It’s not all about poo – five things about stomas and IBD this #WorldIBDDay

Last year over 21,000 colostomy bags were prescribed across Wales.

Take a second to think about that….21,000.

Now, that’s a lot of people who’ve had major bowel surgery in a small nation.

According to Google (the source of all things) 3.063 million people live in Wales, so no matter how you look at it there are a lot of people living here who are getting on with life with a stoma.

I have boxes of appliances (a posh word for bags) in my little flat – and so many lotions and potions for my stoma I have a dedicated bookcase thing for them all – I simply can’t picture what 21,000 bags looks like.

Yes, it cost £4,189,877.07 , but as someone with a permanent stoma I can’t live without my bag…..I’m not sure the same can be said for the £5,105,411 spent dispensing paracetamol in the last 365 days.

Today is World IBD Day, and in the spirit of awareness raising I thought I would take a few minutes to destroy some myths about living with IBD and a stoma is like, by answering a few of those enjoying questions I tend to get thrown my way which really really really wind me up!

I’m not going to try and explain to you exactly what Inflammatory Bowel Disease is, as Crohn’s and Colitis UK do a much better job at it…see photo below.

Since I was diagnosed with Ulcerative Colitis, well YONKS ago, awareness of IBD has gone through the roof.

But some of the things people say to me – even friends – show that there is still a lot of stigma and confusion out there…..and at times a lot of blame is laid at sufferers doors.

So here are my top FIVE myth busters – basically all the things people say to me or have been dying to ask me for years, and have the bubbled over and burst out in a moment of total honesty after a few drinks….

Well, you don’t look sick?

Why thank you very much, that’s very nice of you to say……..

Argh! This is one of those statements which has followed me around my whole life….and it is a massive lie as I often looked horrendously sick.

Not all illnesses show, FACT, and not all disabilities mean being in a wheelchair, FACT. Some chronic conditions are invisible – but that doesn’t mean we are making it up.

Unless I wore a badge or had a sign over my head you wouldn’t know I had ulcerative colitis, and unless I wear a bikini (or you are lucky/unlucky enough to see me naked) you wouldn’t know I had an ostomy.

It’s always really upset me when people think I am making my illness up. Why the hell would I? Who would pretend to have Ulcerative Colitis: It’s not exactly glamorous.

It’s humiliating being questioned and getting dirty looks when you use a disabled bathroom, being stopped at airport security to have your ostomy bag checked for drugs, or running around like a maniac looking for a toilet before you have an accident.

I’ve spent a lot of my life in an awful lot of pain, in hospital, and then recovering. I spent most of my teenage years living a daily battle, and I’ve got the scars to show for it.

But I shouldn’t have to life my t-shirt to show them to you for you to believe me…..my illness is not Santa.

Didn’t you cause your Ulcerative Colitis through eating junk?

Give me a break! No, absolutely, and unequivocally I did not.

Who the bloody hell knows what causes Ulcerative Colitis and Crohn’s Disease….but I can tell you one thing, me eating some sweets 100% didn’t make me ill.

I once appeared on the telly to chat about UC and was asked about this….my reaction was not good.

I was brought up on a healthy diet of home-cooked food, no take aways, in a house hold of non-smokers. I was too young to drink, and I was a studious school girl who ran for her cross-country team and played in a local brass band.

Even if i’d stuffed my face with rubbish and drank etc I wouldn’t deserve this….no one would.

At the end of the day, I will be the first to admit that my diet since I’ve been an adult has been far from perfect. I probably drink too much wine, and eat too many sweets (I have cut down massively), but I mostly live off spinach, fish and pasta.

But at the end of the day, I’m not injecting heroin into my eyeballs am I?

Can you plug up your stoma? Do you have to open a valve to poop?

This may sound silly, but I’ve been asked these things.

The answer to both is NO. The first one is dangerous, the second is just a bit confusing.

I still poo, but just in a different way. While others poo though their bum (put in a crude way) I poo in a bag….It may sound gross, but it’s not dirty or unhygienic. Well, no more so then the normal way, and probably better as I can see what I’m doing.

The bag isn’t changed every time I go to the loo, it opens at the bottom and is emptied…simple.

And it never stops, I can’t switch it off. Which is why I’m still sometimes caught off guard and have to run like mad to find the nearest loo.

Why are you drinking WINE and eating sweets if you are so ill?

Well deserved glass of wine

Well why not? And to be honest after my operation I’ve never been so well, and can do the majority of things, well, within reason.

I do get a little bit angry when people try to make out that I shouldn’t be eating something – while stuffing their own face with crisps, cake, chips and chocolate. Just let me get on with it, I don’t tell you what to eat.

I’m lactose intolerant – so i don’t eat cheese, cake, chocolate, and a whole array of yummy things unless I get my hands on dairy free ones – I also don’t eat spicy food, and rarely eat fast food.

I mostly live off spinach, eggs, potatoes, pasta and loads of salad….which my stoma doesn’t really enjoy but I eat anyway.

Also, it’s a fact that sweets help me and marshmallows and jelly babies are actually listed as medication for when I have bad output days with my stoma. Yes, I often stuff my face with them despite that – but I go to the gym at least four times a week and I walk everywhere.

The fact is that you only have one life. For years I had to analyse every little thing I ate, and had people constantly watching me. I still do to an extent, and it drives me mad as I am a fitness fanatic, and I often have people who don’t look after themselves at all having a go at me…

Are you anorexic, why aren’t you eating anything?

Like many women I focus a little bit too much on my weight. I’ve previously spoken about my feelings about it and the problems of my ever shifting size while living with IBD.

The picture of me above was when I was painfully thin after my first op.

But I’m not anorexic, and it hurts when people say things about my weight, comment on my eating habits, or asked me why I wasn’t eating when I was scared of putting things into my body because I was in so much pain.

You can read the full post here.

A battle of skin and bones: the ever changing size of IBD #7daysofIBD

IBD, it’s just a toilet issue isn’t it?

No, while one of the symptoms can be going to the toilet a lot, it can be the other symptoms which can be the most crippling.

The illness goes way beyond the toilet stall, and everyone who has IBD tends to be different.

My case before my surgery was extreame, with severe blood loss, non stop toilet visits, horrendous pain, crippling fatigue, weight loss, and even at one point my hair started coming out.

I also now have bad joint pain, and osteophrosis from years of steriod treatment.

Anyway, enough with this depressing stuff…Happy World IBD Day

To end this I want to say, IBD makes me different on the inside from most people as I have an illness which makes my body do horrible and painful things.

I also don’t have a large bowel and my bum is sewn up.

But I am a normal person, who can do pretty much everything everyone else can. I just need some medication and a bit of TLC to help me stay healthy, and to look after my stoma.

Happy World IBD day. Let’s keep sharing awareness together.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Getting caught short, why toilets need to be accessible for everyone

As someone with an ostomy bag and who’s had Ulcerative Colitis for well over a decade I’ve used more toilets than the average Joe.

Indeed you could probably call me a toilet connoisseur.

I’ve used lavish toilets for mayors, all to revealing bathrooms with glass doors, ones tiled and marbled with arty shots on the walls, and ones which should be visitor attractions they’re so unique and beautiful.

But as someone with IBD I’ve been forced to use bathrooms that no person should have to step foot in – in my desperation I’ve been made to venture where no woman should ever have to go, and I’m not talking about running into the mens!

For me, a lack of toilets or grossness is simply a deal breaker. Just as you wouldn’t go back to a restaurant where you got food poising, I won’t go back if I’d had a bad bathroom experience – no matter how good the food was.

Yesterday I was caught short while out enjoying the sunshine in Cardiff. I’d wrongly thought the toilets at the museum would still be open, but they were closed after cleaning, with a line of security guards literally guarding them from soiling – they must have been waiting for the Queen to come!

Anyway I can’t tell you how upset I was. We’d wandered that way to enjoy our lunch on the grass because I knew there were toilets nearby, and by the time I walked into the blockade of guards I was nearly at explosion point

I got hot, flustered, agitated and the tears started brewing as my boyfriend ran around trying to find me a toilet. Like a hero he found one, but by then our day was tainted by my illness….it was a gut-wrenching reminder of the days when I couldn’t go two minutes without running towards the nearest cubicle.

Anyway I’ve decided to throw my weight behind the Colostomy Association’s and Crohn’s and Colitis UK’s efforts to get more accessible toilets for all, with facilities needed for those who need to change their bags.

Read about the Colostomy Association’s campaign here.

Apparently one in 500 people in the UK live with a stoma, but despite that very few toilets have shelves, some don’t have hooks, and many are unclean….none of this is nice if you need to change an ostomy bag.

The case was highlighted when Welsh mum Caroline Richards’ posted a picture on social media of her stoma products scattered across a toilet floor as she tried to change her appliance. Her story was picked up by the national press and highlighted the need for basic things in toilets, which would make all the difference to hundreds of ostomates lives, and give everyone else somewhere to put their handbag and coat!

Read the story here. 

Disabled loos also seem to be cleaned less often, are more likely not to have toilet roll, and many can’t be used unless you have a key. There’s also the judgemental look when you use one,  and the fear that someone in a wheelchair might be waiting when I come out.

In my many years of running backwards and forwards to toilets I’ve seen how gross people can be – why does anyone think it is acceptable to decorate bathrooms with toilet roll, or eat sandwiches in toilets?

I’ve also marvelled at why the women’s loos are always the furthest away from civilisation; at times down or up flights of stairs, then along a maze of corridors, and sometimes even outside.

This is one of the most photogenic toilets I’ve found in Cardiff.

I’ve hovered above loos you should have to wear a gas mask to use, those blocked with stuff that reminds me of that pretty revolting scenes from Train Spotting, and had those horrible moments when you realise the only toilet roll available is all over the floor.

I’ve perched over holes in the ground terrified of spiders biting my bum, raced into public loos filled with graffiti and probably needles, tried to change my bag with my supplies placed on a dirty pub toilet floors with drunken revellers banging on the door, and endured the joys of broken toilet seats where if you don’t balance your weight on both bum cheeks equally you’ll fall on the floor.

One of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do was trying to change my leaking bag in a nightclub toilet, where it was so dark I had to use the torch on my phone to see what I was doing.

While I’m normally too desperate to make a choice over where I go to the loo, I always try to avoid public toilets at all costs. Basically because they are normally revolting and the queue for the ladies is rarely an option for me.

Anyway, this is the 2016 (well last time I looked it was) and it’s time for public services to be better and more accessible for all members of the public.

In a great move the Welsh Assembly (where I work) has changed its disabled toilet signs to show they are for people of all genders and with all disabilities.

Massive fan of this at the Welsh Assembly @CrohnsColitisUK #IBD #Ostomy pic.twitter.com/j5cPvZbhhF

— Rachel Flint (@DailyPostRachel) April 26, 2016

I just hope this is something adopted by local councils, and then rolled-out further into coffee shops and shopping centres.

Day 7: Never give up hope – What I’ve learnt from #7daysofIBD

This week has been all about raising awareness of what IBD is. I hope you’ve learnt something – I certainly have.

What always amazes me about the IBD community is how open, honest and brave the people who suffer from Crohn’s and Colitis are.

Back when I first became ill Crohn’s Disease and Ulcerative Colitis were relatively unknown, they were what Dr Christian Jessen would have described ‘an embarrassing illness’.

Talking about toilets was frowned upon – unless that is you were a lad who could fart really loudly, and then that was, well, your crowning glory.

Social media has it’s downsides (believe me I know) but for Crohn’s and Colitis it has been such a breath of fresh air.

The illness has gone from something people were frightened of talking about, hidden behind the toilet door, to having this massive community on twitter, Facebook, blogs and youtube full of people giving each other support and advice…and hope.

People proudly share their stories of bravery and their remarkable battles to go on to do amazing things, most of which I could only dream of: the ultra marathons; the world record attempts – even just wearing a bikini with a stoma.

The world is unrecognisable from the one in which the teenage me hid in the school toilets, tucking my feet up the side of the cubicle, and trying to be quiet as I tried to curl up in shame.

Now every single day celebrities, politicians and sport stars, and just incredible every day people are sharing their stories in local and national press….it’s remarkable.

It feels like a week doesn’t go by without IBD being in the tabloids, sometimes for weird ‘junk causes Crohn’s’ claims, but mostly for stories which make me want to punch the air and shout ‘you go girlfriend’ – now that would raise an eyebrow in the Welsh Assembly lobby.

Yes I wish people were still more understanding: especially when they tut at me for using the disabled loo –  if my can’t wait card works in Italy why do I sometimes need to pretend to be pregnant to skip the toilet queue when my bag is about to explode (sorry my little rant).

I remember as a teen hiding in the loos, trying to hide my frightening illness, wasting away with no idea what was happening to me – I was so weirded out by what was happening I would rather have died than told anyone.

I wonder what it would be like now for me, in a world of being able to google for help and advice.

But there is no point in looking back in that wishful way, I’m just so happy  things are on the way up for IBD: yes, there is still no cure, it is still a horrific illness, but awareness and understanding is growing on fundraiser, stoma bag selfie, and bare tummy at a time.

No one with IBD should ever feel alone again – get online, learn to laugh at those horrible moments with others, cry, smile, giggle, grumble and vent,  and just support each other.

No one should be defined by an illness – don’t let it rule you, share your experiences and show it you’re the boss.

Day 5: A battle of skin and bones: the ever changing size of IBD #7daysofIBD

I’ve always had an ongoing battle with my weight, let’s put that on record.

I have bad body confidence issues, and I rarely realise quite how tiny I am until I see pictures – basically I simply don’t see what other people see when they look at me.

I’m currently the happiest I have ever been with my weight. My training at the gym and healthy-ish eating regime has allowed me to get into the right-side-of-normal weight bracket for the first time since before my illness began.

But even now that I’m happy and well I still think people judge me.

I know when people look at me they think I’m too thin, skinny, anorexic even, but this is me – I am tiny, and it’s my body after all.

have a sexy stoma bag!!

Me & Winnie at Gay Pride in Bristol – just a little bit burnt

My comfizz underwear – amazing support but not sexy!!

Bend and stretch 🙂

Wow did I really try to eat all that?

Just after second op

gym

There is always so much said in the media about tiny people: we get a lot of bad press, and I guess I’m a bit of a hypocrite because when I look at thin girls I also jump to the same conclusions as everyone else.

But the fact of the matter is, while being skin and bone isn’t a good look, some people are just thin – either because we are built that way, or we have an illness you can’t see.

I have Ulcerative Colitis, and when I was model-skinny it was because my bowel and anything I put in my mouth was literally falling out into the toilet – I was tiny because I was chronically ill, in agonising pain and feeling like I was going to die.

I 100% did not appreciate someone coming up to me and saying, “that girl needs a good feed” or, even worse, “I wish I was as thin as you” – you really don’t, believe me!

I also didn’t appreciate people watching me eat ( know some did it out of concern) – or even worst commenting on how many times I went to the loo which was a major part of my condition.

I guess what’s always made all this worse is when the cake is passed round I can’t eat it – I might be lactose intolerant but the fact I turn it down seems to shout that I have an eating disorder.

Either way there is an assumption made (even by me shamefully) that we choose to be this size – and the looks and comments always hit you right where it hurts.

Over the years my body shape has morphed, with it being unrecognisable from year to year either through severe illness or healing drugs.

Looking back at pictures I hardly recognise the person at times…the moon faced girl, with a giant lollypop head (from steroids) balancing on a skeletal body; the bloated frame of a fresher enjoying booze at uni; and the painfully thin, stripped to her ribs teenager covered in bruises and wires.

I now know how terrifying it must have been for my family to see their daughter wasting away, especially in the months before they diagnosed me.

I’ve been so thin it has actually hurt.

Have you had that? 

It’s not just not a good look, it is actually painful to be that tiny. I’m talking about when your own ribs and spine stick out so much they cause you pain – when you can’t lie down because you’re so bony.

Yes, I’m not going to lie, I’m obsessed with my body. 110% obsessed with having a good, fit, healthy, and well, decent sized body, I love the gym and I eat well – but I will not weigh myself.

That’s because I am actually obsessed with my weight. 

After years of being forced to monitor it non-stop to check every ounce and kg vanishing from me down the toilet, it’s become ingrained in me to the point of an almost obsession, a bit like checking my poo.

So I only weigh myself when I have to (like when I am in hospital). And I now check my body through how comfortable I feel in my own skin, and that pair of jeans – it has got to a stage where I can say that I am frightened of loosing weight, and want to stay as I am.

Yes,  90% of all of my body image issues, battle with weight, and my constant collar bone is due to my battle with IBD – it can strip me of 2 stone in just a few weeks, it is frightening how fast I waste away.

But I will put this on the record, probably 10% of how tiny I am is down to the fact that I grew up thinking being thin was the way forward (due to magazines and pop stars) and even now, as an adult, adverts and movies tell me I need to be slender to be hot.

If it was up to me I would be more curvy, more athletic, and a bit more womanly – but I will never be that shape, my body simply isn’t made that way, so i work hard to look after what I’ve got.

I have my imperfections, and being small has taken it’s toll on my body and battered it over the years. I have Ulcerative Colitis, I have a stoma, and I have skin conditions and well have had osteoporosis since i was 24.

But for now I am healthy, and I am happy with how I am – even if I do struggle to get jeans to fit, and get endlessly frustrated by the lack of my size in the shops.

I would just love it if people would have thought over the years, when I was struggling to walk, vomiting and running back and forth to the loo, to think it might be insensitive before telling me to fatten up; calling me anorexic; or saying “i wish i was that thin”.

I was living on the edge of hospitalisation and in chronic pain – if my daughter is ever that thin I will be panicking – so no you don’t wish you were that thin!

Just a thought!

 

Day 3: A magical 28th birthday #7daysofIBD #7daysofstoma

I made it to the grand old age of 28 – it feels like an achievement.

I was after all a premature baby, who was born fighting.

Teamed with my Ulcerative Colitis it has taken a giant team of very dedicated people and a fantastic amount of love and patience from my family to get me this far.

I hope I’m not wasting the gift I’ve been given.

Yesterday was my birthday and I had the day off, accompanied by a stinking hangover. But despite the big headache I had a truly lovely day, deliriously pain free and felt very happy and loved indeed.

My birthdays are always a quiet affair. I like the simple things: a good meal, some wine, a lie in, and no chores all day.

Oh and fab gifts, loads of best wishes messages and some unexpected cards too.

I also ate the thing I try to avoid, as it blows me up like a whale – bread.

Chris spoilt me with some really gorgeous flowers, and we spent the day freezing and feeling sick from stuffing our faces with sweets wandering around the Christmas market stalls in Cardiff, with me getting soaked as someone wasn’t too great at holding a brolly.

I even found a vegan Welsh cake – which might not have helped with my twitchy tummy today.

It was all polished off with my favourite – not Winnie’s favourite – meal at Bills’, spinach, bacon and avocado salad and sweet potato fries….mmmm.

Here’s to many more healthy, happy and pain free birthdays for decades to come.

Day 2: Free wine that’s all I have to say on the matter #7daysofIBD #7daysofstoma

Me at the office

I’ll keep this short, mostly because I’ve got a stinking hangover.

It’s day three, but I’m writing about day 2 of my blog a day for IBD awareness week, and I’m a year older.

All I can say is that I can’t handle a free bar – that’s not really to do with my IBD, more that I am simply not good with wine.

I’ve known that I’m a lightweight for years, but not drinking and journalism don’t go hand in hand, oh and I do love a good glass of cold white wine.

I want to put one thing on the record: just because I have Ulcerative Colitis it doesn’t mean I can’t have a good time.

I’m allowed to drink, eat the occasional bag of chips and let my hair down – I just have to be a little bit more careful than the average joe as I can get into sticky situations a lot more quickly.

To be honest with you that’s not really down to my illness, it’s more that I’m tiny weeny and often forget I can’t drink a lot of wine despite my best efforts.

It was one of my editors that once told me: “Rach you eat like a tiny little bird – you should drink like one too”.

I ignored those words of wisdom – sometimes they come back to me and echo in my brain in a Yoda like way when I’m getting in my third large glass.

At times when I am ill I often cut out drinking all together. I can and have stopped drinking for months on end. Stopping the booze does help a fair amount, and it is nice to go weeks without waking up once with a head like cotton wool.

But we live and we learn.

Winnie is not a fan of cheap wine, she goes green and sickly looking, and often has a right paddy. To be honest the only time she ever chooses to leak is when I’m hungover and it is literally the last thing I want to deal with.

Anyway, today I’m 28, and I have woken up feeling it.

 

Day one – red, green and other weird coloured poop #7daysofIBD #7daysofstoma

Seeing red in your ostomy bag is a frightening experience.

Spotting blood where it isn’t meant to be is horrifying for anyone (if you’ve not experienced it I hope you never do), but after 14 years of Ulcerative Colitis seeing red is enough to make my world crumble.

It is the tipping point, the moment I have to stop kidding myself that the agonising pain will vanish (even though i know it never will) and the horrible realisation that I will have to drag myself to hospital.

When I say spotting blood it is more like a massacre – not that I want to frighten any of you.

Anyway that’s beside the point. For the past year I’ve lived without red in my stools – well until I eat something like tomato soup, and then I nearly always forget I’ve eaten it and freak out.

Some foods do weird and wonderful things to my stoma output and turn it bizarre colours which would startle any right minded person and have you running to the doctors whispering “why is my poop bright purple? What exotic disease have I got?”

You probably wouldn’t stop to think you might have eaten beetroot – but there again most people don’t examine their poo for weird qualities like people with IBD have drummed in them to do.

Today I forgot I’d eaten tomato soup, hence I had a little heart jumping moment (like when I see a large spider lurking in the bathroom) when I saw the bright red colour of my stoma bag contents.

As a now slightly seasoned ostomate I’ve taken to taking a little moment to think while I’m sat on the loo – I stop and say ‘Rach what have you eaten that might have caused this…’, before I allow myself to properly freak out that my illness is back or has morphed into Crohn’s disease.

It’s a good job I did – the memory of the tomato soup came flooding back and I visibly relaxed.

morning

gym

dinner

The first time my output went green I went mental…what the hell, what did it mean, I hadn’t even eaten anything green!

Green is pretty normal for me: I adore spinach even if my stoma does not.

But for most green is a sign that what you are eating simply isn’t being absorbed – it means you’re having too much fibre, or your food is going through you. This happens to me a lot, as I insist on eating the foods my digestive system doesn’t like, such as: rocket, spinach, cucumbers – which do from time to time cause me a lot of pain through blockages.

I remember being totally freaked out though the day my output went bright green – I mean pretty much luminous – a consequence of some very horrible cocktails the night before.

Bad colourings in cocktails have also led to slightly purple output, bright red and a slightly blue tint – always a really horrendous experience when you’re hungover and confused enough without thinking your dying.

In other news I went to the gym, got drenched posting letters and almost got lifted off my feet on the way home – thanks lovely Cardiff weather.

 

Campaign for better hospital food in Wales begins – join the fight

Today my official campaign to stop the slop finally got off the ground.

As you all know I’ve been banging on and on and on about NHS food for years – until a few weeks ago, starved and delirious, I finally snapped.

My mission is simple but will need a lot of support.

I want the Welsh Government to look at the food the Welsh NHS feed their patients, investigate and see if it is up to scratch.

Then I want them to give staff the right support and facilities to feed people (including tailoring meals for people with certain conditons and allergies) what they need to help them get better – instead of banging their heads against a brick wall and taking away full plates of food.

I know I will come under fire over this campaign – I am brutally honest about my negative experiences – but if it sparks improvements people can hurl rubbish my way and I will happily duck.

This is not about undermining the hard work of the amazing doctors, nurses and catering staff in the NHS.

I admire them greatly; they’ve saved my life; held my hand; stayed with me when I am frightened and gone above and beyond their jobs to keep me alive and strong over my many years of chronic illness.

They brought me back to life as a baby, and also gave me back my life from the grip of Ulcerative Colitis after so many years – for all of this I will never ever be able to repay them.

I am literally in awe of the NHS and the staff that work for them – but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to see improvements.

This campaign I hope will help them to do their jobs more easily and without having to endlessly deal with hungry, angry patients, who are not getting better because they are not eating properly.

My petition has appeared on the Welsh Assembly website and I need you all to sign it (if you want to of course).

Ludicrously I only need to get 10 signatures for it to be considered by the committee – which could mean I could ask get 10 people to agree AMs personally have to give free lollipops to donkeys (and if it is devolved) they would have to talk about it.

Please help me with my campaign, hopefully it can make just a little bit of difference for the greater good. I will not stop banging on about this until something is done – and I know you all would like me to shut up!

Petition: Food in Welsh hospitals

In the meantime please share your experiences, pictures of your Welsh hospital food, and anything which might help to build up evidence in this campaign.

Please send to @thestomabaglady or visit my facebook page to share your story.

 

 

 

 

 

Why I’m proud of my surgery scar a lasting reminder of my battle with IBD

There are a lot of things I would change about myself if I had the chance.

My wonky (some might say quirky) teeth, flyaway eyebrows and weird hairline would be top of my list.

But I wouldn’t get rid of my scars or my ostomy.

Winnie (my stoma) certainly picks her moments to have strops – the most noteworthy was bursting into farts as I interviewed David Cameron for the first time a few weeks ago.

The Prime Minister may have chosen not to comment or simply didn’t hear her popping away – but I had to struggle on with my hand desperately pressing my abdomen as she made frankly hilarious noises which would normally have had me laughing and apologising.

But despite this I wouldn’t get rid of her, mostly because I can’t.

My ostomy and my scars tell a story; from the slit in my nose marking the place the feeding tube went in as a premature baby, to the pits on my legs showing an ugly reminder of a tough time when I thought I would never show my legs again.

I often thought before my ostomy surgery that I would hate my surgery scar, that it would turn me into something repulsive.

I remember seeing it for the first time after my operation, oozing and sore, and like a war wound bound up with metal and wire – and I couldn’t cope.

But now that scar that snakes down past my belly button to my pelvis seems almost beautiful to me – it reminds me of a journey completed and a battle won.

I’ve thought about getting some sort of tattoo around my scar (not the one on my nose), not to hide it but to make it prettier, but for now I’ve decided to let it be.

So this summer I’m determined to finally get my belly out on the beach for the first time and I’m going to have a good look for a bikini to show off my figure, ostomy bag, scar and all.

And as it was World IBD day this week I thought there would be no harm in letting you all see how I’m getting on with a few selfies of how me, my scar and Winnie are looking these days.

My ostomy may be looking a little red and sore, she might fart at the most stupid moments, but two years on from my first lot of surgery I wouldn’t get rid of her for the world.

She is the most significant thing that ever happened to me – and that’s a fact.

Happy World IBD Day – Ignore the ignorant and mean and keep fighting for awareness

It’s hard to say this, but for years I wanted to die.

You probably wouldn’t have noticed as I was a determined little sod. I kept my tears (mostly) behind the toilet door and slapped a slightly grumpy smile on my face as I threw myself into work like I was bashing out my frustrations on a career and homework punch bag.

Secretly I was begging for the pain – which left me doubled over writhing and crawling up toilet walls –  to end, and I simply didn’t care how.

Happy and (fairly) healthy these days

I was desperate, fatigued, living in chronic pain, battered bruised and exhausted. I never considered suicide but when the pain had me screaming I would simply want it all to be over.

As a teenager I was often too tired to climb up my bunk bed ladders, at University I often slept in the toilet, and at work I filed copy from my phone while sat on the toilet at crown court, rushing to get the story written while balancing my notes on my knee.

Now I can hardly imagine how I coped, but for 14 years I did and so did everyone who tried to deal with ill Rachel day in day out.

For 14 years ill Rachel was totally unpredictable; one day bubbling with energy, the next unable to get out of bed, falling over to get to the bathroom and crying alone in desperate tiredness.

You see since I was a teenager I have lived with a totally invisible illness. To the naked eye I didn’t look sick – well sometimes bloated from steroids others just a skeleton – but inside my body a fierce battle was raging.

I had Ulcerative Colitis, for years they thought it was Crohn’s but having taken out my entire bowel they are now almost sure (well they better bloody be) that it’s Colitis.

To call people with IBD brave is an understatement – stubborn is probably a better word.

IBD is a cruel condition, it comes and goes but never truly leaves us. It flares, or more like springs up, sometimes without rhyme or reason, and ruins everything, leaving you clinging on to life by your fingertips.

Just after second op

The Crohn’s Walk

During my 14 year battle – now finally (hopefully) at an end thanks to a miracle surgeon and a temperamental ostomy bag – I learnt that a hard lesson. Pain hurts but ignorance is far more damaging.

Shops ignoring my can’t wait card so I literally pooed myself; bitchy comments about my lollipop round face (due to steroids); the needle marks on my arms; my skeleton frame; colleagues moaning about me being on the toilet too long; stares; food tips; comments about my eating; the rude tuts from old people as you use the disabled toilet; and the comparison with cancer – were just some of the things that slapped me in the face during my flares.

Today is World IBD day, and today I have something to say to everyone who has ever used my illness to say something nasty when I felt like I was hanging on by the skin of my teeth, and made me feel a little bit more shit.

To everyone who ever said “well you don’t look ill”, called me anorexic, suggested I eat something, or said “well at least it isn’t cancer’, or in the worst dig of all tried to make out I had got somewhere in life because people felt sorry for me because i was ill.

I want to say to you that I made it, despite your ignorance, and if I can so will many other people.

Words hurt sometimes more than spasms and projectile vomiting, and well staples in the bum.

And I say that knowing that I have said horrible things to people far too many times in my 27 years on this planet.

Back after my first operation – so skinny it hurts

But in the end, for all the haters and mean people in the world (and those who don’t mean it but don’t understand), there are millions of kind people and hundreds of thousands who are going through just what you are going through.

When I first started this blog a number of people said it was a bad idea, that I would open myself up to ridicule and trolls and all the other nasty stuff the internet can bring – they were wrong.

They were also wrong when I posted my first picture of my stoma on Twitter, and I got all the acceptance I had needed for years from so many people with not a single negative remark.

These days I can’t poop or fart the way normal people do, and if someone says something I try to laugh it off. But back when I was a teen it would have mortified me – i would literally have rather died.

Every half an hour someone in the UK is diagnosed with IBD – and that means one other person sitting on a toilet somewhere is seeing their world fall out of their arse and might just be begging to die like I was just two years ago.

It also means that one day I might have to see my child (if I can have them) live through the same thing, a thought that honestly horrifies me.

So I want to say to the millions of people out there who have Crohn’s or Colitis, you are not alone.

The world is a different place these days – don’t hide in the toilet embarrassed and alone, there are literally thousands of people with IBD who are out there waiting to talk and help and be your friend.

Speak to people, your best friend, neighbour, teacher, partner, parents, you might be surprised but they are probably worried sick about you.

Surround yourself with people who care, and who love you and who you know you would look after if the tables were turned, like my amazing friends, family, boyfriend who have helped me through everything over the years and who leave me totally speechless. 

Anyone who is nasty, educate them, and if they still won’t listen they simply aren’t worth your energy – in the end it is precious.

Before I break into a Taylor Swift song I’m going to go – but don’t whatever you do in life let more poop get you down it’s a battle enough.