Like this:

When I had ileostomy surgery for Crohn’s colitis, I was aware that I might develop “body issues” having to do with the presence of a stoma on my abdomen, along with a bag of shit attached to me. I didn’t know how it would look or feel or smell. I didn’t know how it would affect what clothes I wore, what activities I would do, or how I might interact with others. I knew that I had no alternative but to have the surgery, and that I would just have to face the challenges that would come as part of the deal of losing my colon in order to regain my health.

Now, two and a half years after surgery, I realize that for me, the so-called “body issues” I theorized as potentially arising from my ostomy have failed to materialize. By and large nobody but me can see or smell it (I only smell it when emptying or changing it). While it does affect my clothing choices to some extent, it is not an overly determining factor in how I dress. While I occasionally modify my behavior in ways that may intersect with my social interactions (e.g., I try to avoid taking a long walk after a meal – an activity that is appealing to many and which is therefore proposed sometimes after sharing a meal with friends), most people would never guess that I am physically any different from them (if I didn’t have such a big mouth that I invariably tell them all about it, they wouldn’t know).

Nevertheless, I have developed some body issues that are peripherally related to my history as a sick person who is now healthy. My weight was always changing when I was sick. From a low of around 95 pounds during complete bowel rest to a high of around 140 pounds when I was on Prednisone, my body was constantly in flux. I had clothes in my closet ranging from size 2 to size 10. I have stretch marks on my thighs from the rapid changes. But through all of that, I always thought of my normal, healthy weight as being 122-126. I assumed that after surgery “regaining my health” meant that I would be physically active and eat healthy, and that I would once again arrive at my healthy weight. When I shot up to 140 after surgery, I couldn’t figure it out. First, when I came out of the hospital twelve pounds heavier than I went in, I assumed it was just water retention from the surgery itself. But I never lost it. Then, as I began to do yoga, I thought maybe it was some combination of water, real weight gain, and increased muscle mass. Then, when I started kung fu, I thought it must be the muscle – but I could tell that there was actual fat on my thighs. As time went on, I felt flustered and upset. I felt so large. It is not that I think 140 pounds at 5’6” (a size 10) is inherently large, but rather that it feels large for me. I theorized that maybe it was my age – now well into my thirties, naturally I should weigh more than I did in my early twenties. Maybe that’s partially true, but let’s face it, there are plenty of people my age who are more trim. Then I thought that maybe it is because my body learned how to take advantage of every single calorie after years of malabsorption. But I know others who have been through the illness and the surgery and who are my age and height, and who did not experience the same weight gain. Then I decided that maybe it is just because I’m a pig.

Eventually I realized that I was obsessing about my body in a way that was not healthy. And now – drum roll, please – I am working on acceptance. After all, I’m a pretty healthy person – I run and do yoga and go hiking, so I’m definitely active. And I eat very well – while I am no longer a strict vegetarian, I have meat no more than once a month. I eat whole grains, beans, vegetables, eggs, etc., almost all organic and fresh. I do not eat many processed foods. I eat some dairy, but not a lot of it. (I have a new friend who is a fat activist, and I think she would probably critique my disclaimer that it is more okay to be curvy since I’m healthy, but the fact that I’m healthy really does make me feel better about my weight). So the realization that matters is this: this is who I am, this is how my body is, and that’s fine. I am beautiful and healthy, and right now that looks like a size 10. Maybe the problem had more to do with the clothes I was choosing to wear – clothes that might be flattering on a narrow size 4 body, but that were uncomfortable and unflattering on my new, curvy size 10 body. Maybe the problem had more to do with a fundamental lack of acceptance about the fact that I am not going to look the way I did before I got sick. I weigh more, and I have lines around my eyes and gray hairs sprouting all over the place. Just because surgery could give me back my health doesn’t mean it can give me back my twenties. It cannot return the youth that I lost.

So what!!!!! Have I already grown so used to health that I have the energy to waste on feeling bad about myself and complaining about stupid things????? No. I have lots of energy – that part is true – but none to waste on whining and self-loathing. I have wasted some, but I refuse to waste more. And, in fact, I went shopping and bought myself new clothes that are comfortable and feel good on this new body o’ mine.

I’m sure that everyone goes through their own transition. For some, maybe the stoma and the pouch cause more difficulty than they did for me. I can understand that. For others, maybe the location of their pouch has more impact on their clothes and/or their sense of style. For others, it may be a change in weight or something else. I think the common thing is that anyone going through this surgery experiences a significant change in their body, and that change can be difficult to get used to at first. I think the best thing we can do is revive the laughter and sense of humor that got us through our disease in the first place, and practice some loving-kindness toward ourselves. As I’ve said so many times before, health is the most beautiful thing in the world. And if I can be joyful too – well, that is the kind of beauty that feels like sunshine.