I was rummaging through some old writings. Came across these short diary-like entries from stints in/out of hospital 6 or 7 years back.
These began at a time when I was pretty vulnerable, with no proper diagnosis of the developing illness I had. Gradually, over the weeks, I became more and more aware of this “CROHN’S DISEASE” and started writing about its day-to-day struggles/speculating a lot about its causes.
To this day, Crohn’s has no known cure, but it is more common than people think.
Just no one ever talks about it.
[Each entry is how it was when I wrote it, except maybe for a few spelling/grammar edits. Don’t use them as a guide; they are merely the experiences of a patient coming to terms with an illness (written mostly on a variety of different meds.)]
> Part 8: My Bag & Me
(Part 7 HERE)
All the tubes in my neck/arms/nose/stomach are now gone, but I’ve been left with a flesh-coloured bag on my upper-right abdomen.
This shit-bag (or ostomy pouch, to be precise) is there to collect faecal matter because my bowels have apparently become so inflamed that it’s not safe to let anything pass through.
The “Ileostomy” procedure involved my small bowel being brought to the surface of the skin to form a stoma (opening) where waste is now going to be ejected (thus, giving my large intestine time to heal).
I’m in a bit of mess about all of this, to be honest.
Basically, this means my arse is now out of use (apart from the odd trickle of mucus); my skin gets itchy/irritated from all the bag removing/reapplying (sometimes the bags don’t stick at all/everything leaks); and I’m not yet comfortable seeing/feeling my own faeces spew out – uncontrollably – from just beneath my t-shirt.
And when I get wind, everybody knows about it.