I Found My Calling in Life, But It Came at the Price of My Colon

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What started with mozzarella sticks, orange chicken, and a giant chocolate chip cookie from Applebee’s changed the course of my life.

I was 17 years old, touring colleges with my parents and preparing for what I thought would be the next exciting chapter of my life when everything changed.

It started with bloody stools and abdominal cramping. At first, my symptoms were dismissed as hemorrhoids. During that time, after taking antibiotics for cystic hormonal acne, I developed C. difficile. Even after treatment, my symptoms persisted for weeks, and two months later a colonoscopy finally provided the answer: ulcerative colitis.

I was a senior in high school.

Senior Prom (2010): Weeks after my first surgery, I attended prom with my ileostomy.

Instead of worrying about prom, graduation, and college, I found myself navigating doctor’s appointments, medications, hospitalizations, and the uncertainty that comes with living with a chronic invisible illness. Over the next year, ulcerative colitis slowly stole pieces of my life. I was exhausted, constantly sick, and missing out on experiences that most teenagers take for granted. I kept wondering, “How can anyone live a normal life with this disease?” As my illness progressed, so did my fears. I found myself wondering if I would need surgery, whether anyone would notice my ostomy, if anyone would ever love me, and if life would ever feel normal again. At 17 years old, I wasn’t just grieving my health – I was grieving the future I thought I was going to have.

Throughout my illness and recovery, my parents – especially my mom – never stopped believing I would get my life back, even during the moments when I couldn’t believe it myself.

Eventually, after a year-long ulcerative colitis flare, my gastroenterologist referred me to a colorectal surgeon. I expected another consultation, another conversation about treatment options. Instead, after examining me that day, he told me my colon was too diseased to save and that I needed surgery. Just one week later, I was in the operating room. I had spent more than a year fighting to keep my colon, hoping each new medication would be the one that finally worked. Accepting surgery didn’t feel like a choice; it felt like admitting defeat. But my body had reached a point where there were no other options. What I couldn’t see then was that surgery wasn’t the end of my life as I knew it. It was my chance to get it back.

At 18 years old, I underwent the first stage of a planned three-stage J-pouch (IPAA) surgery. I woke up with an ileostomy, suddenly trying to make sense of a body that looked and functioned differently than it had before.  I couldn’t imagine it then, but the surgery I had fought so hard to avoid would become the beginning of my recovery.

Something unexpected happened almost immediately. For the first time in over a year, I wasn’t running to the bathroom. The urgency and frequency were gone. Even though I had just undergone major surgery, I felt better than I had in months. It was only then that I realized how sick I had truly been.

High School Graduation (2010): Graduating with my ileostomy just two months after undergoing major surgery.

I won’t pretend it was easy. Living with an ostomy at 18 brought fears I never imagined I’d face. Like many young people facing ostomy surgery, I was scared. I worried about how I looked, what other people would think, and whether I would ever feel normal again. Going back to high school with an ostomy felt almost as intimidating as the surgery itself. I wasn’t worried about classes – I was worried about using the bathroom, whether my ostomy would make noise, whether anyone would notice my pouch, and whether I would ever feel like a normal teenager again.

One of the most meaningful moments during that time occurred when a nurse arranged for me to meet another young woman living with an ostomy. Until that moment, I thought my future had been taken from me. Watching her laugh, smile, and live her life changed everything. For the first time, I could picture a future for myself. What I didn’t realize then was that this single act would shape the rest of my life.

From that day forward, little by little, I made a decision: I wasn’t going to let my ostomy stop me from living my life.

I returned to high school. I graduated with my class. I went to my senior prom. I started college. I dated. I wore a bikini. I continued lifeguarding and teaching swim lessons, worked at a boutique shoe store, and even posed for a photoshoot.

None of those moments happened because I stopped being afraid. They happened because I refused to let fear make my decisions.

Looking back, I realized my ostomy wasn’t taking my life away – it was giving it back.

During my first hospitalization, something happened that I never expected. The nurses who cared for me inspired me to become a nurse. Their compassion, patience, and encouragement showed me what it meant to care for someone during one of the most vulnerable moments of life. They didn’t just help me recover, they changed the trajectory of my life. While I was still in the hospital, I knew I wanted to become a nurse. I also knew that one day I wanted to care for patients facing the same fears and life-changing surgeries that I was experiencing. That dream guided every step of my career. I earned my Bachelor of Science in Nursing (BSN), became a Registered Nurse (RN), later completed my Master of Science (MSN) in Nursing as an Adult-Gerontology Acute Care Nurse Practitioner (AGACNP-BC), and ultimately achieved board certification as an Advanced Practice Wound, Ostomy, and Continence Nurse (CWOCN-AP) – the very field that had once cared for me.

I know what it feels like to believe that no one else understands. And I know how powerful it is when someone says, “I’ve been where you are.”

I didn’t become a Wound, Ostomy, and Continence Nurse despite my experience as a patient. I became one because of it.

Today, I work in colorectal surgery, caring for patients with colon and rectal cancer and other complex colorectal conditions. Many are preparing for life with a permanent ostomy, and I have the privilege of helping them navigate that journey. There’s something uniquely powerful about caring for patients when you’ve been the patient yourself.

Bachelor of Science in Nursing (BSN) Graduation (2015): Earning my BSN and beginning the journey toward becoming the nurse I once needed.

Every day, I care for patients facing many of the same fears, decisions, and questions that once terrified me.  I sit beside patients preparing for ostomy surgery. I answer the questions they’re often afraid to ask.  Most importantly, I remind them that an ostomy is not the end of their story – it’s the beginning of a new chapter.

Because once upon a time, someone did that for me.

Because I’ve been there.

I know what it feels like to wake up after surgery and wonder what comes next.

I know what it feels like to look in the mirror and see a body that has changed.

I know what it feels like to believe that no one else understands.

And I know how powerful it is when someone says, “I’ve been where you are.”

More than a decade later, those fears didn’t end with me. I still hear the very same questions. With tears in their eyes, patients ask me the same questions I once asked myself:

Will anyone notice?

Will I ever feel normal again?

In that moment, I realize I’m not answering as someone who simply studied ostomy care.

I’m answering as someone who has lived it.

I often tell patients that while I would never have chosen ulcerative colitis, I wouldn’t trade the perspective it has given me. My surgeries didn’t restore the life I had before ulcerative colitis; they gave me a different life – one that still includes challenges, but also purpose, gratitude, and the privilege of helping others navigate the path I once walked.

Looking back, ulcerative colitis changed the trajectory of my life in ways I never could have imagined. If you had told my 18-year-old self that one day I would dedicate my career to caring for ostomy patients, I wouldn’t have believed you.

The disease that once felt like the greatest obstacle in my life ultimately led me to my purpose. It took me years to realize that while ulcerative colitis changed my body forever, it also revealed a calling I never knew I was meant to find. Every time I meet a frightened patient preparing for surgery, I think back to the young woman who met with me all those years ago.

Living Life with a J-pouch: Sixteen years later, traveling the world and proving that life after ulcerative colitis surgery can be full of adventure.

She probably had no idea how much that conversation would shape my life.  For years, I kept my story mostly private, sharing it only when I thought it might help a patient. Sixteen years later, I’m sharing it publicly for the same reason someone once shared theirs with me: because sometimes, all it takes is seeing someone who’s been there to believe you’ll be okay.

I hope that by sharing my story, I can be that person for someone else.

Because sometimes the thing that changes your life isn’t the surgery itself.

It’s meeting someone who’s already walked the path you’re about to begin.

It’s realizing you don’t have to face it alone.

It’s realizing your story isn’t ending.

It’s just beginning. ❤️

 

 

 

Kelly Mendello, MSN, AGACNP-BC, CWOCN-AP, OCN, is a Colorectal surgery Nurse Practitioner, Advanced Practice Wound, Ostomy, and Continence Nurse, former ostomy patient, and ostomy advocate. Drawing from both her personal journey and her experience caring for patients with ostomies, she is passionate about patient education, mentorship, and helping others navigate life with confidence after ostomy surgery.

Instagram: @withkellyxo
Email: kellymendellonp@gmail.com

10 Tips for Intimacy with an Ostomy

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Life with an ostomy can stir up deeply vulnerable questions: Will anyone love me like this? Does my ostomy bag make me unattractive? How can I be intimate while managing it? These anxieties often settle in the quieter corners of ostomy life, where many ostomates fear their bodies may never be chosen or desired.

Chloe Olsen has spent her whole life learning what it means to live with an ostomy. In this blog, she draws on more than 20 years of lived experience to share an honest perspective on connection, communication, and confidence. Her insights offer reassurance, perspective, and a reminder to fellow ostomates that they are worthy of love without conditions.

10 tips for intimacy with an ostomy (from a 20+ year ostomate)

Unlike most other ostomates, I never had a “before my ostomy.” I didn’t have to relearn intimacy because I’ve had an ostomy my whole life. This means I learned intimacy with an ostomy bag—first crushes, first touch, first relationships. For me, there was no “before my ostomy” to mourn—just figuring things out in real time like everyone else.

This is the only body I’ve ever been intimate in. Every version of intimacy I’ve ever known has included my ostomy bag. And that’s why I know you don’t owe anyone everything.

This topic in particular is especially important to me because I didn’t grow up seeing bodies like mine being desired or sexualized. I had no idea what intimacy would look like for me because there wasn’t anyone like me out there talking about it. After a lifetime of trial and error, of tender moments and of ones I’d rather forget, I’m sharing my tried and tested intimacy tips for any ostomate who needs straightforward honesty—not sugarcoating.

  1. You don’t owe anyone your medical history.

When meeting someone new, we can sometimes feel obligated to share our medical past. Don’t forget—you get to decide when and how much you share. There were times I would over-explain out of fear, thinking clarity would protect me. It didn’t—boundaries did.

You are not obligated to provide any details you don’t want to share, and this includes any questions you don’t feel comfortable with. A simple explanation is enough.

  1. You get to decide when to tell someone about your ostomy.

The pressure of this used to weigh on me a lot. If I didn’t tell someone soon enough, I would feel as if I were lying to them somehow, like keeping this secret from them was a form of deception. But if I told them right away, it would sometimes change their view of me—or even the way they treated me.

My advice: if you really like someone, tell them about your ostomy bag as soon as possible, as soon as you feel comfortable. Personally, I would always tell them right away, because I find it to be an excellent detector of who isn’t meant to be.

  1. Phrasing is important. Confidence is everything.

If you do decide to tell your intimate partner about your ostomy, your own attitude can make the biggest difference. If you frame it as something positive, like that it gave you your life back, they probably will too! But if you say, “Now I’m forced to live with this for the rest of my life!” it gives your ostomy a negative connotation, and they may be more likely to react negatively as well.

I know it’s easier said than done, but confidence really is everything! If you go in with no fear, as if your ostomy is no big deal, it likely won’t be a big deal to them either.

  1. If someone is uncomfortable, it’s not a reflection of your self-worth.

Not everyone handles it well, and learning not to internalize those reactions took time. But over time, you learn the difference between curiosity and discomfort—and you stop internalizing reactions that don’t belong to you.

Discomfort doesn’t mean you’re undesirable. It means they’re not equipped for your body or your honesty—and that’s not yours to fix.

  1. One-night stands are NOT off the table.

This is one of the biggest things I wish someone had told me! Having only known ostomy life, I let the stigma surrounding it convince me that one-night stands weren’t possible for me—but that’s actually the furthest thing from the truth. Hearing from my close ostomate friends a little bit older than myself, I learned that it’s actually not a big deal. Although it can be scary at first (how would this random stranger react?), one-night stands with an ostomy are not harder, just more intentional. Only share what’s necessary, and prep more so you can think less.

Most importantly, make sure you feel safe. Believe it or not, your ostomy will likely not be their primary focus—in fact, they may not even notice it at all.

  1. Communication is key.

Intimacy isn’t mind-reading, it’s communication—and that goes both ways. At first, I didn’t know how to communicate effectively during intimacy. Partners would assume they could accidentally “break” my bag or hurt me somehow. I learned to speak up for myself through trial, error, and a lot of unlearning silence. Don’t be afraid to just tell them, “I’m not fragile,” or educate them in the moment so they feel comfortable. Communication doesn’t ruin the moment—it makes it possible, and more enjoyable when they better understand your body.

And if they don’t want to take that extra moment of care, then maybe they aren’t worth your time and energy, and that’s your choice to make. Remember—you can always back out or say no.

  1. Prep is not unsexy.

Emptying your ostomy bag beforehand, wearing something that makes you feel secure, maybe even putting on a fresh bag—all these extra steps we take are just taking care of your body, an important part of intimacy. I know it can detract from the spontaneity, but take it from me, you don’t want to risk having a leak during an intimate moment—major mood killer.

Trust me, it’s worth taking the extra time—having peace of mind changes everything.

  1. The right intimacy doesn’t make you feel like your body is a problem.

I’ve felt the difference between being accommodated and being wanted. And once you feel the latter, you stop settling for the former. For too long, I stayed in unhealthy relationships because I didn’t think I deserved better. I believed I was “defective” or “damaged,” and therefore not in a position to be picky or stand up for myself. It took a while, but once I let myself believe that I was worthy to be loved the way I wanted, I never looked back.

You’re not something to tolerate, work around, or “get past.” You’re not less deserving because of your ostomy. You’re the body someone gets to be close to.

  1. Desire without shame.

I grew up feeling a lot of shame around my body, not because of my ostomy, but because of what I was taught to believe about it. In navigating intimacy, I’ve learned that it’s okay to crave it, and it’s okay to communicate your needs.

Desire doesn’t disappear because you have an ostomy or disability—it adapts, like everything else.

  1. There’s no “right” way to do this.

Reminder: You don’t owe intimacy to prove confidence, healing, or normalcy. There’s no timeline for feeling ready. Confidence with intimacy isn’t a finish line. It shifts with age, partners, energy, and life. And that’s normal—ostomy or not. It comes with time and learning to be comfortable in your own body before you can be comfortable with someone else.

If you’re just learning intimacy in your body—you’re not behind, you’re doing it.

Find more support for intimacy with an ostomy on Instagram and in Coloplast’s free e‑book, The Ostomate’s Guide to Intimacy.

Coloplast develops products and services that make life easier for people with intimate healthcare needs. Working closely with the people who use our products, we create solutions that are sensitive to their special needs. Our business includes ostomy care, continence care, advanced wound care, interventional urology, and voice & respiratory care.

Chloe is a Coloplast product user who received compensation from Coloplast to provide this information. Each person’s situation is unique, so your experience may not be the same. Talk to your healthcare professional about which product might be right for you.

Follow Coloplast on Instagram, Facebook, and YouTube, or visit us online at https://www.coloplast.us/

 

Editor’s note: This blog is from a UOAA digital sponsor, Coloplast. Sponsor support along with donations from readers like you help to maintain our website and the free trusted resources of UOAA, a 501(c)(3) nonprofit organization.

Navigating Body Image After Ostomy Surgery

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When you get an ostomy, most of the advice you’ll hear is practical. It comes in boxes and routines: bags and baseplates, barrier strips and rings. There’s talk of wear time and skin prep, of what to eat and when to empty. These logistics matter, of course; they’re a necessary first step after a major surgery. But beneath this adjustment is often another layer of healing, one that goes beyond the physical.

An ostomy doesn’t just change how your body works. It can also change how you feel inside. It can shift how you see your body, yourself, and your worth, affecting everything from what you wear, to where you go, to how close you let others get. Amid all this change, you might even start to wonder: How could I ever accept myself like this?

For many, life with an ostomy involves the ongoing work of making peace with your body—to meet it not with shame, but with patience, gentleness, and ultimately acceptance. It’s about rebuilding trust with a body that may suddenly feel unfamiliar and allowing that body to once again feel like home.

Body image after ostomy surgery

More than just how you look, body image is about comfort, confidence, and feeling like yourself. Ostomy surgery can profoundly disrupt that sense of self-connection.

A 2018 research review found that poor body image is one of the most common emotional challenges after ostomy surgery. Even when recovery is technically going well—when a WOCN nurse smiles and says, “You’re doing great”—you might hear a voice inside that replies, “Yeah, right,” as waves of self-consciousness or grief roll in.

For many, social stigma only adds weight. Harmful myths that say ostomies are dirty or shameful can take root internally. One study found that nearly half of people with permanent colostomies experience this kind of stigma, which can erode emotional well-being and self-worth.

Even when surrounded by love, you might find yourself hiding. The shirt once worn with pride might get folded away, replaced by oversized clothes chosen more for camouflage than comfort. You might avoid mirrors, not out of vanity, but out of grief for a body that once felt like yours. Intimacy may feel distant, shadowed by the fear of being seen, touched, or rejected.

In all of this, you’re not alone.

What factors shape body image after ostomy surgery?

Body image isn’t fixed; it’s shaped by your history, current circumstances, and how you emotionally process change. Several key factors can influence how someone adjusts:

1. Age and stage of life: Research shows that younger adults often experience greater body image distress after ostomy surgery. This is a time when identity, sexuality, and self-expression are still being shaped—when you’re still learning who you are and how you want to be seen.

In this context, everyday moments can take on new complexity. You may find yourself doing quiet check-ins throughout the day: Is the bag visible? Is it full? Is it leaking? These small, repeated considerations can influence how you move through the world, especially in a culture where bodies with ostomies are rarely represented.

2. Reason for surgery. The reason behind an ostomy may also impact how you adjust to life with it. Even with the same procedure, the emotional meaning is shaped by the life story it enters—and that story can be the lens through which the body is seen.

Research suggests that people who undergo ostomy surgery due to cancer, for instance, may report lower levels of body image distress. While an ostomy can be life-saving in many contexts, cancer survivors may be more likely to see it that way: as a visible mark of survival and strength.

For others, the emotional meaning may feel more complex. When surgery follows years of chronic illness, misdiagnosis, or medical trauma, for example, the experience can carry different associations. Perhaps it’s not triumph, but relief, fatigue, or even resignation. One study found that some participants with inflammatory bowel disease (IBD) viewed their stoma as an embarrassing complication of their condition—something tied more to shame than strength.

But meaning isn’t fixed. With time, support, and self-compassion, your relationship with your ostomy can evolve, no matter the reason behind it.

3. Temporary vs. permanent ostomy. Research also shows that temporary stomas can lead to greater body image distress. When your ostomy isn’t permanent, it can feel like you’re living in a body that doesn’t quite belong to you—just a version you’re passing through. This in-between state can create a kind of psychological limbo: it’s hard to fully grieve what’s been lost and hard to fully accept what is.

While permanent ostomies can bring their own grief, they may also bring a sense of clarity that limbo does not. When you know this is your body now, you may be better equipped to make peace with it.

What can help: Tips for navigating body image after ostomy surgery

1. Find the right ostomy products for you. It’s hard to feel at ease in your body when the products meant to support it don’t feel reliable. Worrying about leaks, irritation, or a poor fit can quietly wear on your confidence. But when your pouching system truly works for you, it can create space for deeper healing and acceptance.

If the medical look or rustling sound of your ostomy pouch makes you feel more self-conscious, know this: not all pouches are the same. Some are designed to move with your body, to bend and stretch as you do. Some fold into a smaller shape that tucks easily under clothes. Some come in colors like black or gray, offering an alternative to a medical beige. Pair these ostomy bags with supporting products like barrier strips and moldable rings, as needed, and you can find a system that fits both your ostomy and your life.

2. Remember what your body is for. After ostomy surgery—after the shock, the healing, and the slow return to everyday life—it’s easy to forget what your body is still doing for you.

It breathes without asking. It heals, even when you’re not watching. It adapts in ways you never expected, creating space for you to live the life you want. Your body allows you to laugh, cry, rest, move, connect, and wake up to a new day. Again and again, that is something worth honoring.

3. Focus on what lights you up. On tough body image days, it can help to shift your focus away from your body. Try asking:

  • What reminds me that I’m still me, despite all I’ve been through?
  • Who or what helps me feel seen beyond how I look?
  • What brings me joy, even for a moment?

Maybe it’s the warmth of your morning tea. A dog’s thumping tail when you pass through the door. A text that says, I get it.

These small lights matter. They can remind you that your life is bigger than managing a stoma, and that you’re here to live in ways that have nothing to do with appearance.

4. Let go of the timeline. Healing isn’t linear. There is no “right” time to feel okay in your body again. No checklist or countdown—just you, moving through it all in your own way, in your own time.

Some days might feel lighter, like body acceptance is just within reach. Other days may stir up discomfort or grief in places you thought had healed. That doesn’t mean you’re failing; it means you’re human. Release the pressure to arrive somewhere quickly and trust that just showing up for yourself is its own kind of progress.

Your body is still worthy after ostomy surgery

After ostomy surgery, your body is not broken. It is changed. It is not less worthy, just newly shaped.

You don’t have to love every part of it. You don’t have to feel grateful all the time. But your body, with its stoma and its pouch, is still here.

It’s still breathing. Still yours. And still deserving of care and peace.

References

Ayaz-Alkaya S. (2019). Overview of psychosocial problems in individuals with stoma: A review of literature. International wound journal, 16(1), 243–249. https://doi.org/10.1111/iwj.13018

Guo, L., Rohde, J., & Farraye, F. A. (2020). Stigma and disclosure in patients with inflammatory bowel disease. Inflammatory Bowel Diseases, 26(7), 1010–1016. https://doi.org/10.1093/ibd/izz260

Jayarajah, U., & Samarasekera, D. N. (2017). Psychological adaptation to alteration of body image among stoma patients: A descriptive study. Indian Journal of Psychological Medicine, 39(1), 63–68. https://doi.org/10.4103/0253-7176.198944

Mahjoubi, B., Mirzaei, R., Azizi, R., Jafarinia, M., & Zahedi-Shoolami, L. (2012). A cross-sectional survey of quality of life in colostomates: A report from Iran. Health and Quality of Life Outcomes, 10, 136. https://doi.org/10.1186/1477-7525-10-136

Simmons, K. L., Smith, J. A., Bobb, K. A., & Liles, L. L. (2007). Adjustment to colostomy: Stoma acceptance, stoma care self-efficacy and interpersonal relationships. Journal of Advanced Nursing, 60(6), 627–635. https://doi.org/10.1111/j.1365-2648.2007.04446.x

Yuan, J. M., Zhang, J. E., Zheng, M. C., & Bu, X. Q. (2018). Stigma and its influencing factors among Chinese patients with stoma. Psycho-Oncology, 27(6), 1565–1571. https://doi.org/10.1002/pon.4695

Coloplast develops products and services that make life easier for people with intimate healthcare needs. Working closely with the people who use our products, we create solutions that are sensitive to their special needs. Our business includes ostomy care, continence care, advanced wound care, interventional urology, and voice & respiratory care.

Follow Coloplast on Instagram, Facebook, and YouTube, or visit us online at https://www.coloplast.us/

Editor’s note: This blog is from a UOAA digital sponsor, Coloplast. Sponsor support along with donations from readers like you help to maintain our website and the free trusted resources of UOAA, a 501(c)(3) nonprofit organization.