By Tricia Hottenstein

The problem with being strong is that people expect you to always be strong. When your body has been put through so much, people expect it to willingly fight through anything. After life hands you a few too many lemons, you’re expected to just make an extra-large lemonade. The problem is, sometimes I can’t be strong. Sometimes I just don’t want to be.

When I get a new diagnosis or the old one flares up, I don’t always react with immediate strength. When I wake up to a leak or suffer through an obstruction, I don’t always react with immediate strength. When I need to call off work or cancel with friends and feel like I’m letting people down, I don’t always react with immediate strength. And sometimes, my lack of strength is why I need to cancel. Because it is damn exhausting sometimes. Dealing with life, dealing with an ostomy. Dealing with doctors and tests and medicine. With random pain or nausea. With what seems like a constant cycle of bad news after the last bad news. Dealing with an independent and stubborn 5-year-old when I’m not at my best. It’s exhausting.

And I just don’t want to be strong. I want to slump down in my seat and sob. I want to be needy, and helped. Most of the time, I feel like the benefit to

The author gets some much-needed self-care that is so important in life with an ostomy or chronic disease.

this life is that it made me a better person, a better friend. I can support someone through their hard moments because I’ve been through enough of my own. I may not be the most compassionate person in the world, but I will be there. For even an acquaintance. I will help anyone I can, however, I can. But the downfall is that sometimes I want to be the person on the other end. I give my strength to so many other people, yet for the most part, I feel I rely mostly on my own. And most of the time, I am strong enough for that to be possible.

Although I always think I’ve had this strength, having an ostomy made it necessary to rely on myself. By the time I had the surgery, I learned what I could and couldn’t eat. I had to self-navigate my triggers and try to make sense out of them. Oftentimes, I needed to coordinate doctors with specialists and be competent enough to fill in the blanks of my medical history. Mainly, I just had to deal. With the embarrassment, the unpredictability, and the often crippling pain. And then I had surgery, and had to be strong all over again. I had to relearn what I could and couldn’t eat and figure out all the tricks for keeping my ostomy happy. The learning curve was a tough one. Sure, there are support groups. But this is also an individual journey and I needed to be self-sufficient and strong.

But mid-meltdown? I am not. I want to be weak. I need to take a moment to feel sorry for myself. I do not want to hear about how I can beat anything because my body has already tackled everything else. I need to cry and process all the thoughts swirling in my head. I need to feel frustrated at the nonstop barrage of crap being thrown at me. I need to let my shoulders fall and my eyes sink. I need someone to be there for me the way I hope I would be there for them. I just need a moment. Because honestly, I AM strong. And I am damn proud of it. I try to be positive and handle things with composure and as much grace as my body (and personality) can put forth. And once I stop feeling sorry for myself, I will stand up and shake off and go forward and tackle everything on my plate with a vengeance.

I just need a moment.

More on Emotional Health

From Imperfection to Perfection

By Ellyn Mantell

My parents came in two different sizes…my father was extra large and my mother was narrow and slim. While it is not unusual for a daughter to model after her mother, I would say that my modeling was extreme. My mother not only was very weight conscious, she was very rigid and restricting of food and drink, and binging was a big part of her life, and as I found out later, unnamed bulimia. Her daily guidelines for foods to be consumed had a critique that usually ended with “remember, Ellyn,” she would repeat, “a moment to the lips, a lifetime to the hips!”

Blueberries, watermelon, and oranges were on her DO NOT EAT list since they had too much sugar. Meat, potatoes, breads were all annotated with what could just as easily have been a skull and cross bone. So as long as I followed her dictum, I would be narrow and slim like her, or so I thought. The problem was, however, that although I inherited her very narrow and slim upper body, I inherited my father’s larger and rounder lower body. Regardless of how much I tried, I was never to be lithe in my legs and hips. College not only brought the “freshman 15,” it brought anorexia and eventually, bulimia. So I lived with an eating disorder that lasted for years, and the reality of body dysmorphia that plagued me for decades. And now, as an ostomate, I am finally grateful and humbled by my beautiful body…because it is an incredibly resilient organism and I am so proud to own it!

For over two decades my strong little body fought through surgeries, hospitalizations, PICC lines, infections, abscesses and lack of bowel motility. And yet, regardless of my physical state, I would expect it to be thin and attractive, fitting into whatever garment I wanted to wear. I never questioned its strength, its ability to weather weeks in the hospitals or the most grueling of tests and procedures. It was never an issue of can I travel alone to Rochester, Minnesota to the Mayo Clinic by myself and stay for two weeks to have bowel retraining. I just wanted to be certain I could exercise, eat “normally” and not put on weight. Regardless of how many scars I had down and across my abdomen from 23 abdominal surgeries, the goal was to fit into my clothes and like what I saw on the scale. Enduring an enteroclysis study (a wire inserted down the nose to be able to see into the small intestine) I steadily focused on what I would allow myself to eat once I was finished. In retrospect, my expectation of my infirmed body to be perfect was abominable, and I would never, ever support anyone I love put that expectation on their body.

And then four years ago, I had my ileostomy, and suddenly, my now very obedient body gave way to an imperfection I was forced to acknowledge. The first time I saw my reflection in the mirror after the surgery, I was horrified. My high-output bag, which is transparent, was reaching down my short frame to my right mid-thigh. But after the shock of my appliance and pouch, I began to relax and look at the possibility that I could have a new life, free of hospitals, surgeries and worry. I began to see the beauty in my stoma, and named it, as many do. Her name is Lily because my mother, Lillian, gave me my first life, and Lily has given me my second.

No longer striving toward an unrealistic goal, I am no so proud of the ability I have to live and love my life. My little body is strong enough to advocate for others; it is strong enough to lead my support group; it is strong enough to visit those suffering in the hospital, and it is strong enough to start a grassroots movement to open our ostomy center, one of the few in New Jersey! On a personal note, I am strong enough to enjoy my beautiful family, my wonderful circle of friends and celebrate each and every day. And I have learned that perfection may never really have been a possibility for me or others, but imperfection makes me very, very happy!

Finding Confidence and Rocking Your Own Style with an Ostomy

By Tricia Hottenstein

I was packing to head out on a short vacation to Atlantic City and had all my outfits ready in my brand new suitcase. But when I went to pack my swimsuit, I started thinking about walking around at a hotel pool with my ostomy bag sticking out. Something about a hotel pool as opposed to just walking on the beach made me uneasy. I figure I don’t know the people on the beach and they’ll never see me again. But in a hotel for several days? Those people would recognize me. They’d see me dressed up for a nice dinner and know that underneath all that jewelry and makeup, there was a person with an ostomy bag glued to their stomach. A person who earlier in the day had a wet ostomy bag sticking out between their swimsuit pieces. And let’s be honest. A wet ostomy bag is a revealing ostomy bag. There’s no questioning what’s hiding inside of it. Something about that wasn’t okay with me.

Generally speaking, I feel pretty confident about my ostomy. It saved my life and I went from a love-hate relationship with it, to a genuine love of it, to more of a state of ignorance that it even exists. I’m not shy about telling people my situation and I will often show it to people who ask questions. But when it comes to swimsuits, the struggle has been a little more mental. I’ve previously tried one-piece suits and I hate them. I hate the way they pull on my bag when they get wet, the way they stick to every crevice of my body, the way I constantly check to make sure my bag isn’t leaking the second it starts to puff up. I tried bikini styles. My body is not made for a bikini, and the more often I wore it, the more sure of this I was. And then, hallelujah! The high-waisted trend hit stores, and I found a happy medium. A high-waisted bottom to cover most of my bag while still allowing it to breathe, and a cute colorful top that would hopefully draw attention away from the bag peeking out from my bottoms.

I love that I didn’t need to strip a whole wet swimsuit off in order to empty my bag, and I could easily flip it out after the pool to dry it off (which is a necessity in order to keep my sensitive skin from getting angry). The high waist also gave multiple coverage options and I could choose when and how my bag would be displayed. I could tuck it into the bottoms and feel secure, or leave it out over top of the suit if need be. I chose to secure my bag slightly flipped up inside the bottoms with just the top sticking out. Now this I could rock. And I did. But around complete strangers who would be seeing me over and over again, while never actually talking to me to understand who I was and what I’ve been through? It bothered me.

I bought a pretty cover-up. I tried on several new suits, but none worked the wonders I’d hoped they would. I even considered stopping on the way to the shore to keep trying. And then the lights of Atlantic City sparkled before me, and the tropical drinks and palm trees were calling me from the pool. So I went for it. I wore the cover-up and walked to the pool. Of course, I got stuck with several people in the elevator and noticed their eyes glancing down, and my fidgeting was more than noticeable.

I walked in the pool room and found a chair in the corner. I ordered a drink, hopped in the hot tub, and looked around. And I noticed every single other female in there looking as insecure as me. Ladies with towels draped around them the second they were out of the water. Women with tee shirts instead of swimsuits. Some just sitting on the outskirts, partially hidden by palm trees, in regular clothing. And suddenly I was okay. Forget this bag on my stomach. Every single person has something about them they don’t always love. I’ve got stretch marks I don’t worry about, and plenty of extra flab that doesn’t bother me. But for some reason I was getting caught up over this little protrusion on my stomach; a scar of a war I fought hard against and finally won. And I love this thing!

I was honestly upset with myself over the few days for the waver in my self-confidence. I got out of the hot tub, walked around to the pool, and held my head up a whole lot higher. And everyone who’s eyes glanced downward? They looked at me genuinely, some smiled. Because people who rock their scars in public have already changed perceptions. Chronic illness is becoming less and less of a taboo subject. We’re shaking the world by the shoulders. And THAT is beautiful.

Tricia Hottenstein blogs about life as a mother and living with an ostomy at stomama.com

By Heather Brigstock MSN RN CNL

On Sunday, October 7th 2017, my family and I went to bed just like we do every night. School lunches were packed and sitting on the counter ready for the next day. A load of laundry sat in the dryer ready to be folded. Our community of almost 200,000 people was going about its usual routine. We had no idea our world was about to be turned upside down.

I felt my wife get out of bed and assumed it was morning. The faint glow of what I thought was daylight came streaming through our open window. “What time is it?” I asked. “2 a.m. and I smell smoke” she replied. I sighed and rolled over, desperate to get back to sleep. I didn’t smell anything, but she insisted on going outside to check. She quickly returned to tell me she heard explosions outside. This news lured me out of my bed and I went outside to see what she was concerned about. The sky in front of our house was a red glow and we heard explosions in the distance. The blare of sirens reassured us that the fire department was already alerted to whatever this fire was. But something didn’t feel right. Neighbors started pouring out of their houses, some packing up their cars and leaving. Our cell phones were oddly silent despite our expectation that if we were in danger, we would have gotten some kind of alert. The bells at the Catholic Church down the street started ringing at 2:30 a.m. We decided to turn on the radio and see if there was any information about where this fire was. The explosions were getting much closer and the red glow in the sky was growing. Within a minute of listening to the radio, we learned that our town was burning down around us. Flames were surrounding our town on three sides and moving at a speed of over 200 feet per second. Cell towers were overwhelmed so none of the calls we made to alert our friends would go through. The hour that followed was a chaotic blur that is etched in our minds forever. We pulled the kids out of bed and told them to grab anything that could not be replaced. The four of us frantically ran around the house grabbing family heirlooms, photos and packing overnight bags. We crated our three cats and put our fire safe containing important documents in the car. Adrenaline was coursing through us, propelling us to grab everything that could possibly fit in our cars. We had no idea where we were fleeing, so we packed some of the emergency food and water that I always keep on hand. My fourteen-year-old was sobbing, looking for her favorite childhood blanket. My mind kept jumping from being ultra-focused to going blank. I couldn’t remember where basic things were and I kept coming back to the same thought: how did this happen?

The hours, days and two weeks that followed were a painful mix of emotional trauma, sleep deprivation and extreme stress. The National Guard and first responders from all over the country and even Canada, rolled into town. Pictures of the devastation dominated my social media newsfeed. My friend’s homes burned to the ground, with many getting out with only the pajamas on their backs. Hundreds of people were unaccounted for. For two full weeks the fires raged; the wind would shift and flames would change direction, threatening different neighborhoods. Night brought a sinking feeling since the darkness hampered the firefighting efforts, and seemed to carry with it a fear of the unknown. Two out of our three hospitals were evacuated and closed, with flames licking their walls and patients in gowns loaded onto buses. Thousands of people were living in shelters, sleeping in their cars and tent camping in parking lots. The collective grief in our community hung in the air, almost as thick as the toxic smoke that burned our throats. Entire portions of our city were destroyed.

My family and I evacuated to my parent’s house, 30 miles north of Santa Rosa. A couple of days after the fire started, I began getting messages and texts from nurses. People with ostomies were living in the shelters and they had no time to pack their supplies when they evacuated. Since hospitals were contaminated and closed, getting supplies from them was not an option. I alerted UOAA of the issue as I quickly started organizing an effort to gather donated supplies from manufacturers. Living through that experience taught me many things about disaster preparation as someone living with an ostomy.

Before the Disaster

*Prepare now-don’t wait! We have a false sense of security when we think that disasters won’t happen in our town. I never thought a wildfire would rage through my city. Preparing properly could not only save your valuables and ostomy supplies, it could save your life.

*Make a go-bag-A go-bag is a bag that is packed at all times, in an easily accessed place that you can grab as you run out the door in the event of an evacuation. It should contain extra ostomy supplies and necessary medications in addition to important documents. According to FEMA, you should pack your go bag with enough supplies for 3 days. This includes food, water, flashlights etc. Visit ready.gov to see a complete list of recommended items for your go bag. During the fires, we were evacuated for two weeks but many of my friends were evacuated for four weeks, so plan your ostomy supplies accordingly.

*Make lists and assign tasks-Have a family meeting and decide who is responsible for what in an emergency. Instead of everyone running around frantically, each person would have a list of tasks. One person should be in charge of medical supplies and medications. Make a list of family heirlooms/irreplaceable items and where they are located. Don’t forget laptops or thumb drives if that is where photos are stored.

*Make a communication plan- During emergencies, cell towers can be overwhelmed and calls will often drop. In our situation, texts would send but since it was the middle of the night, people outside our area were sleeping and never got our frantic messages. Afterward, we discovered that most cell phones have a way to allow texts/calls to alert from certain numbers even if the phone is on silent. For example, if my phone is on silent for the night but my mom calls me, my phone will ring because it is now set so that her number overrides the silent setting. Learn about the features your phone has for emergencies. Also designate a meeting place outside the area so that if there is a rushed evacuation and your family is separated, you know where to meet each other.

*Keep emergency supplies together-We discovered that all of the emergency supplies I had carefully gathered were not located in the most efficient places. I had food and water in the garage but our emergency radio and first aid kit were out in the shed. I had purchased N-95 face masks but I couldn’t remember where they were. Having the items isn’t enough, they need to be located in a place where they are fast and easy to access. The same rule applies for ostomy supplies-keep them together in a place that is accessible.

*Plan on extra water if you have an ostomy-For emergency preparedness, the Red Cross recommends planning for ½ gallon of water per person per day. However, that is for the average person. If you require more water due to your ostomy or an underlying medical condition, plan on more. You may want to purchase fluids that are enriched with electrolytes to prevent dehydration.

*Keep gas in your car and cash in your wallet- During most disasters, one of the first things that happens is everyone rushes to get gas on their way out of town. Gas stations quickly ran out of gas during the fire. Credit card machines also went down in many locations so cash was the only way to pay for gas. In this era of electronics and technology, always have a backup plan.

*Take pictures- Go through your home and take pictures of each room. This will serve as proof for your insurance company of what you own, and it will also remind you of what you own so you can claim your losses. Take a photo of your medical supplies as well. Store these pictures in more than one place; I recommend keeping them digitally on your phone and hard copies in your go bag.

*Know your insurance policy- Dust off that policy and read it. Know what coverage you have, and make sure you have enough coverage. If you are a renter, strongly consider purchasing renters insurance. If you rent and do not have renters insurance, you can lose everything.

During the Disaster

*You are not replaceable! First and foremost, do not take unnecessary risks to save material items. Your safety is more important than anything else.

*Communicate your needs- If you find yourself in a situation where you don’t have the medical supplies or medications you need, don’t wait until you run out to tell someone you need help. Shelters usually have volunteer nurses/medical staff on site. Talk to them and any other organizations who are on site to let them know you need help. It takes time to get supplies and medication arranged so giving medical staff a heads up before you run out is best. Use UOAA’s list of Emergency Supply Resources or contact a local support group in the area you have been evacuated to if you need help locating supplies.

*Know your rights- If you live in a federally declared disaster area, you are entitled to replacement prescriptions and medical supplies. Call your insurance company to find out what you need to do to replace what you lost. If you are covered by Medicare, information regarding replacing lost medical supplies in a disaster can be found on their website www.medicare.gov or call 1-800-MEDICARE.

*Register with Red Cross and FEMA- If you are impacted by a disaster, the first step in accessing assistance is to register with these organizations so they know you are among the affected.

The Aftermath

*Recognize the impact of trauma- Once the disaster is over, the news trucks leave town and the rest of the world goes back to their normal routine. In the impacted community, the devastation of what occurred remains and nothing is the same. Almost 5,000 homes were lost in my community. I have friends that are still displaced over 2 months later. Entire sections of town are gone and we drive by them every day. We drive by places where we know some of the 45 people died. Trees are frozen in time, charred but forever arched in the wind gusts from that night. The smell of smoke still lingers in certain areas. Toxic ash still kicks up into the air. Rows of chimneys are the only thing that remains in many neighborhoods. Several schools burned down along with many businesses, taking those jobs with them. Housing is extremely difficult if not impossible to find. People are still living in their cars and camping in parking lots. The people who lost homes are of course grappling with overwhelming trauma, but the trauma also impacts anyone who lived through that night. Driving through flames and watching your friends’ homes burn down are not things that are easy to forget. Once I knew our home was going to survive, the survivor’s guilt crept in. Recognize what you’ve been through and seek out professional support if you need it.

On behalf of Sonoma County CA, thank you to every first responder who came to help us fight this devastating fire. Thank you for fighting flames at the walls of our hospitals and thank you for saving the thousands of homes you were able to save.

For more information on how to prepare for a disaster, visit www.redcross.org , www.fema.gov and www.ready.gov

Ostomate or Person Living with an Ostomy?

“Labels are for soup cans.” ~ Grist Mill Road by Christopher Yates

by Jeanine Gleba, UOAA Advocacy Manager with Keagan Lynggard, UOAA Advocacy Committee Member

The UOAA Advocacy Committee produces many educational resources and self-advocacy tools for the benefit of you; you being a person living with an ostomy or continent diversion. Our dilemma has been what to call you or how to refer to you within the context of advocating, educating, and supporting, as you are the subject of what we write about. Sometimes we call you “a person living with an ostomy or continent diversion”. That takes nine words to describe one aspect of your life and this becomes very difficult and cumbersome to write over and over again in a single advocacy or educational document. There is however, a definite trend on social media and with online bloggers to use the word “ostomate” when referring to you, and the community of people who live with an ostomy.

As a national organization that supports all people living with an ostomy it’s crucial that we are sensitive and choose our words wisely so that they are acceptable to our community. Ostomy surgery is already a delicate topic that is often associated with “bathroom talk”, a topic that already has enough of its own societal taboos. Recently our Committee set out to gather survey data to hear from YOU, the people that our work impacts to identify the more acceptable or best term to use in our advocacy written materials and presentations concerning ostomy awareness and education.

Is this a label?

Our surveys certainly sparked an interesting debate. Many responders assumed that we wanted to “label” our community in a derogatory way versus our intention which was to simply look for a word to identify our medical demographic and represent the people we impact. As I read the comments from our responders and thought about what we were looking for, it made me wonder if this is how “labels” are born? Do they arise when people search for a simple and easy to use term to describe something? What happens when a label sticks and there is a negative stigma or insensitivity to those with a particular condition? As I pondered these questions and continued to review further comments, I realized that many people do prefer a simple word (or label) to identify their medical condition. It helps some people feel a sense of belonging and unity within a unique group. So I’m not sure what we would even call the word: a “term” or a “name” or a “label”? It’s also important to stress that although we were looking for a simpler non-offensive term it wasn’t meant to completely and irrevocably replace a “person living with an ostomy”. In fact, the definition of the word “ostomate” is simply a person who has undergone an ostomy.

And the preferred term is…

Here are the results of our surveys:

Total Votes: 331
34% (113 votes) Person with an ostomy
61% (201 votes) Ostomate
5% (17 votes) Other

191 Votes via Facebook
37% (71 votes) Person with an Ostomy
63% (120 votes) Ostomate

23 Votes via Twitter
48% (11 votes) Person with an ostomy
52% (12) Ostomate

117 Responses via Survey Monkey
27% (31 votes) Person with an Ostomy
59% (69 votes) Ostomate
14% (17 votes) Other

Does age affect preference?

In the Survey Monkey survey we asked a few more questions to gain a better understanding of the responders, such as gender, age, or whether their ostomy was temporary or permanent. 98% of the responders had a permanent ostomy with over 80% being older than 55 years of age. Of this older population 62% were female and 38% were male. Of interest the males were 50-50 in their selection of preferred term. Whereas, only 17% of females preferred “person with living with an ostomy”. If this had been a science experiment, and I had to develop an initial hypothesis, given the social trends on the internet, I would have predicted that the term “ostomate” was going to be more favorable for the younger generation. Our results proved this wrong!

 

We also provided an opportunity for people to list a specific “other” term that they would prefer and only three had a specific response like “Packin’ a Pouch”. For the majority of those who selected “other” they did not list another term but rather said it was actually ok to use “ostomate” or they didn’t care, which in turn would increase the # of who prefer “ostomate”. Nineteen percent (3/16 responses) did not want any term.

For the question “For those who do not like the term ostomate, why?” these were some of the reasons why:

· Because I am more than my ostomy or my ostomy doesn’t define me
· Labels what/who you are
· People won’t know what ostomate means or it always needs more explanation

Until you walk in someone else’s shoes…

Here’s what people were saying:

“I don’t want to be defined by my ostomy. Giving me a title/name defines me. I am a mother, a wife, a nurse, and a friend. Those things define me. Not my ostomy. While my ostomy is a part of my life, it does not define my life. PLEASE get away from the term “ostomate.”

“I prefer to focus on the positive – I am LIVING with an ostomy. Ostomate sounds harsh.”

“I also like “Person living with an ostomy”, but Ostomate is easier. What I really don’t like is use of the word “bag” which many, many people, ostomates, nurses and doctors continue to use. It’s very upsetting!” (Check out the Vegan Ostomy blog on this topic.)

“This term is commonly thought to be someone with a bowel ostomy. Mine is an urostomy. I’d like to see a term implies all ostomies.”

“Living with an ostomy sounds better to me and denotes the fact the ostomy gives a person additional life.”

“It labels people (similar to how one would not want to be referred to as the amputee, the diabetic, the bipolar, etc.)”

“I am not a “joiner” and do not plan on meeting others with similar conditions.”

Of notable interest 16/55 people answered this question with a response that they actually like the term ostomate.

In general our overall analysis found that although we did receive a few “neither” or “either” comments followed with the pattern of commentary along the lines of “my ostomy does not define me”, the vast majority preferred the term “ostomate”. We also received comments that support the idea that those who prefer the term ostomate are those familiar with the literal definition of ostomate, those who are involved/active within the ostomy community, or those who have really embraced this aspect of their life. This sense of community was evident in the survey question showing over 70% of responders belong to some sort of support community either online or an ostomy support group.

There is no right answer.

In conclusion, the Advocacy Committee has decided that in most cases we will continue to use the terminology “person living with an ostomy”, which is less “defining”, in our materials; however, given the results of the survey we will also now more freely and confidently include the term “ostomate” in order to simplify a document or when the term is more suitable for our advocacy purposes. I believe in our society of political correctness, we will never be able to please everyone, but we should always aspire to do our best, be respectful of all and try not to stir the pot by adding salt to wounds that are in the process of healing.

Thank you again to all those who participated in the survey and contributed to helping us gather this valuable information.

By Megan Herrett

Adequately summarizing what our family has gone through over the past almost ten years requires going back to the very beginning.  Our daughter, Maggie was three months old when we realized that she looked a little jaundiced.  Our pediatrician agreed and ran what would be the first of hundreds of tests to determine what was wrong with our baby and why her liver function tests were so elevated.  After being seen by multiple specialists here in Boise for a few months, we were referred to a doctor at Primary Children’s Medical Center in Salt Lake City in November of 2008.

Photo by: Natalie Koziuk Photography (www.nkoziukphotography.com)

When Maggie was about six or seven months old, we noticed that she was starting to scratch quite a bit.  Her arms, feet, and ears were covered in scabs and scratch marks.  This itching was a side-effect of her liver not processing bile correctly – when not processed by the liver, the bile backs up into the bloodstream and circulates back through the body, resulting in an increase number of bile salts in the body.  It is these bile salts in the bloodstream that make an individual with a liver disease very itchy.

At first, we were able to control her itching through several medications but by the time she was 12 months-old, her itching had become unbearable.  At that time, her liver was deteriorating quickly and she was exhibiting some developmental delays as a result of the incessant itching.  In a matter of weeks, she had pulled out all of her hair and she was maxed out on her medication dosages.

We were presented with the option of an ostomy-placing surgery when Maggie was just over one-year-old as an alternative to a liver transplant.  The purpose of her ostomy would be to (1) drain bile from her body to combat the itching, and (2) slow the progression of her disease by giving her liver a much-needed reprieve.

To be honest, I was devastated when I first heard the words, “ostomy bag.”  I imagined a life where Maggie would never wear a bikini or be a cheerleader or be captain of her swim team – all very big concepts when you are talking about a one-year old child.  I imagined her being bullied because she was different.  But, we needed a solution…and we needed to act quickly.

Photo by: Natalie Koziuk Photography (www.nkoziukphotography.com)

Maggie underwent ostomy surgery on October 30, 2009, and we haven’t looked back.  She is now eight-years-old and is thriving health-wise as well as academically.  Additionally, she is also excelling on a competitive gymnastics team.  And although Maggie absolutely beams on the outside, she struggles with confidence because of her ostomy pouch.  She is fiercely private and does not want any of her peers to know.  My husband and I have worked tirelessly to emphasize to her that her pouch is nothing to be ashamed of – after all, it saved her life and she would not be the person she is today without it.

In 2010, we were blessed by the birth of our son, Winston.  We soon discovered that he was plagued with the same disease and would then undergo the same surgery when he was just over one-year-old.  Although this news was devastating at the time, we have come to realize that it was a blessing in disguise.  Both of them have the same liver disease and both wear ostomy pouches – commonalities that they can rely on when the going gets tough.

I can still recall my “aha moment” though – that moment when I realized that we would not be a family that sat idly by and let her pouch be a source of shame or embarrassment for her.  Maggie was probably two years old at the time and we were in the throes of potty-training, where our previous line of attack of onesies and bib overalls to prevent her from yanking her pouch off, were no longer an option.  She was finally in a shirt and a pair of pants…and her ostomy bag was peeking out from the hemline of her shirt as we left a restaurant.  A man entering the restaurant noticed her ostomy pouch and said, “Ewwwww!  What IS that?”  Although my initial reaction was one of anger and dismay, it was then that I realized that working with her would be only one piece of the puzzle – we also needed to work with the community to help educate, support and raise awareness for those like Maggie so that the shame, fear and embarrassment would fade away to empowerment and pride.

It was this “aha moment” that led me to contact the United Ostomy Associations of America in January of 2016 about bringing their Run for Resilience Ostomy 5k to Boise.  My inquiry was met with a resounding “YES!”  We held our inaugural race on Saturday, October 8th and had over 160 people registered for the 5K and Kids’ Mile events.  We even had participants, including ostomates and ostomy nurses, drive in for the race from Spokane, Washington and Lewiston! And Hollister even donated ostomy pouches to include in our race registration bags.  If nothing else, I am hopeful that this year we laid the foundation for many successful years to come and got some ostomy-related dialogue started.  Instead of “ewww,” maybe people will say, “Oh, I know what that is and that saved their life!”

The Boise Ostomy 5k is now in its 3rd year! For more information on our Run for Resilience events around the country visit www.ostomy5k.org

After healing from ostomy surgery, people of all ages and types enjoy swimming, surfing scuba diving or just relaxing in a hot tub. We understand the anxiety from worrying about leaks can keep some people out of the pool. There are no ostomy specific restrictions to swimming in public places. “Swimming has made me stronger both physically and emotionally. It is a great outlet and has made me even healthier. I feel and look more beautiful” says Lynn Wolfson of Florida. Lynn has two ostomies and swims in triathlons. Here are some solutions to common concerns.

I’m afraid that my pouch will leak or my wafer will loosen while I’m in the water.

Remember, your pouching system is resistant to water and with a proper fit, it is designed not to leak. If you have output concerns, eat a few hours before swimming. A good habit is to empty your pouch before taking a dip. If you are hesitant about how your wafer will hold, take a practice soak in your bathtub. It is best to avoid applying a new skin barrier/wafer or pouch right before swimming. The WOCN Society recommends allowing 12 hours for proper adhesion. Using waterproof tape or water-specific barrier strips are not necessary for most, but can provide peace of mind. There are a wide variety of ostomy supplies on the market for swimming and you should be able to find a solution that works best for you. If your pouch has a vent, use the provided sticker over the air hole so that the filter remains effective.

What can I wear or do to help conceal my pouch and keep it secure?

Wearing a patterned or darker color is less transparent than a light-colored swim garment. Options for women include patterned and boyleg one-piece suits. For a two-piece suit, consider a mix and match of tankini tops, high-waisted bottoms or boy shorts. You can also look for a suit with a concealing ruffle or skirt. Men often favor a higher cut waist for trunks, or suits with longer legs. Stretch fabric undergarments and swim or surf shirts also provide support. Ostomy bands and wraps are also commonly used. On the beach or poolside don’t be surprised to know that some ostomates are comfortable with simply wearing the swimsuit of their choice- with swim fabric pouch covers or just an opaque pouch. There is also swimwear and accessories specifically made for ostomates by a variety of manufacturers.

What do I do if I am approached by pool personnel concerned that my ostomy is an open wound or believe ostomy pouches are not allowed in pools?

The best approach here is to stay calm and try to educate. However, unless you or another person tell pool personnel, no one should know you have an ostomy. Contact UOAA Advocacy Manager, Jeanine Gleba if this is a recurring issue at your swim location. The Americans with Disabilities Act ensures your right to pool access and most disagreements can be solved through education before exploring any legal recourse. Some scuba diving operations also incorrectly list having an ostomy as an exclusion on pre-dive paperwork. Contacting PADI (800) 729-7234 can help educate them that there is no reason to avoid diving if you have an ostomy pouch.

Meet with a WOC nurse for questions about what supplies may work best for you and stop by your local UOAA Affiliated Support Group or visit our discussion board at ostomy.org to ask what your peers do to feel confident and secure while swimming.

Get yourself a bathing suit and start swimming!