rewind.

Dating is a HUGE topic in our community because there is a lot of fear around disclosure and acceptance. In the past I’ve written about dating and my opinions, but I have never actually dated since I was diagnosed with IBD. So all of my theories and advice were pure speculation, even though I still consider it solid advice.

So now I have legit experience in the dating-sphere, and I’d like to share it with you guys. I approached dating cautiously, after all the world is full of crazies. I haven’t actually dated…ever. I was in two very serious relationships for the last 13 years so not only is dating with IBD/jpouch scary, dating in general scared the literal shit out of me. I realize that I tend to talk about my butt to anyone and everyone who will listen, but I also realize that is not great first date conversation. Or at least that’s what I’ve read in forums and other blogs. Hell, I think that’s the advice that I gave in the past.

Here is what I realized…I can’t not talk about my butt. First dates, and even the predating period, it took me a matter of days, if not hours to spill the details on my defunct digestive system. I literally can not stop talking about my butt, and my blog and Girls With Guts. If this was the test, I failed with flying colors. Even if I wanted to hide my history,  if just for a few dates, I can’t. My name and face is plastered all of the internet with “butt disease” slapped right next to it. I have positioned myself in a place where my future beau can read details about how I poop, see my fat face pictures, and view graphic photos of my body when it was at its worst. This is my life, there is no hiding it, there is no going back. I get that is scary for potential suitors, but whelp, this is me.

But you know what…not one of the guys I was talking with cared. In fact, many of them talked with me about their own health ailments and it made me realize a few things about the world. First, that many of us are all giant health disasters, and also that people like and fall in love with the person, not their medical records. I’m sure there are people out there who might run screaming from me on a first date, but frankly, I never found that guy. Not once.

In fact, I found the opposite. I have found someone who cares about me because of what I’ve done with the hand I was dealt. Someone who understands and can relate. Someone who I think is really great, and who thinks that the sun shines out of my ass. Actually, I’m going to ask him to guest post so he can tell you himself what he thought when he met me, learned about my butt disease, and MS and why he didn’t run screaming.

So don’t let IBD scare you away from dating. There a million reasons why someone can like you, or not like you, and frankly IBD is probably not one of them.

My Ostomy Journey

Today is World Ostomy Day, and it has brought up some interesting emotions and realizations for me. I want to share some things with you. Intimate thoughts, and unflattering pictures.

Pre-op surgery # 1. March 2010

That picture is me before my first surgery. Very sick. Very overweight from steroids. Very scared. Very VERY horrified I’d have to have an ostomy. VERY embarrassed of myself and my life. Ashamed. I wrote about what I had expected my ostomy to be like here. I wrote that I hoped I’d look back with fond memories, and in fact, I do. Having my ostomy taught me humility, but more importantly it taught me to laugh at things I couldn’t control. I remember trying to maintain a positive outlook and I just kept telling myself, ok its just 9 months. Its JUST 9 months. 9 Months. Thats it, just get through it.

But then things started to change. Slowly, I wrote this entry just 4 days after my first surgery, and even here I was writing about how I didn’t like my ostomy, but I already felt better. I remember it felt so foreign on my body. I didn’t want to touch it or hear it, or see it, and if I heard that plastic crinkle it just reminded me of the bag I was now stuck to.

My belly post-op. I was embarrassed to really show my ostomy, so I hid it and didn’t really take pictures.
The one and only photo of my first stoma.

It seemed like it took forever for Surgery #2 to get here. There was 6 months in between surgeries, and a lot happened in those 6 months. I tried to return to work, but just couldn’t seem to get my head in the game. I lost my job and my pending time off didn’t really help my case either. I didn’t know a soul with IBD and I desperately searched the internet for friendly words and advice and the only place I really found to be helpful was Jpouch.net. You see back then, HONESTLY, there were 2 websites about jpouches on the internet. We’ve come a long way since 2010. I found a friend, Brevin, who told me about Camp Oasis and how he’d just volunteered, and I thought well, that sounds cool, I’ll look into it. I contacted my local CCFA and had an interview to be a camp counselor which literally consisted of my crying in our directors office because, for the first time ever, I was in the presence of someone who understood how lonely it was. She was telling me about camp and how the kids who come there feel lonely and isolated and that camp was a safe place for them. And I just lost it because I was desperately searching for something like that in my life. My first year at camp was interesting. At the time I really didn’t see how magical it was or how it had changed me. I even wrote that it wasn’t as good as I thought it would be. I didn’t leave with new best friends. I didn’t really leave any different than I had arrived…or at least I thought. What I didn’t know, and I didn’t see was that camp had changed me and empowered me in ways I never even realized. And I would really need what I learned there when my second surgery came and went and was unsuccessful.  That first year at camp wasn’t about the people that I met, it was about what I learned about myself and that is what I took away.

Surgery #2 was supposed to be my second step and I was supposed to get a loop ileostomy and have my jpouch created and put in place to heal for another 3 months and then I’d be done! That didn’t happen and I was devastated and depressed and yet again alone. At that time, I had you guys. I had this blog and that was really it. I didn’t really connect with my camp friends that first year, and other than my family, I was so devastated. Thats the only word I can think of to describe how defeated I felt. I thought colitis was still winning and I just didn’t know what else I could really do at that time but crawl into a hole and stay there. And  I did. For a long time. But I knew that if I wanted a jpouch someday, I’d have to work for it. Literally, I had 6 months and 40 lbs to lose before my surgeon would even try again. So when I could, I got a personal trainer and started working out. I WOULD have a jpouch. I WOULD get through it. And I did. I worked my ass off literally. I worked out like it was my job and I learned how to work out with an ostomy, and I learned how to talk about having an ostomy and about my life more in person. With real people not just to the internet. I explained my life and my ostomy to my trainer at the time and while I could tell he didn’t really get it, he still encouraged me. He wouldn’t let me say “If I lose the weight”, he would say “When you lose the weight”. He honestly taught me an amazing lesson in positivity. He taught me how to picture what I wanted and that the mental game is more than half the battle. It IS the battle. He is still my trainer today, and has turned into a really good friend. A friend that puts me in headlocks on a weekly basis, isn’t afraid to tell me when I look like shit, and make me work really hard. But a friend that taught me how to believe in myself, and that if I pushed, my body could do it. I could do it. Again, I didn’t know I was learning these things at that time, but I was, and these are skills I still have now.

I wore my “Lucky Lass” shirt to my pre op appointments. I knew I needed some extra luck.

Surgery #3 came around in March 2011. I did it. I lost the weight I needed to lose. I drove my ass back to Cleveland and I walked into Dr. Remzi’s office and I was ready. Let’s do this. I was never more prepared for a surgery in my life. I was mentally strong, and physically stronger than I had been in over 2 years.
The surgery came and went and was flawless. I left Cleveland in a timely fashion and felt like a damned rockstar. Until a day later when my stoma separated. And I have never been more horrified in my life. I had also been fighting that nasty ulcer, and that combined with the separation made me absolutely terrified. Again…I felt defeated. Would ANYTHING work properly? Would I ALWAYS have problems? So back to cleveland I went. Defeated. Frustrated. Angry. Depressed. But this is why I learned that sometimes, you don’t have a choice. You have to keep going, and trying because there is not another option. And as much as it sucks, you pack up everything you JUST unpacked, you call your mom crying, and you ask her to come over help. You learn to ask for help. You let you mom make phone calls for you, and then you have your Dad come pick you both up and drive you 4 hours right back to Cleveland. I think I cried the whole way there because I just couldn’t think of anything else to do. But right there, in that time, I learned how amazing my family was. I mean I knew it before then, but it was moments like this that I knew I’d never be able to do it all without them. I also learned that no matter how old I was, there would still be times that I wanted and needed my parents to come to my rescue and that it was ok to ask for their help and to depend on them because sometimes they wanted to be needed too.

My third stoma. My prednisone scarred stomach. Horrible JP drain.

So after that got taken care of, I went home mentally exhausted, but at the same time I knew that if I just made it until June, I’d have my takedown. I just had to make it 3 more months. And then I had an MS attack that took my vision and all of my optimism. I was told I’d have to push back my surgery…again. And this my friends, is when I lost it. Right there, that was my rock bottom. Physically and mentally overloaded and after years of just pushing through, I caved. Everyone has breaking point and that was mine. I retracted into myself, I stopped answering the phone, going places, eating. Everything. I learned why people choose to die over choosing to keep going. I learned that I had that choice too and it took me a while to choose to keep going. I had tons of support from everyone here, but at that time in my life, I had to choose to live on my own.

And I did.

During all of this I also found a new surgeon because I was having problems with my surgical team at Cleveland. And then…it was June. My takedown was scheduled for June 6th and when June 1st hit I had this mini identity crisis. I was so excited to take the next step in my IBD journey and try out my jpouch that I had worked SO hard to get. But at the same time it was like diving head first into the unknown. It was like my first surgery all over again, I was scared, and nervous, and doubtful that it would even work. I took tons of pictures of me with my ostomy because I wanted to remember myself in that place. Happy. Healthy. Confident. Proud. I wanted to remind myself that if I could feel this way with my ostomy, that I could take on the world with my jpouch.

I never posted some of these pictures, because its one thing to be confident, its another to post half naked pictures of yourself on the internet. But you know what internet, I look back at these and I see progress. I see a body that I worked hard to get, even though it wasn’t perfect. I see scars that are healing nicely. I see that I was starting to build myself back up.

My last picture with my ostomy.
Surgery # 4 was different.

I was so prepared for it. I was so ready and I thought it would be easy peasy but it wasn’t. It was a difficult recovery. But when I woke up in my bed the first thing I did was reach down to feel for my bag. And it wasn’t there. I didn’t feel relief. I wasn’t super happy. I actually mourned the loss of my ostomy a little. For the next few weeks I kept reaching down to touch my bag, or adjust the stool. I had created all these habits from having the ostomy, and I never even realized it. It was almost like a nervous tick, I just did things without even thinking about it, and now…I didn’t have to. It was weird. The other day I was actually thinking about how fast we create habits…and then how quickly we forget those habits. I probably stopped checking my “ostomy” just a few weeks after surgery. At the time, I felt like I’d always be checking for it. So quickly we forget.

Former ostomy site.
I don’t want to ever forget. I remember my ostomy like I remember an old friend. I learned a lot from it even though it caused me stress and frustration. I am thankful I had it, because it saved my life. Having my ostomy introduced me to so many new people, and put me in many new situations that I would have never been in. IBD changed me, but I think having an ostomy molded me. It helped turn me into this person who I think is pretty great. Like I said, my ostomy taught me humility, but it also taught me how to be proud of myself and my accomplishments. I learned about my own personal drive in life, and my passions. My ostomy took me to new places, and I’m not just talking about an OR table, or comedic situations that would make that scene from Bridesmaids look like a disney movie. I’m talking about the places I’ve gone, the people I’ve met, and the places that I went in my own evolution.

Today is World Ostomy Day, and on this day every year, I’ll remember how I got to where I am. I actually kind of wish I had an Ask Me About My Ostomy shirt because I am more than happy to tell anyone about my front butt that saved my life.

The toddler inside me

I have seen a lot of women talk about how their jpouches go completely out of whack when they are on their period. I, too, am one of those women. I understand that my uterus and my jpouch share the same real estate, but they just cannot seem to get along…at all. They remind me of two siblings sitting in the back of a mini van on a long road trip, and one yells out “She’s touching me”. I get it…you two are touching each other …all the time. But can’t we all just get a long?

This is what I imagine the toddler inside of me looks like

I think this sibling rivalry going on in my lower abdomen is what causes my jpouch to turn into an unruly toddler. I seriously feel like I have an unpredictable 2-year-old living inside of me. My jpouch throws tantrums which make me late for things, specifically work in the morning because for whatever reason it has an issue with mornings. My jpouch is generally a total rock star, but in the morning it’s so indecisive. I feel like I empty 3+ times within an hour span in the morning, but ONLY in the morning. The rest of the day is totally fine. I feel like this is totally aggravated by my pissed off teenager of a uterus.

So I have a teenage girl…and a toddler sharing my abdomen, clearly it is a recipe for disaster. The toddler throws a fit, the teenager gets all pissed off because as the oldest she never gets anything. The toddler gets all of my time, love and affection. I spend all my time bragging about the toddler, how great it is and how it’s getting along so well with my other organs. And the teenager is just something I ignore until it causes me some discomfort. Ugh. …kids.

I’ve realized that I think about my jpouch and refer to it like a foreign entity in my body. It’s almost like a prosthetic arm or something… it’s just a piece of me that I know is different and functions independently of what I really want it to do. I swear sometimes it has its own brain, which is why I think of it as just something living inside me. Does this make sense? Does anyone else feel that way? I think this is probably why I say “empty my pouch” versus “take a shit”. You guys know me, you know I like colorful words but it doesn’t really fit. For me, my jpouch is basically like how my ostomy was but on the inside. I don’t think about it as apart of my body but as something that helps me. It’s a device. I’m not sure any of this makes any sense.

On that note…my toddler is starting to yell at me. Hopefully I’ll have something worth reading next time.

Updatin'. The last 10 days.

Man have I been busy.

I feel like I’m so disconnected from you guys. Sad face.

But here is what I’ve been doing, which is some pretty awesome stuff. This is how the last 10 days went.

Fly to Chicago.

Meet up with Lauren, volunteer at their CCFA office. Have a great super awesome time doing puzzles, drinking wine, and watching Dawson’s Creek.

Drive 4 hours to Wapaca, WI with Andrea from GMB for Camp!

Closing ceremony to Oasis WI

Man, I love camp. Every time I’m at camp I wonder why I didn’t think about that as a career choice back in my younger years. Camp makes people better versions of themselves. I do love it. Oasis Wisconsin was very different from Michigan. Not bad different, just different. So many things were different and some of them I prefer. Some of them I’d like to take home and adopt them into our MI camp. Anyway…it was interesting being the new counselor…who wasn’t new. I definitely felt on the outside for a day or so, which reminded me what it was like to be the newbie, and to make sure that I’m always including new people. At the same time it reminded me that its good to be out of your comfort zone, try new things, meet new people. The beauty of it all is that when you’re at Oasis, you know they’re going to be good people. I was lucky to have Andrea and Megan there with me, which helped to soften the entrance to the group. The most obvious thing that I noticed about their camp was that…it didn’t seem like a camp for sick kids or counselors. The kids at this camp were noticeably more healthy than our kids, and same goes for counselors. Granted there were about 80 kids at WI and about 150 at MI, so perhaps that other half is all sickies. I’m not sure. It was very different in that aspect though.

Camp ends…an hour later drive to Appleton Airport. Fly to Minnesota. Then fly to Denver.

Get to Denver, get driven in a murdered out escape to my super boss hotel. Change out of camp clothes into adult clothes. Go meet the people who are at this patient panel, eat dinner, go back to my room…pass the fuck out.

Wake up at 6am…shower for the first time in a day or 2 (but who is counting). Proceed to have an amazing meeting.

There were none of these 😦

I got to Denver and I was all “Is that fog? A building? What the hell is that?”. I also didn’t see a single mountain. I began to think I didn’t land in Denver at all. Whelp, turns out, there are some serious wild fires happening over there, and there is just smoke upon smoke upon smoke. Hence the fog/wall I thought was seeing and why there were no mountains. Boo.

I signed some non-disclosure agreement saying I wouldn’t say what we talked about at this meeting. I probably can’t even say that I was at a meet that I can’t talk about. BUT…a large pharmaceutical company gathered patients together to talk about medications, newly diagnosed patients, and other patient related things. I must say, after this meeting I have a whole new respect for big pharma. I no longer just think it’s a big fat man, who resembles the Monopoly guy, sitting behind a desk playing around in freshly cut $100 bills. They actually are pretty normal looking. None of them wore a tux. Not a single one. I really think that these people want to help patients. They want to understand them, and make sure they are meeting their needs. That was refreshing and also reassuring.

Meeting ends around 5:00pm. Go to my room, order room service. Pass the fuck out.

Wake up at 6:00am. Get picked up…fly to Minnesota….fly home. Get puppies. Sleeeeeeeeeeeep.

After being in 3 time zones, 5 airports, and 5 planes…I am tired. Whooped. Beat. Cashed. D) All of the above.

I havent put this bod through that much ‘stress” in a long time and I am happy to report that she help up pretty well. I’m SUPER tired. I have had shitty sleep and I’m been feeling a little “off” since I got home, but there was a lot of travel and food I couldn’t control in there. Overall…pretty stoke that I had these opportunities and that I was able to take part in them without any limits! Go j-pouch!
I got home, slept for a bit and got back to the grind. Back to work, back to planning my ass off for Girls With Guts. You guys, that is going to turn into something beautiful and I am so excited for when I finally get to disclose everything we are doing! I think you’re going to be pumped too! Also Charis is coming to town next week. Giggle fest to ensue.

Post for The Gutsy Generation

I have been asked many times why I am an advocate or why I spend my free time and money on raising awareness for IBD. I have a long winded, drawn out answer for this question and depending on my audience it can be really inspiring and technical, or loaded with swear words and jokes. I like to think that I understand my audiences. I have this same strategy when people ask me what a Jpouch is. I have loaded responses ready to be verbally vomited into the ear canal of the unsuspecting question asker. Depending who asks, they will either get my medical jargon-ed response, or something about how my colon is gone, yadda yadda, new internal plumbing, yadda yadda, wham bam poop chute answer. I’m really quite eloquent with words.

Read the rest of this post at The Gutsy Generation!!

Guest Post: FAP Explained

Something that I don’t know enough about is FAP. So many IBDers and people with FAP cross paths due to ostomies, but I never actually learned about FAP. So….here is some info on FAP.


Currently looking for someone to do a guest post on their experiences with FAP.

What is the best nation?

A Donation.

I heard that from a homeless guy in downtown Detroit once. I thought it was clever. Clever enough for a buck.

I was asked recently if I take donations for my site. I didn’t…but not because I’m against money but because I never thought about it. So I set up a donations button through Pay Pal and slapped it on the right side column of my blog. Now lets be clear, I am not ASKING for donations. In fact, I think that sites like mine that ASK for them is kinda weird and I’m all “what the hell are they spending money on anyway”.

It does cost money to run this site, not a lot, but since I’m living on grilled cheese as it is, it is enough to be significant in my life. So what I’m saying is, if anyone out there feels so inclined and wants to pay my mortgage, who am I to stop them? I mean really, that would be rude.

Also in case you’re wondering my mortgage is about $400/mo. So cheap, right? Wouldn’t break the bank for you at all. KIDDING.

No seriously, the idea of accepting money from strangers to pay for hosting and what not on my site is a weird thing for me and makes me mildly feel uncomfortable. But I wouldn’t have made it possible if someone didn’t ask me to do it.

Stop being all judgy. And start being more spendy. Kidding. Again.

 

 

I’m so over this colon.

This is not me. But this picture is ridiculous

I’m so over this colon. Its like a pair of jeans that I’ve had forever that I refuse to get rid of. They were great and useful, but now they have a ton of holes in them. But for some reason, I’m hesitant to throw them out. Granted throwing out my favorite denim is a tad different than removing my colon, but you know, same principal. With all the problems and discomfort that I get from this dang thing, you’d think that I’d be more than jumping at the bit to get rid of it. But I’m not. I’m not at all. I’m more than pumped about the possibility of getting rid of it and feeling healthy and maybe getting part of my life back, but the road to get there just seems so daunting. It feels endless. Not only does it feel endless but the road has a damn colostomy bag involved with it. The road is gross. The road is filled with potential problems and questions and uncertainty.

Can you tell I like metaphors?

I have been pondering this surgery for a few weeks now and in that time I have talked to a few nurses and asked a few people at various stages in their surgeries a barrage of questions. I’m pretty sure my last Q and A session ended with “Did you wake up with a butt tube?” So I’m not afraid to ask questions, but am I a little afraid of some of the answers? Affirmative.  I have not taken this whole thing lightly and in fact was dead set against it until a few weeks ago when I traveled to Cleveland Clinic and talked to a specialist there who essentially told me that surgery may very well be my only option left. But it is still just that…and option. Its not my last resort and with that in some sick way I was comforted. I still have an option. I still get to make the choice and living with UC has given me so few choices. However, now that I do look at this like a choice…I think about it CONSTANTLY. Every time my stomach grumbles, I think about chopping out the ‘ol colon. Every time I sit on the toilet. Every time I second guess eating something. Every time I worry about the location of a bathroom. Every time I am humiliated in one way or another by this disease….I think I need this surgery.

Much like many people out there who are in my diseased bowel shoes, the surgery sounds like a god send. It sounds like an answer to all of our problems, aside from one thing. The one thing that makes me and I’m sure others second guess the WHOLE thing. The one thing that makes me consider living like this for the rest of my life because I can’t even fathom it. You know what I’m talking about. I swear I could just not even say it and we’d all be on the same damn page. But for those of you who are reading this with your head cocked to the side in confusion….its the colostomy bag. Yea, that thing. That super gross thing that makes us all feel disgusting and subhuman. It terrifies me. Its ugly, its stuck to you, and its def a damper for intimacy. I mean seriously, I know people get around it, but how? How do you even think about sex with that thing attached to you.

Yea I said it.

I think I’d probably swear off sex for the entirety of stage one of my surgeries. I cannot imagine living like that permanently.

Yea, I said that too.

I’m not one for sugar coating. I still don’t know what I’ll do just yet. I still have some tests to run and a few more visits with my doctor…but…its looking like I may be facing my fears here in the next few months.

You know, through all of this, since the very beginning of diagnosis I have told myself it can’t get any worse. And without fail, every single time, it has gotten worse. I have had the most ridiculous UC journey, that if it wasn’t me, I might point and laugh. (Eh maybe not, but I would probably talk about me behind my back). It almost seems fitting that I go out with a bang. That this redonkulous ride called UC would end with the removal of a large organ and the attachment of a colostomy bag.

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