Well dear reader, you will remembers well the antics of Roland Ratso, the not so little bleeder that crawled up my derriere and took so much effort to get removed, leaving me with a permanent stoma called Tom-ass. I have been quiet for some time becaue I haven't really had much to report but last week Tom-ass excelled himself. Lying in bed, "I felt a smell" and gingerely extricating myself from the aforementioned bed I made my way to the bathroom, carefully ensuring that the contents of Tom-ass bag did not defile my slippers like he has done many a time. I got in the bathroom only to realise that this was full blown disaster with poo all over my T shirt and shorts. The only solution was plan "Z" which entails getting in the shower with everything on and stripping under copious quantities of hot watter stripping off as the cascades of water wash away the offending lumps of poo. The only probem with this is the plug 'ole gets blocked so I have to turn the shower head on to turbo blast and jet wash the plug 'ole to get the water running free.
Having scoured Tom-ass and all the other offending parts of my body I gathered up my night clothes and gave them a damn good squeeze and left them on the side to go in the washer. As I got out of the bath I noticed that little bits of poo had secreted themselves on the tiles so I got the shower head and turned the shower on to wash them off. I don't know if you are familiar with the phrase "sticks like shit to a banket." Well never mind the blanket, mine stuck like shit to ceramic tiles and I had to turn the shower on to cold to get the pressure to wash it off. I finished and left the shower head hangng down, poured some bleached down the plug 'ole and went for a damage report on the bed which was surpsisingly pristine. Incident forgotten.
Until.........
Irene decides to have shower and turns the shower on without notices the head was not in its little holder. Enjoying its new found freedom its starts to flail around like a demented rattlesnake, spraying cold water hither and thither due to being on full blast spraying gallons of cold water everywhere. Well the only remedy was for Irene to get in the bath and wrestle with the monster while she pushed the button to turn it off, suffering pressure injection wounds (not to mention brusing) in the process and hypothermia. Having got the situation under control she was able to reset the shower head and temperature control and enjoy a lovely hot shower.
I was out at the time but apparently my name was, like the tiles on my bathroom wall, shit. but itn mitigation it was not me - it was my stoma. Naughty Tom-ass. And it was 3 in the morning when Tom-ass misbehaved so I was on auto pilot.
Some of the stuff on here gets a bit heavy - well a bit of good news. My mate Picko was given three months to live in December 2010 if he didn't have any treatment and after ten weeks hadn't had any. "Not looking good, mate" I said to him. He has VHL which is the seventh rarest disease in the world apparently which manifests itself by firing multiple cancers around the body. He lost a kidney a few years ago and then it erupted in his liver, pancreas, pelvis and lymph nodes in his chest. He was in agony.
Since then he has been given chemo and radiotherapy and the change has been remarkable. He has been on holiday to Lanzarote and Ireland and is now fairly active - a far cry from the shrivelled cripple I visted in hospital in 2010. Don't get me wrong - he is still terminal but the fightback has been spectacular so all I ask everyone is keep the faith. It's a tough slog but it does work!
Keep smiling
love
Drew
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