By Amy Shulfer, RN, MSN, CWON
When medical professionals think about healthcare, our minds naturally drift to the clinical milestones: the successful surgeries, the mastered appliance changes, the stable lab results, and the healing margins of a physical wound. Since 2003, I have spent over two decades navigating these exact clinical spaces as a certified Wound and Ostomy nurse. I know the rhythm of the hospital floor, the precision of a dressing change, and the vital importance of proper patient education.
But there is an entire world of caregiving that happens outside the clean boundaries of a hospital room. It is the invisible architecture of care—the emotional, mental, and spiritual infrastructure required to support a loved one through a chronic diagnosis, a new ostomy, or a long-term illness.
And it is a world I know intimately, not just as a nurse, but as a daughter.
For years, my family lived in the relentless “current” of illness. I navigated my own journey with ulcerative colitis, watched my mother courageously battle multiple sclerosis, and stood beside my father through his own significant health crises, including his journey with an ostomy. In that quiet, heavy space of family caregiving, the clinical boundaries blurred. I wasn’t just checking vitals or ordering supplies; I was holding the hand of the people who raised me, watching the roles reverse, and wondering how to keep from drowning in the exhaustion.
The Myth of the “Perfect Caregiver”
If you are currently caring for a spouse, a parent, or a child navigating an intestinal or urinary diversion, you likely know the weight of the phrase, “I’m fine.”
Caregivers are notorious for wearing a mask of absolute strength. We believe that to be a good caregiver, we must be unbreakable. We tell ourselves that our exhaustion is a sign of failure, that our moments of frustration mean we aren’t loving enough, and that asking for help is an admission of defeat.
But human structural integrity isn’t built to hold up a house alone during a storm.
In my years at both the professional bedside and the personal bedside, I have learned that the emotional toll of caregiving is often heavier than the physical labor. It is the constant undercurrent of anticipatory grief, the anxiety of the unknown, and the profound isolation of feeling like no one truly understands the day-to-day reality of your home.
When my family’s health trials were at their heaviest, I had to completely re-evaluate what it meant to love and serve through hardship. I had to learn that real love isn’t defined by the easy things—the laughter, the vacations, or the quiet moments of comfort.
Here is an excerpt from my memoir, Carried Through, where I had to put words to this exact breaking point:
“I never imagined that faith and suffering would be so intertwined. When I was younger, I thought faith meant believing that everything would turn out okay, that prayers for healing would be answered, that pain would be temporary, and that miracles would come if I just believed hard enough. But life reshapes faith, especially when sickness, caregiving, and loss become part of your daily reality.
I have lived with chronic illness. I have watched my parents battle diseases. I have lost dear friends far too soon. I have sat beside a dying patient, feeling the mystery of a soul departing from its earthly body… We think love is the easy things: the laughter, the vacations, the way someone holds your hand in a crowded room. But real love is steadier than that. Real love shows up with steady hands on the hardest days.”
Finding Your Anchor in the Storm
If you are a caregiver reading this today and your hands feel anything but steady, please hear me: You do not have to swim alone. Loving someone who is suffering is a sacred calling, but it requires a community to sustain it.

To help anchor your heart when the current feels too deep, I want to share three practical, grounding truths that saved me during my family’s darkest valleys:
- Give Up the Control, Keep the Faith
Much of a caregiver’s anxiety comes from trying to control outcomes we cannot touch. We cannot force a wound to heal faster, and we cannot predict every complication. Realizing that you are not the grand architect of the universe is not a failure, it is a liberation. It allows you to focus strictly on the next hour, the next step, and the next breath, trusting that there is a steady presence holding the rest together.
- Embrace the “Breath Prayer”
When you are sitting in a sterile hospital waiting room or dealing with a difficult appliance leak at 2:00 AM, a long, elegant prayer feels completely out of reach. In those moments, give yourself permission to use “breath prayers”, short, simple cries of the heart that can be spoken in a single inhale and exhale.
(Inhale) Lord, give me Your strength… (Exhale) For this next step.
(Inhale) I cannot hold this… (Exhale) But You can.
- Lean on Specialized Advocacy
You cannot be the medical expert, the emotional rock, and the logistical coordinator all at once without resources. Organizations like the United Ostomy Associations of America (UOAA) exist precisely because this journey requires structural support. Whether it is finding a local support group, accessing educational material that takes the mystery out of a new stoma, or connecting with an ostomy outpatient clinic, utilizing these tools is an act of strength, not weakness.
You Are Still Being Carried
To the caregiver standing at the bedside today, the one navigating the heavy silence of a changing diagnosis, or the one balancing your own health battles while supporting someone else: your identity is not defined by the illness in the room. You are more than a patient, and you are more than a caregiver.
Even on the days when you feel creased, folded, and entirely spent, your service is seen. Your quiet resilience is creating a legacy of love that endures far beyond the clinical challenges. Take a breath, allow yourself to be human, and remember that even when you don’t have the strength to carry the weight, you are being safely carried through.
Amy Shulfer, RN, MSN, CWON, is the author of the new memoir, Carried Through: A Daughter’s Reflections of Love, Loss, and the God Who Carries Us, available on Amazon. She is also the creator of the YouTube channel “Ostomy Care with Angel Face Amy,” where she shares practical advice, clinical advocacy, and heartfelt encouragement for the IBD and ostomy community.



signing onto ten different letters that were sent to Congress many with positive results and we had several open action alerts on our advocacy platform supporting Federal legislation. We also continue to advocate with the Access and Care Coalition in our efforts with the Medical Directors from the Centers of Medicare and Medicaid Services (CMS) to make improvements to the ostomy policies and processes in particular for those beneficiaries who medically need greater quantities of products than what is allowable under the current policy. We won’t stop until this is resolved. Another example has been challenges with 

(DDNC) and the Safe Step Act Coalition where we share common goals and work together to achieve them. For example, the DDNC’s mission is to work cooperatively to improve access to and the quality of digestive disease health care in order to promote the best possible medical outcome and quality of life for current and future patients. Although UOAA is unable to have its own “ostomy” lobby days or fly-ins on the Hill (due to financial limitations), we are an important part of the annual DDNC Spring Public Policy forum. Ostomy advocates join forces with other digestive disease advocates to meet with Congressional staffers to share their stories and ask for support of our federal legislative priorities. These coalitions submit joint letters of requests or support/opposition to Congressional leaders and key regulatory decision-makers. An example of power and strength in numbers is the Safe Step Act Coalition which now comprises 215 patient organizations all advocating for passage of this important piece of legislation!

enjoying a highly active lifestyle. So when I found out that I needed a stoma revision, I knew that my recovery would look very different from my previous surgeries. I knew that in order to improve my recovery time, decrease my risk for complications, and get back to the mountains, I had to put in more work.
As you start your journey to recovery, you’ll experience that life after ostomy surgery is a new reality. No matter how far after surgery you are, you will need to adapt to your condition and cope with your new situation. If you’re looking for additional support during your ostomy journey, consider enrolling in Coloplast’s free online support program, Coloplast® Care! It is a personal product support program designed in collaboration with nurses to provide you with individualized product support and lifestyle education, and product access coordination. Coloplast Care is available when you need it – whether it is through our online educational resources offering reliable product and lifestyle advice, news and tips customized for your situation, or over the phone with our team of dedicated Ostomy Advisors. We’re here to help!
I’m thankful for all of the WOCNs I have been to. Some I’ve known for many years. They are very knowledgeable and helpful with various products.I also want to give a shoutout to our great WOCNs at 11 Health & Technologies for being amazing for our team and patients. ? –Megan Alloway
being admitted within the first 90 days post operatively [1]. This is one of the highest rates of readmission when compared to other types of surgery. The most common cause for re-admission is dehydration, at approximately 40% of post ileostomy readmissions [2]. We also know that 84% of ostomy patients develop skin issues. The causes of these can be chemical, mechanical, or microbial, and possibly avoidable. Ostomates also have significantly increased healthcare costs, especially when affected by peristomal skin complications, and leakage [2]. It is known that 25% of ostomates develop renal failure within two years. The complications these patients encounter require 7x more outpatient visits than the average patient. And 29.1% of ostomates experience readmission which costs approximately $16,000 per patient [1]. These statistics show that specialized care for these patients is imperative to improving patient outcomes in this patient population.



