Bag life (part 1)

I was first diagnosed with cancer on 29th July. Sarah came with me for the consultation, which is indelibly fixed in my mind as I recall now the look of devastation on Sarah's face as the consultant said: "I'll come straight to the point, the biopsies tested positive for cancer". Somewhere, deep inside, I already knew this and so, for me, I received this as a confirmation rather than breaking news which had the effect of lessening the impact.

That might sound a bit glib, but I had been preparing myself for some time and it seemed like a logical conclusion from the evidence in front of me. First off, my father had colon cancer and indeed eventually died of cancer at 62. Second, for the past month or so I had occasionally noticed a little dark red in my numéro deux which could have been blood coloured. I desperately wanted to ignore this, but after a watching the haemorrhoids video at nhs.co.uk I knew I couldn't pass this off as category 1 bum plums and get away with a tube of Preparation H from the chemist. Thirdly, I had plucked up the courage to see the quack. He made a digital examination and thought he could feel something which 'would be wise to get checked out'. I know my GP and I think his calm, reassuring tone may have been betrayed by the concerned look on his face. I was referred to a consultant who, after a little more of the rubber glove treatment, confirmed that I had a rectal polyp, which he hoped would be benign. This was quickly followed by an MRI scan, a colonoscopy and then finally CT scan. This rapid chain of escalating diagnostic activities over a matter of weeks was never likely to result in good news.

Back at that consulting room at the Bath Clinic with Sarah clutching my hand, still in a state of shock  while I, already resigned to the diagnosis, was eager(!) to discuss treatment options. It occurs to me now that there was definitely an element of John Gray's Martians and Venusians at play here, even in this dire situation: my instinct to protect and suppress (Let's not waste time discussing this, we know the problem - let's get on and fix it) conflicting with Sarah's need to address her strong emotions.

The consultant explained that the first step was to remove the polyp and, since it was well embedded, also a section of colon and the surrounding tissues (lymph nodes) to establish if the cancer had spread beyond the colon. He then revealed the scale of the operation and explained that it would be necessary to perform an ileostomy to allow my colon to fully recover before the ileostomy is reversed..... I'd never heard of an ileostomy before, but the -stomy bit at the end didn't half sound like a bag would be involved.... "Does this mean I have to have a bag?", I enquire nervously and this is the point where I start to lose my composure. Cancer I can cope with, but the thought of wearing a bag (even temporarily)??, please noooOOOOooo!!

And with that, The Bagman was born. I'm still learning to live with my 'appliance' and have discovered a whole new vocabulary including stoma, collar, output, flange, hydro-colloid and ostomist (one who has had surgery to create a stoma connecting a body cavity to the outside). I can now recognise new company names that distribute their wares strictly under plain, brown cover. To say there is something of a stigma associated with wearing a bag is something of an understatement, hence the Ostomist's world is a secretive one which rarely gets an airing at dinner parties. In fact, for reason's which I will reveal later, a dinner party is a scary place for a Bagman.

Coupled with cancer treatment, wearing a bag is a right pain in the ... (sorry!) and has been a major cause of embarrassment, discomfort, misery, frustration and fashion faux pas for me. Part of the problem is that the majority of the information available is provided by a) stoma nurses who have no personal experience of bag life and b) utterly useless web forums - the plain, brown cover companies provide almost no information.

Whilst the popular press may be happy to report on the highs and lows of celebrity colon cancer cases, rarely does the A-lister mention that he struggled with an ileostomy for 6 months as is the case with the vast majority of colon surgery patients. There will be no such holding back on this blog - more in part two on how to guide the surgeon where to put the knife.