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

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