First Time

     The first time I heard the word "colostomy" it was very casually & quickly preceded by the word "permanent". I remember bracing my arms on the examination table & shaking my head from side-to-side like I was trying to get water out of my ears. I looked up to find the eyes of my parents & Chad focused on me; they all knew what I was thinking. PERMANENT COLOSTOMY?! My mind split into a thousand pieces & scattered in every possible direction. PERMANENT COLOSTOMY?! I was 26, a dancer, &, a newlywed. My body was so much more than just my "shell"; it was my art, my passion, my therapy, & at the time, my job. This was, without-a-doubt, going to change my life in a very substantial way but then again, cancer had already started to do so. My mind was a hurricane of  incomplete sentences, what if's, & swear words that, even at 26, I was hesitant to say in front of my parents. The next thing my surgeon said put all the doubt, reservations, & uncertainties into perspective; he looked at me & said: "I am never going to lie to you; because your tumor is so large, your sphincter has been completely compromised which means this will be irreversible. You will have this for the rest of your life BUT this will give you the rest of your life". Since diagnosis, I was desperate for an "ace" - something that would help my mind wrap around the fact that I was facing something that could very easily take me away from my family & Dr. B had just hand-delivered my ace. There was no question as to if I could or would do this. I was all-in.
     My first six weeks of chemo & radiation came & passed by much quicker than I had anticipated &, ready-or-not, I found myself face-to-face with August 19, 2010. 2 days after surgery I had my first look at my stoma (the opening made on my lower-left abdomen) in the ICU when my Ostomy Nurse, Robin, came to talk all things "Colostomy 101" with Chad & myself. It was very-much sensory &  informational overload with words I couldn't pronounce & never-ending options as far as the stoma could see. I somehow managed to keep my composure until Robin left the room & then instantly let my guard fall. It was like someone cued the waterworks & I was ever-ready to hit the mark; I cried heavy tears: tears of anger & fear, tears of uncertainty & nervousness. I cried for the "me" that existed before cancer, before tumors, & before colostomies. I cried so deeply for the 26-year-old who wanted so badly just to live a normal life. Then, something clicked - Dr. B's words replayed in my head: "you will have this for the rest of your life BUT this will give you the rest of your life". What was wrong with me??? I was still breathing & my heart was still beating. I was still alive. I quickly made the decision to allow myself to mourn the "old me" for 10 minutes. I could cry, be mad as hell, & hate the world for 10 minutes & believe me, I definitely did. On the very-eleventh minute, I wiped my eyes, took an extremely deep breath, looked down at my colostomy, & whispered: "thank you".
     Life post-colostomy is so incredibly less dramatic than I had ever expected. Stella (yes, she most definitely has a name - she's my homegirl!) is only a small part my battle & I am thankful for her existence everyday. My colostomy allowed me to celebrated more birthday's, anniversary's, & Christmas's with the people I love so much. I'm able to wake-up next to my love every morning & say "sweet dreams" to my family every night. Life is beautiful & I can't wait to experience every tomorrow that comes my way.

(Photo courtesy of  CNN.com)