Becoming an Ostomate
My journey to becoming an ostomate is probably similar to many of you with Crohn’s disease. It was October 31st. 1988, when I stepped into the surgeon’s office with my two-year-old daughter in tow. This day began as normal as any other, racing to get my daughter (Lensey) and myself out the door at dawn. My disease had me severely limping along for about a year and a half. I was diagnosed with Crohn’s disease at 17, with the typical good days and bad days until all days were terrible. I went into remission during the nine months I was pregnant with my daughter. Once she was born, almost instantly, I began to decline.
On this Halloween day, I felt awful and couldn’t keep my meds down that morning; I just knew that my days of “trying one more thing” were over. My GI doctor had urged me to meet with a surgeon to “just discuss” the surgical options. I had always been able to find an excuse not to see the surgeon. This day was different, and I could not go on any further. I called my GI doctor and waved the white flag. He said, “Hold on a minute,” came back on the line, and said Dr. Mozia can get you in today after hours. Can you be here at 5? I said, “Yes.” I called my parents to ask them if they could go with me, furthermore, drive me there. My parents had urged me to at least “consider” ostomy surgery for quite some time. They were on board and headed over to pick me up.
Once we arrived, we walked into the empty waiting room. I can still remember the feeling of wanting to run. Jane (the PA) quickly met and invited us back to Dr. Mozias’s office. Before we all sat down, he asked if he could hold Lensey; I said yes. She was a bit hesitant until he grabbed a bucket of Halloween candy and offered her a piece. As they settled in behind his desk, he described the procedure, taking long pauses to allow for questions. I sat there crying, and I could not stop. My mother filled every pause with questions. I was so thankful she could think clearly and addressed everything I needed to know. Dr. Mozia and Jane flipped through his calendar as our appointment ended, looking for an opening. After several minutes of them flipping pages back and forth, Dr. Mozia announced he was booked out for quite some time, and in almost the same breath, he said, ” I can do it Saturday.” Through my tears and heavy sobbing, I said, “Yes.” My mom quickly added, “Thank you for fitting us into your busy schedule.” I nodded in sincere agreement.
November 5th, 1988, is my stomaversary. In 1988, patients were admitted to the hospital a day before surgery. So, I packed my bags on Friday and headed to the hospital. Upon arrival and after the admissions process, I was offered my first cup of GoLYTELY. Again, here came the tears. In 1988, GoLYTELY was the only prep out there. As I stared at that first cup, I started going through the five stages of grief; denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance would take a while. I bounced from denial to anger to bargaining; I sat with bargaining a bit longer, especially with that first cup of GoLYTELY. Every cup brings with it excruciating pain and bloody diarrhea. In negotiations with my nurse, I would beg, “Please don’t make me drink anymore; I just can’t.” Finally, with only half of the prep down, I gave up, or the nurse gave in; I’m not sure which.
I spent the rest of the night praying and crying, back and forth, and sometimes simultaneously, all night long. My prayers went like this; “please, God, heal me; I will do anything for you.” Looking back, I think my greatest fear was dying. I was a single mother and deeply in love with my daughter. I wanted nothing more than to be with her and to raise her. First thing in the morning, as promised, my mother brought Lensey in to see me before the surgery. The sun was barely up as I kissed and hugged her like it would be my last.
Once in the operating room, I had the chance to talk with Jane and Dr. Mozia. I told him I had prayed all night for healing, so don’t be surprised if my colon was healed. He agreed to leave everything and stitch me back up if that happened. With that promise, I began counting backward from ten. In what seemed like ten seconds, I was back in my room. I quickly knew I had not received the miraculous healing I hoped for. Instead, my miracle was given to me through a total colectomy end ileostomy.
Please leave a comment about your journey 🙂
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