Skip to main content

My first Stoma-less shower

I used to shower once or twice a week (or after a leak) because of the faff. Dont worry I would have lots of washes and Glastonbury showers (see previous post) in between. 

With a Stoma bag I found that there was no jumping in and out of the shower and no such thing as a quick rinse!

Showering with my old Stoma could be a bit like showering with a bomb. You never know when it was going to leak and explode everywhere. Or that's certainly my experiences. I have met people with lovely quiet, well behaved stomas that never leaked but I wasn't blessed with one of those!

I could never just get out of the shower and have a quick dry and go, or equally loll around in my dressing gown getting dressed at my leisure. I would have to get down to the business of changing the soaking wet bag of poo and putting a new bag on (which regular readers will know has proved to be a bit of a challenge for me in the past). A lady in hospital said she used to put a nappy bag over her Stoma bag secured with bull dog clips to stop it from getting really wet if she wanted a quick shower (I will try to get her to send me a picture to add in here!)

But this morning I was disconnected from my TPN feed at 8am as they have reduced the feeding time down from 20 hours to 12 hours- hallelujah!

Being wire free and cannula free I decided it would be good to take a shower. And it was the most liberating experience I have had in years. 

I had a lovely hot shower, washed my hair, scrubbed every inch of my body and shaved my legs. Maybe too much information, but hey, that's what you get when you read this blog. 

I found this picture on the Internet which I think demonstrates the difference between a shower with my Stoma and how it was this morning:



I haven't quite reached these standards...


...but a girls gotta have something to aim for. 

So if you think about how something as simple as a shower can be made difficult by a hidden illness, spare a thought for the battles that some people have every single day.


Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Light at the end of tunnel

I’m sat writing this blog post in St Marks, the specialist bowel hospital in London. So much has happened in the last few weeks; it’s all been a bit of a whirlwind. But I finally feel like there is some hope at the end of the tunnel. Let me tell you why.  At the beginning of June I was admitted yet again to QMC in Nottingham with huge amounts of pain, my bowels not working properly and just feeling generally unwell. I had only been home a couple of weeks since the admission in May but I had been feeling so rubbish most of my time had been spent in bed. I had tried everything I could to stay at home but the pain had become so bad I was barely able to stand or take a few steps on my own.  I had expected to maybe be in for a week or two to get stronger pain meds and get back on my feet but I ended up being in for almost a month. They put me on morphine injections and ketamine but then stopped them when my heart rate dropped to 30 beats per minute and my breathing to 7 breaths a minute. Th

The light at the end of the tunnel is a train

Last week was a busy and pretty crappy week for me health wise. I had to go and have blood tests done with the nutrition nurses and I had two hospital appointments; one with the gallbladder surgeon in Nottingham and the other with colorectal surgeon at St Marks. I was hoping to have at least one surgery date to write in the diary following these appointments but I came home empty handed on both occasions. Here’s what happened.  I began noticing over the last few weeks that I’ve started feeling really crappy. I’m feel lucky to have been at home for the last 6 months and I have been the most well I have been for years but it felt like things had shifted slightly recently but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. But years of being sick means I know my body and I can tell when something isn’t right. I have been feeling permanently exhausted and having way more bad days than good. I’ve gone back to spending 2, 3 or more consecutive days in bed, unable to do anything but watch tv and sleep.

The wrong size line

I’m on the M1 heading back to Nottingham after a road trip to St Marks to get my line repaired. But this is me, and as usual it wasn’t a smooth ride. More like a bloody shit show. So what happened? Let me tell you… After being admitted to QMC in Nottingham on Sunday with a broken Hickman line I was taken down to Interventional Radiology on Monday afternoon to get my line repaired. Firstly, I couldn’t believe it was happening so quickly and secondly I didn’t want to get too excited because, well it’s me, and usually things don’t go according to plan. And sadly I right to rein in the excitement.  When the doctor came to consent me for the procedure it was for a replacement, not a repair. I assumed he had made a mistake so I told him I was there to get my line repaired and was definitely not there for a new one. He looked at me and said “I hate to be the bearer of bad news…” and that’s a sentence that never bodes well. He then went on to say that they didn’t have any repair kits and that