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Casey Trottier's Personal BCIR Story
Casey Trottier, 28, of Stratford, Ontario tells her life story about her battles with Ulcerative Colitis, her ileostomy and ground-breaking BCIR surgery, as well as her personal journey as a woman, wife and mother.
• Article added November 10, 2003
23 Years With Ulcerative Colitis
My name is Casey Trottier and I'm 28 years old. I was born in 1975, raised in Kitchener, Ontario and moved to Stratford in 1994. I was born with a disease called Ulcerative Colitis (UC). What happens with UC is that your large intestine and bowel become filled with ulcers and the ulcers bleed and cause tremendous pain. Your intestines always run in high gear causing you to have diarrhea and bloody, mucous-filled bowel movements, which is also followed by intense pain. So I spent most of my days in the bathroom.
I can't tell you much about my illness when I was young, but I can go on the say-so of family. I can tell you I was sick. When I was one year old, the doctors told my mom I had Cystic Fibrosis, but later told her the machines were not cleaned properly, so I had been misdiagnosed. One doctor told her I was malnourished. I had a blood transfusion when I was five years old but don't remember it. In fact, I don't remember much about my hospital stays, just the odd ones that stick in my head. I spent a lot of time in Toronto's Sick Children's Hospital. My mother was told they didn't know what was wrong with me or how to treat me.
Most of my memories about my illness start around the time I was 9 or 10 years old. I wasn't able to do much as I needed to be close to the bathroom at all times. In Grade 4, I remember walking home from school praying I could make it home without having an accident in my pants, but most of the time my prayers didn't work. My mom stayed home quite a lot to take care of me, and my dad worked all the time to cover the hospital bills and medications. Life in our house was not normal, and I don't think it ever could have been.
In 1980, my mom decided to ask our family doctor if he could help her find another doctor in London, Ontario. Dr. Howard was the doctor we were put in touch with. He wasn't a pediatrician, but he took me as a patient for my mom's peace of mind. He started me on more medication. Asacol was the name of one and Prednisone was another. I took many others but, honestly, I cannot remember them all. Dr. Howard knew we couldn't afford much and the medications and hospital stays were breaking us financially, so most of my pills were given to us at no charge. Eventually my pills were cut, and I only had to take Asacol as that one seemed to help keep matters a little under control.
I don't remember my teen years much – just hanging out with my friends and spending a lot of time in their bathrooms. I went into remission off and on but still had some problems. By remission, I mean I wasn't bleeding as bad and the pain was less. In 1991, I got pregnant at the age of 16 and had my daughter, Cecile, at 17. While I was pregnant with her, I was in remission pretty much the whole time. But after she was born, the pain and bleeding came back. I found that when I had my period, my body went crazy, and I lived in the bathroom for 5-7 days.
I met my husband, Doug, soon after my daughter was born, and he was OK with my illness. I had my son, William, in 1993 at the age of 18 and, once again, went into remission. As soon as my son was born, my UC went crazy again.
I would have good days and bad days, but
most of the time bad. I was having 20-30 bowel movements a day. My abdomen would swell and blood clots would come out of my rectum as large as plums. When I went to Emergency in Stratford, they told me my intestines were slowly shutting down. I decided it was time to see Dr. Howard again and get this taken care of. When I finally saw him, he did not agree with me to have surgery because I was so young, but because I was married with children, he decided to send me to a new doctor who performed surgeries to fix this disease.
In 1998, I met Dr. Plewis in London. He told me about a surgical procedure called an ileostomy that would never make me spend hours in the bathroom again. But it meant I had to have my large intestine and rectum removed, leaving me with a pouch attached to my side. My body would work because my small intestine would be rerouted to an area on my right side, almost straight across from my belly button. A portion of my small intestine would be pulled through my abdominal wall to the outside of my skin and form a stoma through which stool would drain into the pouch. This was OK with me because I just didn't want to be in pain anymore. So after talking it over with my husband, I agreed to the surgery.
The Ileostomy Operation
At 4:00 a.m. on September 21, 1998, I woke up to what would be my last day of having a "normal" bowel movement. As Doug and I drove for an hour to begin this day, many tears were shed – some in fear and some in anger because of the stress this day held for me. As we walked towards the surgical floor, I became even more scared but not of the surgery, but of how things would be from then on. Doug comforted me and told me he loved me no matter what. Being only 23 years old, I wasn't ready to die yet!
I woke up in a lot of pain, hardly able to talk, and the pain medication was not working for me. I looked down and saw this pouch on my side with this big pinkish-red thing on my stomach under the pouch. I was scared, but I knew it was the stoma.
I overheard my roommate say she was from Stratford, which is where I lived, and heard her talking about her ileostomy. This was perfect because at least now I could have some questions answered! Her name was Michelle and she helped me in any way she could. One night, I started vomiting and no one came to help me. She rolled over and asked, "You OK?" Seeing that I was still vomiting, she called the nurse and then came over to fix me up. She looked at my dressing and asked how long had this dressing been on? I told her six days. Boy, was Michelle mad! The nurse finally came and, believe it or not, she wiped my mouth, rolled me over, put a sheet over my vomit, and rolled me back over. Michelle helped me change my sheets a few days later. I called her my Guardian Angel, and I could not have asked for a better one.
Three days later, I started vomiting again and was feeling very funny. The nurses were getting worried because my temperature was running very high and my blood pressure was extremely low. I was not allowed to move for anything. The doctor ordered blood tests right away, and the results revealed that my white blood cells were very high, which meant there was an infection somewhere in my body. Now the point was to find it.
I had my first cat scan that day and hopefully my last. It was a very scary experience for me. The paper they make you sign does it for you. It says somewhere near the bottom that people have been known to die from the dye injection and, if you feel anything abnormal, please let the nurses know right away. Now as far as I was concerned, I was not going to have the dye injection. I was going to drink the juice, but my body had different ideas. So after a few tears shed, they hooked me up and injected the dye. It felt like I was peeing on myself, but the worst part was the smell and the taste it gave me. Worse than the smell of gas. They found the infection. It wasn't too hard to miss seeing as it was bigger than my two ovaries put together.
And that's when the real fun began. The doctor decided he was going to open me up but not while I was asleep. He thought I wouldn't feel anything because my incision had not fully closed yet. Well, I felt it and I let him know it, too.
Finally, I got to go home. I was still infected and in a lot of pain. I said my good-byes to Michelle and gave her my phone number and address and wished her well. VON nurses would come to my home two or three times a day to change my dressings and an ET nurse (Enterostomal Therapy nurse) would show me how to take care of my new ileostomy.
Having the ileostomy was not a bad thing. I mean, it was wonderful not having to spend hours in the bathroom or in bed sick. The only problem was I started gaining a lot of weight. Every week I would go back to see the doctor so he could reopen the incision to drain more of the infection. But other than the infection, everything was going well on track.
On the morning of February 13, 1999, my nurse came to see me, and I was feeling pretty crappy. In fact, I figured it was the flu. So did she, and she advised me that if I got any worse to go to the hospital right away. I drove my children to school, came home, and started to vomit uncontrollably. For six hours I lay on the bathroom floor, unable to move. I managed to pull myself up to pick up my children, vomiting all the way there and home again. I crawled back to the bathroom and started vomiting some more. My children managed to feed themselves and keep busy. I asked for the phone and tried to call Doug at work a few times but couldn't get the number right. Finally, after about 20 minutes of trying, I got through and asked him to come home right away. As soon as he got home, he put me and the kids in the truck, and we headed for Emerg.
When we got there, they weren't sure what was wrong with me. Nothing in the tests came back as abnormal and even the x-rays were OK. They pumped me full of medications to help me settle, but that didn't work either. My doctor was away, so a new doctor came to see me. Dr. Gonser was my life saver. He ordered a naso-gastric tube and admitted me to the hospital so he could watch me closely. After a few more hours of vomiting over the tube, Dr. Gonser announced he wanted me prepped for surgery. He was going in to see what he could find.
I awoke a few hours later in Intensive Care, hearing Dr. Gonser yelling about my x-rays not being there. I remember hearing him say, "I almost lost her once. I won't lose her again." What he found when he "went in" were six scar tissue obstructions in my small intestine. An obstruction is when something blocks your intestine not permitting food and stool to pass through. Dr. Gonser made a choice that saved my life.
I woke up in my hospital room to my beautiful children and husband beside me on Valentines Day. Michelle came to see me (I guess to make sure the nurses were treating me right), although she didn't look well herself. All of the pain and fighting was worth it to see my friends and family again.
With this surgery, Dr. Gonser felt it wise to keep my incision open so the infection could be better managed, seeing as I had been dealing with it for five months. Whatever he did cleaned things nicely as my infection was gone within the next month.
A few months passed and I was getting this awful rash on my skin under my appliance. I asked my ET nurse what could be done? We tried everything but to no avail. First the rash was treated as a yeast infection. Then it was suggested that I wasn't cleaning it right or applying all the right stuff. So I went out and bought everything you could imagine right down to glue that burned my skin. My skin was always peeling, bleeding and weeping puss. Finally, after talking with many people and seeing many doctors, we all decided it was a pectin allergy. Many companies, including Hollister, ConvaTec, Nu-Hope, you name it, called to see how they could help, each sending me enough products to last a year. Nothing worked until I discovered duct tape works wonders – at least to hold my pouch on for 2 days. But the only problem was it hurt like hell coming off. So that was it. I needed to find something that would help. I didn't care if I had to have surgery again, I was going to fix this problem.
In the meantime, I went through a few more obstructions and got over them. Thank God none of them had to be fixed with surgery. I received a letter in the mail just before Christmas from Toronto's Sick Children's Hospital advising me I was one of the patients that may have received tainted blood when I had my transfusion. I was bewildered by this because I had no recollection of a blood trans- fusion. I called my mom, and she nicely informed me that, yes, I did have a transfusion when I was five years old. But there was a catch – the hospital performed the transfusion without my parent's permission. I wasn't dying, so there was no reason for it other than they thought it might help me. This blew my mind. I was angry, and I let the hospital know it. I did as they suggested and went for an HIV test, which came back OK, but they told me I would need to be tested every six months.
Christmas came and things were good other than the rash. My health was better. I had been doing a lot of research about a procedure that was available that would change your outside pouch to an inside pouch using your own intestines. It was called a Barnett Continent Intestinal Reservoir (BCIR), but there was a lot to find out before I jumped on it.
Michelle called me and wanted us to get together some time in the new year so she could show me her wedding pictures. I told her that I would love to see her, wished her a merry Christmas, and told her I would call when Christmas was all done and over with. The new year came and I called, excited to see her and her wedding pictures. Michelle's husband answered and when I asked for Michelle, he was quiet for a moment and then said, "Casey, she passed away on January 3rd." I wasn't sure what to say except that I was sorry, and I started to cry and hung up. Michelle was my angel and, to this day, I know she still watches over me. I only wish I had been there to help her. Michelle's passing away scared me a lot. She died because of her disease, because it got too far, and no one could help her. In the end, all anyone could do was keep her comfortable.
My self-esteem was slowly dropping causing a lot of depression and anger. It got to the point where I regretted having the surgery. I knew it wasn't the ileostomy's fault. It was my own, but there was nothing left in me to fight to fix things. I wore clothes that were two sizes too big to hide everything that I thought people could see.
Quest for the BCIR Procedure
I continued with my research to find out more about the BCIR procedure. The only people I could locate were in the United States, and I figured I didn't have a chance. But still I sent away for more information. An ET nurse by the name of Susan Kay sent me a video tape and books that explained the procedure. Susan helps run a site called BCIR for the Continent Ostomy Center at Palms of Pasadena Hospital in St. Petersburg, Florida. The web address is www.bcir.com 
if you want to check it out or send away for information. Susan is very helpful and will even call you.
Things with my husband and I turned bad. He left me for another woman. At first I wasn't sure why because I thought I gave him everything he wanted and needed. But then I found out who she was, and I understood. I saw her as a whole woman, someone who had all of her body parts and no extras hanging around. In my eyes, she was that perfect woman I wanted to be – thin, healthy and when she walked by, men looked at her. And it just so happens she was one of my good friends at the time.
Doug and I had just bought a house and two months before the move-in date, he decided he wasn't moving in. So he told the kids that he wanted to give up the house. I, on the other hand, figured I had a say in things, so the kids and I moved into our new house and tried to move on. My parents moved in with us as I needed their support and they could help me. They packed up their life and moved an hour away from where they had lived for many years. I blamed myself over and over again for Doug leaving me. I blamed it on the bag, the weight gain and, well, just me. I figured if I could make myself prettier, maybe Doug would love me again. I started getting more serious. I needed this BCIR procedure in order to have my life back. I needed my husband back. I needed a full family and support. A few months later he did come back, and we tried to fix our problems. Things were still tough at that time, but we got through them.
One day, while surfing the Internet for more BCIR information, I remembered Michelle had told me her doctor was the top colorectal surgeon in Ontario. I figured he was worth a shot and gave his office a call. An appointment was arranged for me to meet Dr. Taylor. I was going to see him not even knowing if he performed the surgery, but it was worth the drive. Dr. Taylor is a smart doctor. He kept asking me if I knew anything about the BCIR procedure. I think I knocked him off his seat when I knew right down to the death rate statistics and the complications involved. I told him that this is what I wanted and my mind was set. If he wouldn't do it, I would find a doctor who would, even if I had to go to the States. He told me that having the surgery in Canada was going to be a long wait and, if I went to the States, I could have it done sooner, but it would cost me. In Canada, OHIP would cover some of the costs, but I would have to pay the rest.
On the way home that day, I cried out of fear and happiness. My husband asked me what was wrong? I told him that I was doing this because I wanted our marriage to be whole again. Doug told me it was, but I knew otherwise. It got to the point where I was always thinking he only came back to me out of pity. He always said no, but something in my heart told me different.
My next appointment with Dr. Taylor was pretty much the same. He tried to turn me away, but me being stubborn said, "No. I need this." He told me there were a few things I needed to do, one of which was I needed to lose weight before the surgery. Being 5'2" and 183 pounds, I knew it, too. I also needed to talk with other people who had had this surgery and find out more. I agreed, and for the next six months, I called his office once a week to get a surgery date. I looked on the Internet and found a list of people who had had the BCIR surgery and came across one woman by the name of Jocelyn who lived in London. Seeing as she was also younger, I was hoping she would answer my questions.
Finally, after months of calling Dr. Taylor, I was given a surgery date: January 29, 2002. The date is also the anniversary of mine and Doug's first date, so it had to be a good omen! It was also five days after my 27th birthday, so I needed to plan a big party for this year. Jocelyn and I talked via e-mail. She answered all of my questions and even offered to meet with me to show me how to drain the internal pouch, and basically show me the gist of it all. So the waiting began, and each day I stroked another day off on my calendar.
The BCIR Operation
The day came once again when I left my house at 4:00 a.m. for the drive to the hospital but with new thoughts this time – thoughts of happiness that I wouldn't have a bag stuck to my side anymore and I could wear normal clothing again. As I lay on the operating table, Dr. Taylor told me there was a chance I would wake up and still have the bag because of all of the scar tissue, but he would change the side if I needed it so that my skin could heal. This time when I awoke from the surgery, my pain was not as bad as the first ileostomy; it was actually a bit better. But I still had a lot of tubes coming out of me, and it was scary.
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Photo 1 Photo 2 Photo 3 Photo 4 Photo 5 Photo 6 Photo 7 Photo 8 Photo 9 |
Photo 1 • 5 Hours After Surgery
This picture was taken about five hours after my BCIR surgery. You can't see all of the tubes, but I'll explain some of them for you.
Photo 2 • 9 Hours After Surgery
This picture was taken about nine hours after surgery. I still look pretty much as I did in the first photo, except here you can see how swollen I got. The swelling eventually subsided, but it took time.
Photo 3 • The Incision
The small thin tube on the right drained a pocket which was left from my ileostomy. The big tube on the left is the catheter which drained my bile. It was sewn into my stomach so it wouldn't fall out. The strip across my tummy is called packing, and it's purpose was to keep the incision open and keep infection out.
Photo 4 • New Dressing
My first dressing change made things look a lot nicer! The white square with the tube coming out of it is actually two thick pads, one on top of the other, and is there to protect the stoma and stitches holding the tube in place. It acts like a stablizer, so you feel more secure and comfortable.
Photo 5 • BCIR Tube In
This picture was taken on my two-month check-up wherein I had the tube removed and started doing the draining myself. The photo makes it look worse than it actually was. It did hurt, but only because of the stitch that holds the tube in place. The stitch is cut and the tube is pulled out.
Photo 6 • BCIR Tube Out
The hole you see is called the stoma. It is the opening wherein I insert the catheter to drain my internal pouch. The scars around the stoma are from the stitches to keep it open and to keep the tube in. Again, the photo makes it look worse than it actually was. It takes a few weeks for the swelling to go down. The horizontal scar on my right side is where my ileostomy stoma was.
Photo 7 • Stoma Closeup
I took this picture on November 16, 2003 to show you how my stoma looks now. As you can see, all of the swelling and redness has gone away. My stoma is flush with the surface of my skin and is the size of a dime (sometimes smaller) and only expands slightly when I insert the tube to drain it. Inserting the tube is totally painless.
Photo 8 • Stoma Covering
To cover my stoma, I use an all-purpose medical tape called "Mefix" with two pieces of toilet paper folded about six times under- neath (see Photo 9). It works wonders for me, but there are other options, such as stoma caps, or gauze held on with some micropore tape could be used depending on the amount of mucous output from the stoma opening. I used gauze for the first little while but, for me, my mucous output always leaked through. Then I switched to cotton balls, but you could see a bit of a bump under my clothes, and it also leaked through after a couple of hours or when I became more active. Now I use toilet paper because it absorbs the best and I can keep it on for over four hours, if needed, and no leaks. Plus it is flush with my skin, so if I'm wearing a nice dress, you don't see a lump.
Photo 9 • Stoma Supplies
Here are all the supplies I need to cover my stoma: a piece of "Mefix" medical tape cut to size and two pieces of toilet paper folded about six times. The total cost per day for six of these patches is about 28 cents. There's no doubt about it – looking after a BCIR stoma is easy and very cost-effective! |
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The first few days were the hardest trying to get my body back to normal. The tubes started coming out one by one and, about seven days later, I had two tubes left – one in my jugular vein and one in my internal pouch. The nurses taught me how to drain the internal pouch, but one night the tube did not want to flush out the pouch. They ended up calling Dr. Taylor at 11:00 p.m. to have him come in and help out. He had just got home and was relaxing with his wife. I told him I owed him a bottle of wine for all of his trouble!
For seven weeks, I lived with a tube sewn into my internal pouch that deposited my waste into a bedside pouch I was connected to. I stretched the internal pouch by clamping the tube for one hour on and one hour off. Eventually I worked my way up to six hours on and six hours off. I was very discouraged at first because I was unable to eat anything with peels or seeds. I couldn't eat salads or certain meats. I lived on mashed potatoes and mashed carrots as these foods seemed to be the only food that digested.
I had hardly lost any weight before the surgery, maybe 10 pounds at the most. By the time the tube came out, I had lost 26 pounds. I was feeling wonderful, and I decided I would go back to work. I started wearing smaller-sized clothing, and I felt great.
Around the middle of April 2002, when I was back at work for only three weeks, things turned bad. I came home from work one night, had supper and, about an hour later, I felt this big POP inside my chest area. Then I felt these tiny little bubbles popping all over inside of me. It felt like a bad case of gas, so I treated it as such. I went upstairs to my bathroom to drain my pouch and by the time I reached the top riser, I couldn't breathe. I started getting pains in my chest, abdomen and back. The tightness in my chest was getting worse. I got on my hands and knees and rocked back and forth hoping to pass what I thought was gas. I called for Doug and told him I needed a little sleep because this hurt so much. He said, "No, you need to walk it off, move around so that the air works its way up." I slowly walked back downstairs again and sat on a stool, trying to get comfortable enough to breathe. Doug asked me if I was OK, and I said, "Yep, it will come out sooner or later." But truthfully I felt like I was dying.
About an hour later, I whispered to Doug, "We need to go." That's all it took. We were in the truck and on our way to the hospital. I couldn't breathe anymore, and the pain was so bad I felt like vomiting. Somehow I walked into Emergency, barely able to breath, but no one came to see if I needed help. Tears rolling down my face, I approached a nurse and asked for help. She kept asking me, "What seems to be the problem tonight?" I tried to answer her but couldn't. She sat me down and started asking all of the usual questions: What's wrong? Where does it hurt? She took my blood pressure and temperature. I cried until Doug came in and said, "Get her in a room now!" The nurse argued with him, telling him she needed to know what the problem was so that she knew if others in Emerg needed more help than I did. Doug started yelling, "I WANT A DOCTOR NOW!" over and over until the nurse took me into an examination room, told me to undress and lie on the bed. Doug undressed me because I couldn't move. He told the nurse to call Dr. Taylor right away, and that he wanted a doctor in the room immediately. The nurse kept telling him, "Well, there are other people ahead of your wife, and her turn will come when they have been looked after." And Doug was yelling again.
Next thing I knew a doctor was asking me all of the same questions. Doug told him to call Dr. Taylor in London right away before they touched me. So after Doug told them again that what I have is called a BCIR, they finally called Dr. Taylor. Apparently, no one at the Stratford hospital knew what a BCIR was or how to deal with it. Dr. Taylor told them to take x-rays and start me on fluids and pain meds, which they did right away. In the x-ray room, I remember being told to stand up, and I almost lost it crying so hard because of the pain. I begged them to take the x-ray with me lying down but they couldn't. The nurse asked me what my pain level was, with 10 being the worst and one being the least. I told her 100, so she gave me more pain medication but it didn't really work, it just made me fall in and out of sleep.
The x-rays came back and Dr. Taylor told them they needed to prep me for surgery, then get me in the ambulance right away. I was only told there was air in my pouch. They were told they had to drain my pouch and, golly, I have never seen nurses and doctors who told me 20 minutes ago they knew all about the internal pouch stand there like dolls and say, "Are you OK enough to do this because we don't know how. We only thought we knew." I remember inserting the tube, which Doug later informed me he had made out of tubing they had on hand because the hospital didn't have the proper equipment to treat someone with a BCIR.
I awoke a while later as they were inserting more tubes in me and administering more pain meds. By now, I was very scared. In fact, I was beyond scared. All I could think about was making it to the next day so I could see my kids because I didn't get a chance to tell them I loved them when I left the house for Emerg. The nurse had a handful of needles filled with morphine and God only knows what else; she kept asking me what my pain level was and giving me meds when I needed them. One thing I can say is they kept me very "comfortable" knowing this was a very bad thing that was happening to me.
The ambulance ride was fast. I heard the sirens a few times and saw the lights flashing in the back window. I remember the pain each time the driver hit a bump, and I remember the nurses and ambulance crew making sure I was OK. By the time we arrived at the hospital in London, my body and mind were numb. I remem- ber blacking in and out, like the lights were going on and off. One moment I could hear voices and the next nothing. I rolled over once and vomited on poor Doug who couldn't get the dish in front of me fast enough.
They wheeled me into the operating room where Dr. Taylor met up with us. He assured me that he was going to fix me all up and everything would be OK. But there was a chance that when I woke up there would be no internal pouch left. It was damaged, and they couldn't tell me more until they operated. I looked up at Dr. Taylor and told him I owed him a case of beer now, that a bottle of wine just wouldn't do. He laughed and said it was good to see there was some humour left in me yet. He took my hand and said everything would be alright. After my good-byes with Doug, I lay there on the cold bed thinking, Please put me to sleep so the pain goes away. The doctor responsible for putting me under told me he needed to give me a direct line, which is the tube in the neck because I needed more fluids before I could sleep. I begged him to put me under before he put the needle in, but he couldn't. It was painful, I won't kid you, but the stitch to hold it in place hurt the most. Finally, I fell asleep.
I awoke in a lot of pain this time. Nurses standing around me assuring me everything was OK and playing the pain game again. I remember asking a nurse if I still had my pouch? and she told me no. I remember the tears rolling down my face and how much I didn't want that bag again, or the horrible rashes and painful obstructions. I was more scared that Doug wouldn't love me anymore. Then I drifted off.
I awoke later to find Doug and my children beside me, and I cried and told them right away how much I truly loved them. Doug looked at my incision because I told him the pouch was gone, but when he looked up he said, "You still have the internal pouch." I was relieved and crying again!
Dr. Taylor told me that my pouch had perforated when one of the staples let go and it opened into my abdomen draining my waste into my body. Once again my incision was left open with retention tubes to prevent infection.
I got out of the hospital about a week later only to start over again with the clamping of the tube and wearing the bedside bag. The first week home was crazy. The pain was so horrible, I could hardly move, and every time I coughed, little spasms would shock through my back sometimes making me jump and hurt even more. I was taking Percocet more than I was eating, but eventually my body returned to normal.
Life Goes On
It was almost time for my last visit with Dr. Taylor, so I bought him and Jocelyn special gifts for being there for me and helping me when I needed them. Let's just say it wasn't a case of beer for Dr. Taylor but the gift bag did have beer bottles on it! When I went to see him, he asked me what was different about me. Did you cut your hair? he asked. I said no, but it could be the 53 pounds I dropped in four months. I felt wonderful and looked it, too – or so I was told! He told me I looked great but not to lose too much weight too fast. It wasn't me though, it was just happening day by day. Now on a good day, I weigh 131 pounds and a bad day is 134 pounds, but I can now say I am the proud owner of size 9 jeans. Good-bye sizes 13 to 16!
Life is grand and everything has turned out for the best. Today, almost 22 months after the surgery, I am introducing salads and other vegetables back into my diet. It's a slow process, but it's worth it.
Doug and I are separated as he was a part of my life I needed to make a change in, as well. I'm still waiting for the divorce to become final. After spending over $5,000 in the past year on lawyer's fees, I still don't have court documents entitling me to child support, so I'm looking for a new lawyer.
This past summer of 2003, I met my soul mate, Damian. Dating again after being married for 10 years was scarey but Damian made it so easy. We have been together five months, and I'm glad to say he's here for keeps! We are talking about marriage and children – I spoke with Dr. Taylor about getting pregnant, and he said no problem. I am so happy to still have that choice in my life. I almost made the decision to have my tubes tied a few years ago, but now I'm glad I didn't do it. Seems my life is a neverending story and I'll be sure to keep you posted.
This is why I have the strength.
Cecile is now 11 and William is 10.
The one I never knew was out there.
And also on the plus side, I decided to go back to school this past September 2003. I have always wanted to be a teacher, and I think now is the time for me to stop hiding from it and take the plunge. I have lots of support, so hopefully in a few years I will be standing in front of a classroom teaching others.
I feel whole again, and I thank everyone for their thoughts, prayers and support. My life has changed 100%. Please remember to live life day by day and don't take things for granted because you never know what tomorrow may bring.
How To Contact Me
I enjoy talking to others about the BCIR procedure and my experiences with it. Since the operation, I've spoken to many people and have often been a guest speaker for local and nearby ostomy chapters in Southwestern Ontario.
If you are considering the BCIR procedure, have already had the procedure, or just want to know more about it and have questions or concerns that you think I can help you with, please feel free to post your questions or comments in the BCIR topic of LDOA's Discussion Forum The questions you ask or the concerns you have may very well be a question or concern that others have and, by posting in the Discussion Forum, many people on a global scale can benefit from the exchange of information. I'll be checking the BCIR section of the Discussion Forum once a day (or once every couple of days as time permits) and all posts will be replied to. Thanks and I hope to see some of you online. 
~ Casey Trottier
Disclaimer • This site and its contents are presented expressly for informational purposes only about London & District Ostomy Association (LDOA) and gastrointestinal and/or urinary diversions in general. In no way are any of the materials presented here meant to be a substitute for professional medical care or proper attention by a qualified physician, nor should they be construed as such. Always check with your doctor or ET if you have any questions or concerns about your condition or before starting a new program or treatment. The Webmaster and LDOA are not responsible or liable, directly or indirectly, for any form of damages whatsoever resulting from the use (or misuse) of information contained in or implied by this site.
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