You are doing it.

And stay calm. It’s just swimming. You know how to do this.

Tomorrow I’m doing a thing. It’s a thing I wanted to do in 2022 and 2021. Both years I signed up and then changed my mind.

Those two years, I let anxiety and fear take over. This year is different.

I’ve been pretty chill about this big swimming thing. Until about 20 minutes ago. Just got the email with lots of instructions and information.

Self-doubt snuck back in.

But I’ve shoved it away. I can swim. I can do this.

So the big swimming thing is “100 100’s”. 100 sets of 100 meters. 10,000 meters.

I won’t complete the distance. I know I’m not fast enough (yet) and I don’t have the endurance or strength (yet) to do the full event.

I’m doing what I can. Swimming at a steady manageable pace.

I told myself I would try new things and not wait until tomorrow. It’s time to push the comfort zone.

(I’ve got a big swimming goal on the horizon for 2025 so this swimming thing tomorrow is a good step towards it.)

Tomorrow between 3 p.m and 7 p.m – feel free to send me this message over the cosmic airwaves: “left arm right arm breathe keep swimming you are doing it”.

This morning I met up with a dear friend. We had a long and meandering catch up.

Our conversation hit all the emotions with both of us getting watery eyed over the possibilities and opportunities that come with hope, raising our voices in excitement over creative ideas, high-fiving for standing up to the people who can be better, and cheering each other for taking chances and being true to ourselves.

There is something about this person that inspires me to be me. Yep. Not to be more. Not to be better. Not to be different. To be me. To be true to me. To do what I know feels good deep down in the very bottom of my soul.

We talked about the importance of living a life you feel happy with. A life that gives you value. A life that matters to you. To do this you need to know who you are.

This reminded me of a blog post I wrote a while ago talking about how I’m not doing all things. How I was turning off my alarm, rolling over, and going back to sleep. How I was okay with this because, well, there is always tomorrow.

This blog got a few comments on Facebook. But the one comment that stands out and that I think about on an almost daily basis is this one:

“Tomorrow is fine, until you realize that there are less tomorrows than yesterdays.” Thank you Ross Knight for writing this.

You hit a chord. You gave me the shake up I needed. You reminded me that it’s today that matters.

This morning I mentioned this comment to my friend. And this sent us down a path of talking about a life well lived, making every moment count (thank you Sindy Hooper), making the time for people, and what is really truly valuable in life.

I’m not a fan of the “squeeze every minute out of every day”, “never waste a day”, “live each day like it’s your last”, or “no regrets”. For me, these mantras set me up for failure, angst, pressure, and stress.

When I was in my 20’s and 30’s I spent a lot of time anxious about how I wasn’t making a difference. I was stressed because I believe everyone has a reason for being here, and I hadn’t found my reason. I hadn’t made my difference. I hadn’t done that thing that was going to change someone else’s life or help them or leave a meaningful impact. What was the point of this life if I wasn’t doing this? What was I doing? I felt like I’d been gifted this life but I couldn’t figure out how to repay this gift to give it value. What was my thing? What was my unique talent?

Yeah. It was a lot to be living under. A lot of pressure. A lot of expectation. A lot of tears. A lot of not knowing. A lot of fear about not finding the thing that I was put here to do.

And now here I am.

When I got home this afternoon, Marc was in the backyard with a young kid and his dad. They were riding their ‘cross bikes around and Marc was helping the young boy with ‘cross skills – dismounts, mounts, barriers, corners, and just having fun.

Seeing this filled me up.

Because this is it. It’s the little things. The making time for a friend. The smile you give a stranger. The small acts that tell someone that you see and support them. The acceptance of people for who they are in that moment.

The accountability of being human.

There can be no tomorrow on this. It has to be today.

No. Everybody does not poop. I do not. It is physically impossible for me to poop. And the same goes for an estimated 135,000 people living in Canada.

Sure some of these people have colectomies or urostomies so they do actually poop – but they don’t do it the same way as you.

Me. I’m totally different from you. (Unless you have an ileostomy. And if you do – welcome to the cool kids club!). I don’t have a colon. I don’t have a rectum. I don’t have the lower part of my small intestine.

Gone. All of it. And I’m never ever getting back.

I’m forever thankful to the brilliant surgeons who chopped out these organs and put my body back together so I can actually live and enjoy life. Finally, I kind of sorta get to be like you.

If you’re new to knowing about me or reading this blog then this might be a bit of a shock…

Instead of a colon, a rectum, and a butt hole – I have a stoma, an ileostomy, and a pouch. And this is how I get rid of food waste. For me it’s not poop – need a colon to make this, and I don’t have one.

A stoma is the part of my small intestine that sticks out of a hole in my abdomen. It’s through this stoma that I get rid of food waste (technically called chyme). Now this doesn’t just fall on the floor or into my pants – that would be sticky. This stuff is collected into my pouch.

The pouch is basically a small bag that is attached to my abdomen over top of my stoma. Chyme, stomach acid, and gas leaves my body through my stoma and goes into my pouch. I empty my pouch in the toilet. Unlike you, I don’t have sphincters to control when stuff empties into my pouch. So unlike you, I have zero control over how and when my body eliminates food waste.

So unlike you, eating is a big deal for me.

I need to think about what I’m going to eat, when I’m going to eat, and what I’ll be doing after eating. I have to plan my eating very carefully around activities like grocery shopping, attending work meetings, meeting up with friends, going for a walk, riding my bike, playing hockey, going swimming, sleeping, attending concerts, etc. Essentially every activity I do during my day requires me to think about what I might, want, or can eat.

The pouch attached to my body is stuck there with super sticky glue. But sometimes this glue fails. When this happens it is unfun. And messy. This is why I can’t just let my pouch fill up. This can cause a leak and frankly it’s uncomfortable.

Imagine if you taped a balloon to your abdomen and slowly filled it with water. The balloon starts pulling on the tape on your skin. And it starts expanding in size, making it tricky to move your body.

The other thing about my pouch is that I have to change it every 3 – 5 days. Things don’t stick to your skin forever. Think of how hard it is to get a band-aid to stick to your skin. Yep, same situation with a pouch. There are lots of sticky potions and sprays that I use to make my skin tacky to help the flange (this is the part of the pouch that sticks to my skin) stay put. But as you know, nothing is perfect.

So, why am I telling you all this? Because today, October 7 is World Ostomy Awareness Day.

A day for people like me to do our part to raise awareness of how lucky we are to have this second chance at life. It’s a day for us to be extra thankful for the brilliant surgeons, researchers, doctors, and nurses who devote their lives to making my life possible. It’s a day to celebrate how much of a gift it is to be alive.

I’ve said this before but it’s so important, I need to repeat it again: my ileostomy saved my life.

True fact. Without it, I would be dead.

Before August 8, 2016 I was at my physical and mental breaking point. Ulcerative colitis made living extremely painful. I did my best to hide this – so if you knew me before my surgery date, it’s very likely you had no idea how hard living was. Geez, I’m so relieved I kept at it.

Because, look at me know!

When I had my surgery, I gave my stoma a nickname. (Cause this is what us cool kids do – we give our small intestines a nickname.)

I called mine: Reset.

Reset let me hit the reset button my life. It’s my second chance. Reset lets me live and do all the things. Reset makes sure that there are zero limits on what I can do. Reset is a reminder that life is short. Reset keeps me alive.

Thanks Reset – I owe you more than I can ever explain.

Thank you to the super awesome colorectal surgical team at the Ottawa Hospital. Thank you to Dr. Gauthier for agreeing to take my colon out and gifting me Reset. Thank you to Dr. McCurdy for taking such super care of me and understanding that ulcerative colitis is not just about the physical health but also mental health.

Happy World Ostomy Day!

And in case you’re wondering what a person with an ileostomy looks like. Here’s a photo:

I’ve been meaning to write something here for a while now. More times than I care to admit, I’ve had a great blog post idea and then decided I just didn’t feel like writing or putting myself on the page.

But, I kinda sorta miss writing here. So I’m going to try to make this a regular habit again. Emphasis on the try.

I suppose lately, I’ve felt like there isn’t much worth writing about. The summer is over. I didn’t do anything spectacular. I didn’t set or accomplish any big goals. I had a normal person summer.

I had decided at the start of 2023 that I didn’t want to participate in any events. I found last year I became quite consumed and anxious with being as prepared as possible for the events I did. I spent a lot of time stressing and being anxious.

I told myself in January 2023 that I would have more fun if I just did things like ride my bike or swim without a tangible goal attached to these activities.

But now as I sit here in September I think this might of just been an excuse to not do hard things.

And now I realize that I need to be doing the hard things. I need to be setting big audacious goals. I need to channel my brain and body into goals.

This is how I stay motivated. This is how I stay balanced. This is how I stay happy. This is how I keep myself from slipping into the “I’ll do that tomorrow”.

So yeah, I guess I learned some important things about myself.

The question now is – what to shoot for? Vague goals like – lift weights or ride the trainer or go to swim practice are too soft for me. Sweating and moving is part of me.

Instead I need some real goals. Big ones. Similar to what I set way back in 2008 or in 2001.

So yeah, this is where I’m at. I wrote this so that I can be accountable.

I’ve watched the women in the Ottawa Women’s Cycling Club tick off huge cycling accomplishments this summer, I’ve watched my swim gang achieve big things, I’ve watched Marc continually putting in the time on the bike and believing in himself, I’ve watched my little (13 is still little right?) nephew consistently pick himself up and trying until he nails his latest bike trick, and I’ve read your updates on Facebook, Instagram, and blogs about what you’re doing and achieving.

Thank you for this. Because of you I want to do the same. I guess the next step is up to me.

(And because the algorithms like blogs with photos, here are a couple of photos…)

Lots of lucky days happening around these parts lately.

20-year wedding anniversary on August 7.

7-year stomaversary on August 8.

Today’s anniversary wouldn’t have happened without the first anniversary.

This morning as I was getting ready to leave for my annual mammogram, I was thinking about where I was 7 years ago and how lucky I am to be here today.

When I had my colon removed, I really did not fully understand the implications of this. I just knew I couldn’t keep going with the game of medication roulette. I needed something else. Yes, having my colon removed was my choice.

And while there are days when I struggle with my ileostomy. I do not ever regret having this surgery. Because I know it truly saved my life.

I know what it’s like to lose control of my body.
It’s awful. It’s scary. It’s humiliating. It’s depressing. It’s debilitating. It’s painful. It’s life-changing.

Having my colon removed saved my life.

And now, I have superpower. I have a constant 24/7 reminder to never take anything for granted.

I know that whatever is happening right now, I’ve been through much worse. And deep down I know how strong I can be.

I nicknamed my stoma “Reset”. Because it let me reset my life and get back to living.

I have ulcerative colitis, my small intestines stick out of my abdomen, I have a pouch stuck to my skin all day every day and forever, I have pain every single day, I can’t eat like most people – this is the opposite of fun.

But I’m alive. All thanks to my superpower hidden under my clothes, swimsuit, hockey equipment, and cycling kit.

How lucky am I?