HockeyGear: StomaGuard

I had traded Rectal Cancer for a Resection and Permanent Colostomy, and 4 months later I was back playing hockey.  I was naturally concerned about herniating, and about stoma-damage by rubbing or impacts.

Hockey is a rough game.  The best hockey players are big, strong, fast, aggressive, and mean.  I only have the ‘fast’, and some players are double my weight.  I have always worn the best protective equipment to avoid injuries.  And that was before I had a colostomy and stoma. 

I first tried playing with just an unprotected pouch. As my stoma was on-line with my hockey pants belt, the rubbing was an obvious problem. I was feeling unsupported and insecure about herniating, and certainly nervous about impacts.  So I quit this experiment after 1 game.

I then tried playing with the Convatec Stoma Cap Cover and a Nu-Hope Ostomy Girdle.   I used this setup for most of 2 years, and it gave me moderate impact protection, and good hernia support.  But the girdle cost some flexibility of movement, and there was slippage of both the Stoma Cap Cover and the girdle, which stressed my flange adhesive.

I wanted superior impact protection, similar hernia support, with better flexibility.  I talked with Bob Zurowski from Stomaplex and got the answer.  

Freedom-Guard's outer shield is strong enough to take hockey impacts, but can be bent to fit the abdominal contour. The belt is comfortable on my skin, and gives good hernia protection without restricting flexibility or mobility.  The U-shaped padding holds the appliance in place, while protecting the stoma.  I wanted extreme protection for hockey, so Bob built the neoprene padding out to 5/8 inch.  I was pleasantly surprised that the Freedom-Guard stays in place, with no shifting or sliding, even with the hockey-belt right on the Freedom-Guard, and the hockey pants moving as I stretch, bend, and rotate.

With the Freedom-Guard, I feel confident the appliance will stay secure. 

I feel supported for hernia protection, and I know I am safe from impacts.

Now the real game-day testimonials. It has been mentioned that I play bigger than my size (‘he’s only 150 pounds, but plays like he’s 190). I think that is intended to be complimentary, but that style is hard on my body.  In 55 years of hockey I made a quick count of 3 concussions requiring hospitalization, 12 broken bones, 3 shoulder separations, and 1 torn knee.  A colostomy hasn’t changed that style. I have taken hits, crashed into the boards, fallen on the ice, blocked shots, and been speared with sticks.  

Sometimes I hurt.  But my stoma has never been hurt. 

It is a real testament to StomaPlex that I can continue to play that style with warranted confidence.

Read Prior posts on

My Comeback to Hockey

HockeyGear:Cup&Girdle

I receive NO financial benefit for sharing this experience and product review

Penalties for Not Listening

Hockey player Paul Riome didn’t listen to his body or his doctor.  

Minor Penalty was undetected cancer.  Major Penalty was a permanent colostomy.  

Riome tells of his experiences, attitude adjustments, and comeback to hockey. 

The story is about overcoming colorectal cancer 

and showing other hockey “tough-guys” the importance of prevention.

Even with daily rectal bleeding for over 2 years, I refused tests and examinations.

“You got Cancer ...  Life-expectancy is uncertain”.  Reminiscent of nasty and unexpected hockey hits, I asked myself  “what the hell was that for?”  Of course there was no answer, but I adjusted quickly and vowed that after surgery, I would do everything that I could do before surgery, and I would play hockey again. 

Surgery day arrived.  A nurse fussed to be sure the hospital gown covered my backside.  I joked at the silly gesture, as a dozen people would see everything I had, from the outside and the inside. 

After 6 hours of surgery, “I am back and I am alive!”

During recovery at the hospital, I set my sights on completing what I named a sprint, a half-marathon, and a full-marathon (actually … a shuffle to the doorway, to the nursing station, then a full loop around the ward). 

The rehab routine was similar to hockey injuries, but the outcome would be drastically different, as the surgery damages could never be restored.  With trepidation, I started Public Skating, surrounded by grandparents teaching pre-school kids to skate.

Exactly four months after surgery, I was back playing hockey.  I was amazed at how many players made a point of acknowledgement, usually with the back-handed male style

‘… Nice you’re back, looking dangerous as ever’

‘… I always hated going into the corner with you, but now I’m really afraid of the sh*t flying’

‘… I thought with your butt sewn shut, that your stride would be shorter’  

After an aggressive altercation around the net, a large and hostile defenseman pummeled me with a verbal tirade of hockey-trash-talk.  I said ‘you can’t really call me that, because I don’t even have one’.  Instantly he went silent, smiled, put his arm around my shoulder, and said in amazement “you’re the one”. 

Hockey team-mates were curious, so I volunteered to answer any questions they had, and show them anything they wanted to see.  They all related to the red-neck attitude that prevents us from having rectal examinations and colonoscopies, even while knowing that these procedures are effective lifesavers.  

Earlier tests, with earlier detection, probably would have ‘saved my ass’ 

and I may have avoided the surgery and permanent colostomy  

Several wives (mostly with tears) told me it was my experience 

that convinced their husband to get a colonoscopy. 

I am humbly pleased that others have benefitted from my experiences

An ostomy is not as good as the original equipment 

but I get to live

Two years ago my doctor told me I could have a perfectly normal life with a colostomy. 

     I didn’t believe him then.  

     I do believe him now.

CLICK HERE to Read the full story published by The Phoenix magazine

Greg Doesn’t Golf anymore

Greg was the spark that started this Living Bigger With Colostomy blog. 

Greg golfed 6 days a week for 30 summers, then was diagnosed with T3 colon cancer, which resulted in surgery for a colostomy, as well as chemo and radiation.  

Greg quit golfing, fearing the embarrassment of changing a pouch while his golf-buddies waited, or the horrors of a pouch explosion.

Greg also quit driving and riding in a car, for fear of the seatbelt rubbing on his stoma.

Greg declined to lift grocery bags, for fear of a hernia.

Greg stayed in his house, intentionally remaining inactive, and gained enough weight that his pants didn’t fit.  So he started wearing his pouch outside his pants.  With this new humiliation, he refused to leave his house … so both Greg and his wife became reclusive.  This soon dragged both of them into a depression which brought apathy, and lowered confidence and motivation.  Soon Greg’s wife was changing his appliances for him, and they spiraled down together.

Greg and I talked a lot.  Cautiously, I shared many of my positive and active experiences living a normal life with a colostomy – wanting to show that he and his wife could live bigger, yet not wanting to intimidate with my adventures that would be unbelievable and unrealistic for him.  We had a few successes:

• Seatbelts – I drive, and carried a backpack with a hipbelt for 40 days.  Its OK for Greg to drive and ride.
• Pouch on the Outside – Buy pants 2 inches bigger, wear suspenders, and get the pouch back inside your pants!
• Pouch Explosions Golfing – I have golfed for 2 years and played over 100 hockey games (taking hits and blocking shots) and have never had an explosion. Greg is safe to golf ... and no reason to be embarrassed changing pouches on the golf-course, being much more environmentally sensitive than his buddies that relieve beer-overloads in the bushes.

 These small incremental successes are positive and encouraging.

Golfing with Greg is now on my bucket list !

Prevention

Many men will find reasons to decline a colonoscopy, 
even knowing it is a simple procedure and a proven lifesaver. 

A Colonoscopy could save your ass – maybe your life!

I sat in our hockey dressing room with 15 men, all over the age of 50.  There were subtle questions about ‘what caused it?’ with each hockey player quietly and cautiously wanting to avoid or prevent the same from happening to him.  

To a man, they all related to the red-neck attitude that prevents us from having rectal examinations and colonoscopies, even while knowing that these procedures are effective lifesavers. 

Even with daily rectal bleeding, I had refused any tests and examinations for 2 years.  

Earlier tests, with earlier detection, 

probably would have ‘saved my ass’ 

and I may have avoided the surgery 

and permanent colostomy

  

I watched the somber faces as I talked.  Over the next two years, I had more than 25 hockey players discretely tell me they had ‘that procedure’ done.  Several wives (mostly with tears) told me they had unsuccessfully ‘encouraged’ their husbands for years, but it was my experience that had convinced their husband to have the colonoscopy procedure done.  I am humbly pleased that others have benefited from my experience.

Read the full story of my 

Comeback to Hockey

Comeback to Hockey

December2009 [4 months after surgery]

I had Traded Cancer for a Colostomy 

then  Recovered with Rehab 

                              from Colostomy&Resection Surgery

Exactly 4 months after surgery, I was back playing hockey.

This was the first big test of my conviction that 

After surgery

I will do everything I could do before surgery

The first milestone was to earn confidence that I could block shots and take the hits … without an explosion!  

Hockey Talk

Hockey team-mates were curious about what had happened to me, so I volunteered to answer any questions they had, and show them anything they wanted to see … and that had a way of dispensing with what could have been an uncomfortable situation.  Players aged 50-65 parade around the dressing room and shower together after games – and we jokingly concluded that even with an ostomy, my body would not be the worst among the variety of sizes and shapes!     

News of my cancer and surgery somehow travelled around the league of about 250 hockey players.  As I played ‘first game back’ with each team, I was amazed at how many players made a point of acknowledgement, usually with the back-handed male style ... 

'Didn't slow you down a bit'

'Nice you're back, looking dangerous as ever'

‘I always hated going into the corner with you, 

but now I’m really afraid of the shit flying’

‘I thought with your butt sewn shut, 

that your stride would be shorter’ 

It was all sincere and heartfelt, but the presentation

was the just the best that men that age can do.  

You're the one

After an aggressive altercation around the net, a large and hostile defenseman pummeled me with a verbal tirade of hockey-trash-talk including “…#@*& ass-hole …”.    I sniped back ‘you can’t really call me that, because I don’t even have one’.  Instantly he went silent, smiled, put his arm around my shoulder, and said in amazement “you’re the one”, knowing only that someone in the league had been hurt by cancer and surgery, but had recovered.

Read the full story of  my 
Comeback to Hockey

  

Yes we  can.  
Ostomates can play Hockey.

Rehab: Colostomy & ReSection

Fall 2009

I had Traded Cancer for a Colostomy, 

then  Recovered from Colostomy&Resection Surgery.

This would be was a long, slow, disciplined, and methodical journey to recovery, but I was determined and committed that

After Surgery

I will do everything I could do before Surgery

 Next step in the recovery process was rehab.  
I had an idea of what to expect, having recovered from many injuries to my slight body, not well suited for the physical punishment of 5 decades of hockey.   [With just a quick count, I recall 13 injuries of the ‘3-6 weeks-to-repair’ level, and 2 severe concussions requiring hospitalization].  The hockey-injury-rehab was a familiar process for me – take the injury, spend 3-6 weeks to repair the body-damage, then do the rehab.  At the end of rehab my body would be as good as it was before the injury, and I would again feel invincible and able to resume play with matched tenacity.

Colostomy&ReSection Surgery Rehab

The rehab routine was similar, but the outcome would be drastically different.  The damages of resection and colostomy surgery could never be restored.  There could be no recovery to original condition.  I felt an agonizing despair with the reality of the predicament, but remained committed to returning to play hockey, even with this compromised condition.  First phase was walking - starting on the first day home from the hospital – just 50 painful yards, bent over and supporting stitches and staples with both forearms.  Over the next 3 months, the walks became longer and faster as my body repaired and strengthened.  I walked twice a day, everyday. 

A very experienced and empathetic Physiotherapist helped me with the rehabilitation.

I was warned that ostomates were prone to hernias – so I did thousands of reps/sets of exercises to rebuild both upper and lower abdominal muscles.  With a 1½ inch void in my abs, it was a serious challenge to rebuild a strong core.  But I needed a strong core to play hockey, and to do so many other strenuous activities.

With trepidation, I started Public-Skating, surrounded by grandparents teaching pre-school kids to skate.  I was happy to be back on the ice, but saddened and challenged by the ultimatum to progress from kids-skating to the power-skating necessary for my comeback to the rough-and-tumble of league hockey.

Comeback to Hockey

Exactly four months after surgery, I was back playing hockey.   This was the first big test of my conviction that “after surgery I will do everything I could do before surgery”.  The first milestone was to earn confidence that I could block shots and take the hits … without an explosion!  

Read the full story of  my Comeback to Hockey  

Recovery: Colostomy&ReSection

August 2009

I had just traded Cancer for a Colostomy.

After 6 hours of surgery resulting in a permanent Colostomy and a Resection, I was moved into the intensive care unit (ICU).  I had 17 inches of stitches and staples – from my belly-button around to the top of my butt-crack.  Every few hours a nurse would run an ice-cube the length of my body, to test which parts were anesthetized.  They adjusted the morphine drip until I had no feeling from belly-button to mid-thighs, yet full feeling everywhere else.   Within a day I was given a thumb-plunger to self-administer the morphine drip.  The anesthetist explained how it worked “… you click the plunger whenever you want a morphine hit, the computer records every click so we know when you want more, but the machine will only release at half-hour intervals.  Some people, feeling the pain, will click hundreds of times as the half-hour approaches.”  I felt the pain and irritation grow as the anesthetic waned, and I watched the clock, but I would never click before the half-hour expired.  I would not acknowledge enough pain to require relief. 

Time moved slowly.

I lost the ability to judge time.  I would guess how long I had slept, then open my eyes and check the clock.  I guessed an hour – but the clock said 6 minutes.  I guessed 8 hours – but the clock said 1 hour. 

Stand and Shuffle

There were 4 of us in ICU.  One was an obnoxious woman who whined incessantly.  I asked the nurses what I had to do get out of ICU and into a room.  Just stand and shuffle-walk.  How hard could that be?  Two nurses helped me sit up with my feet on the floor.  Each faced me, and each planted a leg and knee around one of my knees.  They hoisted me to a standing position.  With the local anesthetic, few nerves were functioning so muscles didn’t trigger, knees wobbled uncontrollably, and I crumpled.  I was exhausted by the exertion, and disappointed with my lack of ability, and the prospects of another day rooming with the old woman.  Next day I passed the stand-and-shuffle test and was moved to a private room. 

Sprints and Marathons

I set my sights on completing what I named a sprint, a half-marathon, and a full-marathon (actually … a shuffle to the doorway, to the nursing station, then a full loop around the ward).  I made the 10-foot shuffle to the door, but the pain told me I had pushed way beyond my abilities.  I was fading fast, and stranded too far from the bed. I bent over to protect my stitches with both forearms, but it felt like the stitches would rip through.  I honestly believed I would actually spill my guts on the floor.  [as a hunter, I have the practical experience and all the visuals on splitting abdominal muscles and watching the body cavity empty as pastel-colored organs slip to a pile on the ground].  My entire bottom end was about to blow out.  My abdomen felt like a huge pot-belly on an old man … but made of lead.  The lead pot-belly was rapidly and uncontrollably increasing in weight, and I felt the panic of being unable to carry it.  The pressure and pain was excruciating, and the fear of literally ripping through and unloading my guts on the floor was terrifying.  The abdominal pain was escalating fast.  Then the lead pot-belly seemed to burst into flames.  My eyes shut and my mind went black and blank. I kept shuffling.  The silence was broken with a voice saying ‘can I help?’  I said ‘no, I have to do this myself’.  She took the pole with all the tubes.  I said nothing but was thankful for that help.  I reached the bed, turned my back to it, then slumped backward onto the bed as she skillfully lifted my feet and swiveled my full body onto the bed.  She said ‘I thought we lost you, you were unconscious but still on your feet.’  I have done lots of damage to my body over the years, but that pain was beyond anything before.  I was exhausted, but the pain subsided as I lay on my back with no pressure on the stitches, and was proud of completing ‘the sprint’.

Going Home
Over the next few days, I did my version of the half-marathon and the full-marathon.  To be released from the hospital, I had to climb a flight of steps.  

So I did, and 5 days after surgery I went home. 

Read the full story of  my 
Comeback to Hockey

Trade Cancer for Colostomy

August 2009

I was 59 years old.  Married for 37 years.  Proud of our 2 adult children.  One grandchild.  No financial worries.  A business that I enjoyed.  Healthy and fit and physically active.  Life was good. 

With a stereotypical middle-aged-male attitude, I had ignored rectal bleeding for 2 years, assuming only hemorrhoids.  Eventually I did succumb to a minor procedure to remove the hemorrhoids.  But there were no hemorrhoids - just one polyp.  I later met my doctor, and learned the diagnosis (Invasive Adenocarcinoma … Rectal Cancer) and the prescribed treatment (Abdomino-Perineal Resection … surgery including a permanent colostomy).  I was assured that I could have a normal life with a colostomy, but I did not believe it that day.

I had cancer.  Life-expectancy was uncertain.

Still reeling from the shock, I drove to a peaceful place where I would connect with the natural world. I laid on a small hill, mesmerized by the tall grass waving in the wind, and thought.  Staring directly at death made it remarkably easy to focus on what was really important.  Clearly, the top priority for my life was to stay connected with my family, wife, our 2 children, our grandchildren, and grandchildren not yet born.  Within 2 hours I had a peaceful clarity with what had to be done.  I would take the surgery, pay the pain and time to recover, and defer the life-expectancy topic until lab tests gave me real facts to deal with.

I phoned my wife, children, siblings, and parents to tell them of the cancer, and gave them comfort with my peace.  My son asked “Dad, how do you feel?”   I told him that my lifelong persona had been “playing bigger” than I actually was, but this Cancer&Colostomy would soon force me to play my own size, and I really dreaded the retreat.  [reference to a common sports expression, ‘he’s just 150 pounds, but plays like he’s 180’]

The Cancer&Colostomy would cause permanent damage.   I would have a 1 ½” hole in my abdomen, with a protruding piece of intestine, and carry a bag of shit … for the rest of my life!   Would my active sports life end?   Would a hockey hit result in a shit-bag-explosion?  Could I skate with my buttocks sewn together?  Would I be able to enjoy so many outdoor activities … hunting, golfing, hiking?  In social and business environments, would my colostomy be treated as a handicap? 

That was the bottom. 

I had allowed the Cancer&Colostomy to overpower me – making me believe I would be permanently damaged and weakened, and my future would be restricted, bleak, and disappointing.

From shock to despair to a powerful new resolve

Hitting bottom is the time to rise up.  Clear resolve came quickly and easily into my head.

            So be it.

I will live.  Any pain and body-damage will be just a minor side effect. 

After surgery, I will do everything that I could do before surgery.

Life is an adventure.  Present realities can be harsh.  Memories are often fonder than realities.

Nothing hurts. 

Never quit.

Surgery day arrived.  

This day had been looming for the past 2 months, and I was relieved that the waiting was over.  A parade of medical professionals (2 anesthetists, 2 surgeons, 3 nurses, and several residents) all had to warn me of the risks.  Being completely committed and prepared, I said ‘lets just do this’, and the warnings stopped.  A nurse fussed over the hospital gown covering my butt.  I joked at her silly concern, as a dozen people would see everything I had, from belly-button around to the top of my butt-crack, from the outside AND the inside.  She placed my chin on a stirrup and started the anesthetic. 

Six hours disappeared, and then a cloudy consciousness returned.  I heard slow garbled voices sounding unrecognizable words.   I saw nurses scurrying, computer monitors, and clear bags with tubes on stainless steel posts.  

“I am back and I am alive!”

My Cancer was gone.  Colostomy was now a permanent part of my life.

I traded Cancer for a Colostomy.  It was a good trade.

Read the full story of  my Comeback to Hockey