tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-68596813665877990872024-03-12T16:03:50.138-06:00The Adventures of Oscar the OstomyOscar was brought to being on November 23, 2009. He is a colostomy. He is currently stuck on Allie, a 30 something who suffered with severe Crohn's and rectal incontinence for years. This blog will follow Oscar and Allie's adventures as life long ostomates.Oscar and Alliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02344797018125818146noreply@blogger.comBlogger78125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6859681366587799087.post-65220603787831715862014-06-12T10:56:00.001-06:002014-06-12T10:56:47.921-06:00Duct Tape Anyone? <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1SJme0taaeEcTimY0S8hnlJzNBh4oCSXj7M7Vo31Fi6AuS1IE-F3GVZJGnBrd3-hTXooUj0zWlsPN1Va_X5cMJAUeS_k67rNm8yZXwhEFIm_lKAH_1GLcM6FqTrgvvZyhN3d0NlCL6Gw/s1600/photo+1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1SJme0taaeEcTimY0S8hnlJzNBh4oCSXj7M7Vo31Fi6AuS1IE-F3GVZJGnBrd3-hTXooUj0zWlsPN1Va_X5cMJAUeS_k67rNm8yZXwhEFIm_lKAH_1GLcM6FqTrgvvZyhN3d0NlCL6Gw/s1600/photo+1.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggajl96UZknpopupg4uZnV4a4RhsKGXNUiHVuwmQG56imdcVr9MVS0a51JLaKZyLMtVuwg-wRxGZeBgJcvmqIVF5KZAr0djRtrT1VGp_0uzaipNB5LWCJrULBid8c8NZZWkafflC3yrv0/s1600/photo3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggajl96UZknpopupg4uZnV4a4RhsKGXNUiHVuwmQG56imdcVr9MVS0a51JLaKZyLMtVuwg-wRxGZeBgJcvmqIVF5KZAr0djRtrT1VGp_0uzaipNB5LWCJrULBid8c8NZZWkafflC3yrv0/s1600/photo3.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">When
I was a kid, being called “lazy” by my parents was one of the worst things they
could have said. Between school, swimming, cadets, hanging with friends and the
numerous other activities that a 10-16 year old me partook in....I was
exhausted. All the time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Up at 7:00am,
school all day and activities afterwards did not leave much time for more than
a re-run of a MASH episode followed by an episode of Murphy Brown, bed was
always 11:00pm, all to be repeated the next day. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Things
like laundry and dishes and vacuuming and taking the dog for a walk all seemed insurmountable
when tomorrows first period was calculus (and seriously who exactly is using
that particular subject every day...or even once a year...?) and you had an
entire week’s worth of calculations to produce. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">As
an adult my schedule has become more hectic. Owning Pug City Euroworks and
Modern Relic Designs, being on numerous committees and a member of numerous
associations, still finding time to walk all three family dogs, work out twice
a week with a personal trainer, cook dinner for my husband which entails
grocery shopping, and all the other things that a overextended grown up does. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I do get the chance to be “lazy” a small
part of me still cringes at the memories of being called that as a kid...but as
an adult I RELISH my laziness. That’s right; this lady has taken laziness to a
whole new level.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I’ve
decided that if I can’t get at least 7-10 days out of a wafer I’ll do
everything in my power to make it last. Itchy skin be dammed, if there is a
leak I’ve devised numerous ways to put a stop to it....at least until I decide
that I am ready to change. I am very fortunate to have a colostomy and
absolutely NO skin issues...even if I do test my luck with weekly changes. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">The
pictures that you see are of the many way’s I have dealt with an unwanted leak
a day or two before I am ready to do a change. I’ve gotten an extra two days of
wafer wear out of my concoctions, and if this isn’t the height of laziness, I’m
not sure what is. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
Oscar and Alliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02344797018125818146noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6859681366587799087.post-8786321572152342132014-03-06T16:40:00.000-07:002014-03-06T16:40:16.593-07:00"Of Exhibiting, or Caused by Radioactivity"<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsF11yBoKlhzD0UTzGXL2vvVvxqgZ57iBgTjGYioBCSHjnV_nabKtdtuPVgpETqIMnOqvTYRH02huX5nDjpThBeU__bMOw8zn-WeYt3TKdUkngi17Aj0SccI7fhB5KpZKZamZcio-4TB4/s1600/securedownload.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsF11yBoKlhzD0UTzGXL2vvVvxqgZ57iBgTjGYioBCSHjnV_nabKtdtuPVgpETqIMnOqvTYRH02huX5nDjpThBeU__bMOw8zn-WeYt3TKdUkngi17Aj0SccI7fhB5KpZKZamZcio-4TB4/s1600/securedownload.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">This winter has been particularly bad for shoulder, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>finger and foot aches and I’ve been taking
long, really long (like husband yelling at me to leave some hot water for the
rest of Edmonton long) hot showers. It was during one of these steamy sessions
that a thought struck, I use to do the EXACT same thing when I was having a
flare, I would stand or sit for an extended period of time in the shower (or alternately
go sit in the car and turn the seat heater on). I got mad, mad enough that I
spiked the bottle of shampoo (worthy of Homer Jones!) although I promptly regretted
the decision to do an end zone dance:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">1. The searing pain
in my shoulder returned.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">2. I was going to
have to clean up the goopy mess on the floor. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">That anger prompted a call to my GP to make an
appointment to try to figure out why I was being forced to take scalding
showers on an almost hourly basis. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Dr. Wink (yup, my GP’s name is Dr. Wink) listened to my
complaints and set about getting me appointments for x-rays and in for something
called nuclear medicine for bone scans. I had Dr. Wink explain nuclear medicine
to me and he said it involved injecting some radioactive material. Radioactive.
Material. Let that sink in for a minute will you, someone is going to INJECT <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>radioactive material into me and assuming I go
along willingly, they will x-ray the results. I was assured it was perfectly
safe to which I replied “didn’t they also say that to all the people getting
onto the Titanic?” Dr. Wink was not nearly as amused as I was. I also asked if
mutation, such as growing a few more limbs or eyes was a possibility and to my
vast disappointment (I always thought an extra arm or two would be helpful,
think of how much you could accomplish with 4 arms!!!!) I was told no. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The initial hand x-rays went off without a hitch but the
picture you see above is the result of my foray into the nuclear medicine
world. Inject radioactive material they said, it will be fine they said. Pft. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I haven’t
had a medical induced bruise since the inception of Oscar, and that was over 4
years ago. I suppose my shut out had to end eventually but I didn’t expect it
to be so painful!<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The resulting x-rays / bone scans showed what I had feared,
arthritis in most of my joints. The real surprise came when Dr. Wink informed
me that my right shoulder was especially bad and he hadn’t seen so much inflammation
in years. Great, I had assumed the pain was from too much time spent hunched
over my computer. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I knew at some point,
I would begin to exhibit the signs and symptoms of arthritis; I’ve come to
realize that you can’t have Crohn’s for 13+ years and remain unscathed from the
“other issues” associated with the disease. I didn’t realize it would begin so
soon, I’m only 36! <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Crohn’s, surgeries, ostomy and now arthritis. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m batting 4 for 4 but just once I’d like to
strike out. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
Oscar and Alliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02344797018125818146noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6859681366587799087.post-42611147537137286512014-03-06T16:30:00.002-07:002014-03-06T16:30:57.311-07:00Canoeing for Camp!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqWI62bpjJvQ-cBo4O6lVrPTdYmeUIFN8Uhp2jxofgrSn-MjAhMBKRThiRdFynDJyh7VWtDooJV0I0FYz-bxCcJgs6bgHwAg5tDmhi2RIdo_JwdbnUdQqp6K0QszJ90MEvDsEkeWcxKAI/s1600/1781896_597507050335839_1751764692_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqWI62bpjJvQ-cBo4O6lVrPTdYmeUIFN8Uhp2jxofgrSn-MjAhMBKRThiRdFynDJyh7VWtDooJV0I0FYz-bxCcJgs6bgHwAg5tDmhi2RIdo_JwdbnUdQqp6K0QszJ90MEvDsEkeWcxKAI/s1600/1781896_597507050335839_1751764692_n.jpg" /></a></div>
Hi everyone, please go check out this Facebook page and make a donation if you can:<br />
<a href="https://www.facebook.com/GI.Js.forever">https://www.facebook.com/GI.Js.forever</a><br />
Jason and Jim will be competing <span class="userContent">in the single longest canoe race in Canada. They will be overcoming challenges such as mosquito's, blackflies and a whole bunch of things, none of which are particularly good, all in the hopes of sending kids with similar ostomy diversions to a camp so they can feel accepted and loved amongst their peers. Camp is Camp Horizon, in southern Alberta. </span><br />
<span class="userContent">Ps: I was a camp volunteer last year and have seen first hand how amazing camp experience can be for kids with ostomies of all kinds. </span><br />
<br />Oscar and Alliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02344797018125818146noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6859681366587799087.post-48524236599951486702013-12-23T15:23:00.000-07:002013-12-23T15:23:08.370-07:00Happy Holidays!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8Lbe9-nOFwc24eO5Lyz8D1dzVZWTZj2U2LP5TMtXxY-NlJUQDQgqLWU_iabfF1AGgWPRTmkVKixdOwA2eagrNLlKCoB-XKdkqFllYpHUYcuKHg1NBlR73LQURIGyjio49vtqgMb85Tfs/s1600/mr_hankey.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8Lbe9-nOFwc24eO5Lyz8D1dzVZWTZj2U2LP5TMtXxY-NlJUQDQgqLWU_iabfF1AGgWPRTmkVKixdOwA2eagrNLlKCoB-XKdkqFllYpHUYcuKHg1NBlR73LQURIGyjio49vtqgMb85Tfs/s320/mr_hankey.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Oscar and I wish all of you a very Merry Christmas and Happy New Year...or whichever denomination you are celebrating this year.<br />
Stay tuned to the Adventures of Oscar the Ostomy in 2014....some very exciting stuff coming your way!<br />
<br />Oscar and Alliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02344797018125818146noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6859681366587799087.post-89512105721984322042013-06-06T15:08:00.000-06:002013-06-06T15:08:19.099-06:00A pouch fit for a French King<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGkVTAwY__ki49y7I0aMSOO_Q_xO6JzadGC95gJ1Lfyhtv89hdufUglkGMe5e-W5w2UZaK8LGsI1ULyZnsoJzONNlZn1jJpK1NmkBCUMK6-jEuNf9brTkR8dYaJ4D7FKgJjC3ax-TNJl4/s1600/pouch.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGkVTAwY__ki49y7I0aMSOO_Q_xO6JzadGC95gJ1Lfyhtv89hdufUglkGMe5e-W5w2UZaK8LGsI1ULyZnsoJzONNlZn1jJpK1NmkBCUMK6-jEuNf9brTkR8dYaJ4D7FKgJjC3ax-TNJl4/s320/pouch.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi_toQqx1ZlUpwtplCZHVY92NA_KYm0DqWwqUCC4PPoq8z0lCT1rtMv-xFlID-xR6puczWUz_TIykDAQB1b8xsvJNq2mHYmVxFVESFr1cLf_wgAjHxTqyHio0SDwPQXY1lV3wt6aSf_2w/s1600/wafer.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi_toQqx1ZlUpwtplCZHVY92NA_KYm0DqWwqUCC4PPoq8z0lCT1rtMv-xFlID-xR6puczWUz_TIykDAQB1b8xsvJNq2mHYmVxFVESFr1cLf_wgAjHxTqyHio0SDwPQXY1lV3wt6aSf_2w/s320/wafer.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">My husband and I flew in to Louis Armstrong Airport a
scant three days after Superbowl 2013 only to come upon crews of men studiously
tearing down every remnant of the game that held the city, if not the continent,
in its thrall. The power outage during the event only served to highlight what
New Orlineans already knew, the big easy is better at night. People from every
corner of the world were now flying in for one of the world’s biggest parties,
and I, as a loud and proud ostomate, was only too willing to partake. <br />
Our first day back in N’awlins was spent re-connecting with old friends,
eating, drinking and watching 3 incredible parades.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The sights, sounds and smells are
indescribable as your brain struggles to make coherent sense of it all. The
next evening we watched the Muses parade and when it came to an end, I realized
I needed to change (as a colostomate, I wear a small, sealed end pouch) my poop
pouch.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oscar, my ostomy, had been very
good about out-put but between the walk to the parade route, mass quantities of
food and liquid consumed over the 4 hours, his home was about to burst.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was faced with my first ostomy issue...do I
hobble home and take the risk that of the 350,000 people milling around none
will bump in to me? OR do I put on a stiff upper lip, get in line for the porta-potties
and hope for the best? An ominous gurgle made up my mind.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The neutral ground at Royal and Canal Street (the grassy
in-between area of Canal Street) had a row of toilets and the crowd was only
running 10 deep so I made a break for it and found myself in a relatively clean
plastic poo’r. I made the switch from full pouch to empty pouch quickly but ran
into a problem when my ziplock wouldn’t zip. With thousands of people outside
the door and my boisterous friends ready to hit Bourbon Street I had to think
fast. I tore a sticky piece off of my wafer and used it as a seal for the
baggie but then I had to think about disposal options. Do I put the poo filled
pouch which is inside the Ziplock baggie in my purse, hoping the sticky wafer
held? Do I wrap a few beads around the baggie and try to pass it off as a poopy
throw? Do I follow everyone else’s lead and drop my garbage un-caringly to the
ground knowing that the after parade cleaners will pick it up? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I settled on donating it to Sterquilinus (the
Roman god of fertilizer) trusting it would be just fine in the bluish mash that
is the bottom of a porta-potty. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">My next oh ho moment came when I and 200 others decided
to stop for drinks at Lafitte’s Blacksmith Shop on Saturday night. Lafitte’s is
the oldest running bar in North America and has in my opinion, never bothered
to update the original washrooms from the 1730’s. I was enjoying my second Voodoo
Daiquiri (we call them Grimace’s for its purple colour) when I caught a whiff
of Oscar. The whiff reminded me that I hadn’t changed the wafer in a week and
only 2 days previous I even used part of the wafer for disposal issues. I
grabbed my purse and headed to the outdoor porta-potties which offered more
privacy then the indoor washrooms. A glance through the dim light confirmed my
suspicions, Oscar had blown a hole...and I was in the middle of Mardi Gras, on
Bourbon street in a porta potty. I dug through my purse for my emergency wafer,
Brava ring, AllKare adhesive remover wipes and fresh pouch. I laid everything
out as best as I could in a porta potty that was constantly being knocked on,
and set to work. In 3 minutes flat I had removed, wiped, ringed and replaced
the wafer and pouch plus disposed of the offending wafer/pouch and was back
with my friends who after many cherry bombs, were none the wiser of my second
porta-potty adventure. I had made my second offering to Sterquilinus in as many
days.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">On the last full day, which was Mardi Gras, we dressed up
in costumes and hit the streets. My husband went as Rock, my friend Sara as
Paper and I went as Scissors. One small problem arose; I had forgotten to bring
tape for the screw (a small circular piece of cardboard, in silver) that I
wanted to place on my front and rear. Tape is surprisingly hard to find in the
French Quarter, on Mardi Gras and I thought I’d have to go without an integral
part of my costume. Little did I know a porta-potty would be my saving grace?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">A few hours in to our celebration, I needed to find a
restroom, but like all indoor plumbing in the Vieux Carre, a proper restroom
was not to be found. I did however come upon a porta-potty. I latched the door
behind me and as I was pulling down my pants I realized my wafer was sticking
to the silvery leggings of my costume. This gave me an idea and incidentally,
more offerings for the fertilizer god.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
cut up my emergency wafer and used it as tape for my screws. It worked like a
charm and I was able to spend the next 6 hours running, walking, jumping,
hopping, skipping and shuffling up and down Bourbon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The next day while packing to go home, I found the red
sweatshirt part of my costume; the screws were still secured, as tight as can
be, with some help from my cut up wafer. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think perhaps the offerings to Sterquilinus
as well as a whispered plea of help may have assisted me during my porta-potty
trials. I can’t help but think there was something more, a porta-potty god,
watching over all who enter his domain. Whatever it was, as an ostomate, I will
never fear the outdoor restroom again. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span> </div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">Ps: A HUGE thank you to Sara for decorating one of my puch's, unbeknownst to me, in Mardi Gras finery!!!</span></span></div>
Oscar and Alliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02344797018125818146noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6859681366587799087.post-32199984707130579742013-01-30T18:17:00.000-07:002013-01-30T18:17:00.467-07:00Running with Ribbons<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxyJ7FQOenjLhSscRi-Z5RFVzQgAHQaY9ddFyVE-YrqUmR_jSKWHfNNkNdNZ4DBRVo5-rTBd_owI1JoI2acQij3rlDbZ8p50tdgHnYjxYifkCZNUuc3xYALIN9NEeP8DSewYrRPAdqGGs/s1600/DSC00373.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="237" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxyJ7FQOenjLhSscRi-Z5RFVzQgAHQaY9ddFyVE-YrqUmR_jSKWHfNNkNdNZ4DBRVo5-rTBd_owI1JoI2acQij3rlDbZ8p50tdgHnYjxYifkCZNUuc3xYALIN9NEeP8DSewYrRPAdqGGs/s320/DSC00373.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">In October,
the Edmonton Eskimo’s (our CFL team) partook in the CFL Pink campaign, which
helps to bring awareness and funds to women’s cancers, so when my friends and I
arrived at our local pub we found football helmets with pink screens on every
table. A few mug’s in and we decided to try them on and that is when I learned
all about the various types of face masks.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"></span><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Did you know
that depending on the player’s position, the helmets are different? I had no
idea either, that is until the guy’s started ripping off bars and adding bars and
saying things like “that’s a kickers helmet” or “now a running back can wear
it.” I’m not even sure what a running back is but I now know what kind of
helmet the position requires. While looking at all the little pieces of pink
paper on the table I was reminded about how each medical issue has picked up a “colour”
to represent their cause. It had me wondering why exactly, or rather who exactly,
chose a specific colour to tout their awareness. And because I am curious about
EVERYTHING, I decided to do some research and find out how many different
awareness ribbons there are.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I found 45.
45!!!!!!!! And I think that was just the tip of the ice berg. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How are we expected to keep them all straight?
<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Easy, we don’t
have to. The ostomy awareness ribbon is nice enough to TELL us what it symbolizes.
The brown ribbon has a small red crystal and creamy white lettering saying “IBD
& Ostomy Awareness.” It was designed by Lois Fink and Barb Wodzin and is completely
perfect in my opinion; however I certainly don’t need a ribbon to remind me of
ostomy awareness. Ostomy awareness for me is every day. Every time I empty Oscar’s
pouch or hear a noise I am made aware that I have an ostomy. <o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Colours representing
certain causes, gimmicky head gear, days, weeks and even months dedicated to
awareness for everything from Cystic Fibrosis month to world purple day are all
great and wonderful but are they working? Maybe we all need to take a step back,
put down our car magnets, wrist bands, thermal coffee mugs and every other
piece of promotional “awareness merchandise” that we have been led to believe will
in some small way help with the cause and actually volunteer our time to a
cause close to us. <o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">This Sunday
when millions of people are glued to their televisions watching the Superbowl,
I’ll be sending e-mails looking for more advertisers for our local Ostomy
Association’s newsletter. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thanks to
Oscar, I am able to donate more than just money to my cause; I am able to
donate myself. Come to think of it, I am also able to tell which position a
football player holds all thanks to a wonderful evening with friends and silly
paper helmets. Hm, maybe I will try to watch a few minutes of the Superbowl. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />Oscar and Alliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02344797018125818146noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6859681366587799087.post-35506418507492911962012-10-05T18:09:00.000-06:002012-10-05T18:10:06.692-06:00How to Type Around a Pug and Other Useless Information<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_REZQ5f5s6T76vgg8-7nBBs-hZvPeLDVhOpg51mr3d5yNOQ02H7ipq5ofc-pABv-gn0BMCNqZud0jUaSxWuBNxi0325WHCH8W4CigSzwqD0zpWH1GdZ_Xkq_Abh92EQEnWY1zFCzIzb4/s1600/gunnerlap.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_REZQ5f5s6T76vgg8-7nBBs-hZvPeLDVhOpg51mr3d5yNOQ02H7ipq5ofc-pABv-gn0BMCNqZud0jUaSxWuBNxi0325WHCH8W4CigSzwqD0zpWH1GdZ_Xkq_Abh92EQEnWY1zFCzIzb4/s320/gunnerlap.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
As you can see, my pug Gunner needs to be by my side all
the time. It has always been cute, but ever since Oscar and I got together
Gunner seems to think one of two things.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin-left: 36.0pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->1.<span style="font-size: 7pt;"> </span><!--[endif]-->My
permanent buddy will overtake my affections and Gunner will be left out.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin-left: 36.0pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->2.<span style="font-size: 7pt;"> </span><!--[endif]-->Oscar
needs to be kept warm, ALL THE TIME and Gunner has appointed himself Oscar’s
furry blanket.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Either way, I have learned quite a few new and
interesting ways of doing the most mundane things thanks to my ever present Pug
and his need to chaperone Oscar.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
When I first came home from the hospital I was paranoid
about even touching Oscar. Gunner thought differently. Within 2 minutes of me
sitting on the couch, the dog jumped up and immediately started sniffing Oscar.
I, being new to the Ostomy gang, freaked out and promptly placed a pillow
between Oscar and Gunner. Gunner thought this was a splendid idea, Oscar was
being kept warm and he had a new place to perch. Yup, Gunner took no time at
all in climbing the pillow and settling himself for the evening. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
A few days went by and the dishes started piling up. I didn't want to bend over and load the dishwasher, a fresh abdomen incision wouldn't like that, but I thought it would be a good idea to stand for a few
minutes, so I filled the sink with soapy water. Gunner on the other hand was
having none of it. His new charge would not be subjected to a potentially
dangerous encounter with the side of the sink. He arranged himself between me
and the sink and I was forced to lean over in a very awkward position to try to
avoid the vicious Pug glare I was receiving.
Well played sir, well played.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The next few weeks passed without incident except for the
ever present Pug. He had the uncanny ability to be everywhere I was but did not
arise suspicion as he kept a safe distance. If I had to change a pouch, Gunner
would sit discreetly on the inside of the bathroom door. An afternoon of
reading or doing homework would find him patiently watching me from the
opposite couch. Preparing the night’s dinner would involve me having to step
around him as he would sit in the very center of the kitchen, beady Pug eyes
following my every move. I figured
Gunner’s obsession with Oscar was finally over when he began acting like his
normal aloof self. How very wrong I was.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I came home one afternoon and realized I needed to
vacuum, not only for our family’s health’s sake but for the health of everyone
living in a 2 kilometer radius. The
house had become truly scary. I slowly walked downstairs and found the vacuum
buried behind some Christmas decorations…it had been a long time indeed. I
decided I would start on the main floor and proceeded upstairs. It was about
that time that I noticed I had a Pug shadow. I plugged in the machine and
imagine my surprise when a furry, snorting Pug decided to LAY himself on top of
the vacuum head. Normally, Gunner puts up with the vacuum but stay’s a safe
five feet away at all times. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Gunner had laid down the Pug law and I was more inclined
to follow it then my doctor’s instructions on NOT vacuuming for a least 6-8
weeks. Needless to say, Gunner won that
battle and I hired a cleaning service the next day. Almost 3 years later I
still have the cleaning service because the doctor may have been wrong and I shouldn't vacuum period.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Thank you Oscar, because of you I have a Pug who looks
after my best interests. <o:p></o:p></div>
Oscar and Alliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02344797018125818146noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6859681366587799087.post-52052561617850226632012-08-28T17:18:00.000-06:002012-08-28T17:19:02.933-06:00Sunday mASSterpiece<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgay9PRhC3dW2B7xE43Ef_ygoKN2ZptLKO8LIUI0KquVZiEVSdM8vcAq_Ecw17wlU5JUwhrFzxaLm_H0cpxa1EI1sbzzmPbuUh8GOpShJyy6VNhrp-9gJ7pq03Deck_XrekxT_QK_07DA4/s1600/stained-glass-ccc-andrewgould.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgay9PRhC3dW2B7xE43Ef_ygoKN2ZptLKO8LIUI0KquVZiEVSdM8vcAq_Ecw17wlU5JUwhrFzxaLm_H0cpxa1EI1sbzzmPbuUh8GOpShJyy6VNhrp-9gJ7pq03Deck_XrekxT_QK_07DA4/s320/stained-glass-ccc-andrewgould.jpg" width="212" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">I
have been to church since Oscar's inception but only in the form of weddings
and funerals. I had yet to actually partake in a full catholic mass, it
has been 15 years or more since I was comfortable enough to sit on the wooden
pews or kneel for any length of time.<br />
Today I joined Oma, Aunt Lori and my mom at a new church in London. We had just
moved Oma from Windsor to London and wanted to show Oma some support in her new
city. I haven't been a practicing Catholic in years but I did find that going
to mass was very soothing, not much had changed in the years I had been absent.<br />
I was able to look around and appreciate the beautiful stained glass windows
and give my full attention to the priest's sermon in a way I hadn't t been able
to do in a very long time. I also realized structured religion isn't my thing
and was glad I could put to rest the thoughts of "should I or shouldn't
I" regarding returning to church. I also realized how very quiet 200 or
more people can be when faced with the Lord.<br />
I thought everything was going swimmingly until Oscar started to make some
snuffling noises...the kind where all you have to do is put your hand over the
stoma and it quiets down. Then somewhere between communion and the final
procession that signals the end of mass, Oscar let it rip, thankfully, so did
the singer. I have never heard a note quite like the one she belted out and
neither apparently did Oscar because he was singing for all he was worth.
I never realized a stoma could make those type of noises and I secretly think
Oscar was trying to concoct his own symphony accompaniment to the third verse.
I did everything in my power to quiet him but he was intent on letting every
single sole in the church, living and dead, know that he was present and
singing as loudly as he could.<br />
After what seemed like hours when in reality it was only a minute or so, he
shut up and I had a pouch full of his offerings. Apparently my four dollars
wasn't quite enough. I glanced around at the retreating parishioners and no one
was the wiser. Oscars assterpiece...errr...masterpiece went unnoticed by
everyone except me. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">Thank you Oscar for allowing me to partake in mass, though I don't think you are cut out for the choir just yet.</span>Oscar and Alliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02344797018125818146noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6859681366587799087.post-81880646300168921682012-07-12T17:40:00.000-06:002012-07-12T17:40:19.461-06:00The Duke of Albany...in disguise!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ4oTeG8k9GsId17gPPYcCniyZN6o7ybD6EdFemxAvDgKilJBj-gmMg3ybIwNm63i_CYNXIciMl1srtKFjJZthYY5u0rSYaTn-No5TkO2-EXkUA2vRLIa33FujYHQA5kmM2QB8gZkzNXI/s1600/wings.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ4oTeG8k9GsId17gPPYcCniyZN6o7ybD6EdFemxAvDgKilJBj-gmMg3ybIwNm63i_CYNXIciMl1srtKFjJZthYY5u0rSYaTn-No5TkO2-EXkUA2vRLIa33FujYHQA5kmM2QB8gZkzNXI/s320/wings.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">On Tuesday
nights at the Winchester they have “wing” night. There are wing nights all over
the city, we could go out every night to a different pub and hit a wing night
every day of the week. Some sell their wings for as little as $0.10, some
places have more than 30 flavours, heck, there is even an entire web page
dedicated to all the different chicken wings/prices/days in Edmonton (</span></span><a href="http://www.edmonton.ab.hotwings.ca/"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Calibri;">www.edmonton.ab.hotwings.ca</span></span></a><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">) but every place pales in comparison to our Winchester.
<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The
Winchester does a “double bake” for us (you have to ask for double baked wings),
that means the wings are fried and then tossed with the sauce of the patron’s
choice and then the wings are thrown into the oven to “bake in” the flavour. It
leaves you with a fantastic wing that is not at all saucy but baked to
perfection. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m sure you are all
wondering how exactly eating chicken wings relates in any which way or form to
an ostomy.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Up until my
surgery I couldn’t eat any meat, let alone anything fried. The real kicker?
I’ve started to order my wings “salt and pepper” style. The wings are fried
(meat and frying!!) and then liberally coated in coarse salt and pepper
(pepper!!). Even the tiniest hint of pepper before I received Oscar would set
off a huge flare and everyone around me knew there was no way I could even come
in contact with the seasoning. Now? My all time favourite wings are the
deliciousness of salt and pepper. <o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">After my
surgery I didn’t screw around with what I could or couldn’t eat. I dove head
first into my first Burger Whopper, with all the fixin’s, a mere 3 days out of
the hospital. I kept a water glass full of shelled (I wasn’t wasting time
cracking them open myself) pumpkin seeds on the living room table so that when
the urge to eat a mouthful of seeds hit, I’d be ready. I wasn’t given ANY
conditions as to what/when/where I had to eat and I took full advantage of
it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m STILL taking advantage of it and
am enjoying food more and more. I’ve been lucky and haven’t had a blockage though
I do know the signs, and if I feel something is not quite right, I immediately
down 2L of water and go for a long walk to help everything move. We have all
heard the horror stories of what happens when you eat the wrong food but for me
there never has been a wrong food, just too MUCH of a food. <o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Thank you
Oscar for giving me food back. Oh how I’ve missed the rich chocolates, red
meat, anything fried to within an inch of its life, nuts, seeds, things with
skins (tomato!!) and every other delectable morsel of food that Crohn’s took
from me. Oscar not only gave me the opportunity to try food from places like
New Orleans and Italy but also has let me enjoy the Winchester as it should be
enjoyed, Pint of beer and pound of wings in hand. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> *10 points for any Shaun of the Dead reference you get!!*<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<br />Oscar and Alliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02344797018125818146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6859681366587799087.post-89397823021793472302012-06-19T11:15:00.001-06:002012-06-19T11:15:17.094-06:00Blasphemous Bells<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYUgm8ZKMVQyGI-diz_AwCICXYmTRcwtmhhtYBnImr8WF6Qj-hP8ZTmPdb82R7tOrRtAWVZHYWKraOT_6qDqTa4PuyuEGqZwXQPv6ag4hEwvFIjho9X4ISzxfwynLN0et-b_u2vlZTeKs/s1600/andimiha.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYUgm8ZKMVQyGI-diz_AwCICXYmTRcwtmhhtYBnImr8WF6Qj-hP8ZTmPdb82R7tOrRtAWVZHYWKraOT_6qDqTa4PuyuEGqZwXQPv6ag4hEwvFIjho9X4ISzxfwynLN0et-b_u2vlZTeKs/s320/andimiha.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I’m very confused about this bell thing.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I have heard the church bells ringing all over Italy and
Slovenia with seemingly no rhyme or reason since I’ve been here. Miha (the
groom, in picture) explained that they are ringing out the different times of the day and
that if not for the bells; he would probably be late for the important things
like work, pub meets and his wedding. Andi (the bride, in picture and an ostomate!!!) then
told me that there had been a petition to have the bells silenced but no one
ever signed it. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
As I was lying in bed having yet another insomnia induced
early morning, the bells started peeling out their weird tune and I tried to
figure them out. About 45 minutes later with no solution in sight I got up and
wandered to the washroom. Funny, when boredom and lack of sleep merge I always
find myself reverting back to my pre-Oscar days, which is heading to the
closest toilet. As I was popping off
Oscar’s pouch the bells started to ring and I had a horrible thought; what if
you could only go to the washroom at the times the bells were ringing…or worse…not
ringing? The bells are a church thing, so if you didn’t abide by them were you
going against a higher power? Insomnia really makes my mind wander to the most
ridiculous things.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
To be totally honest though, the bells freak me out. I
don’t do regimented religion or being on time very well and the bells are a
reminder of both. They seem (if Miha is to be believed….the jury is still out)
to be counting the passing time and that frankly, is a downer. I started to
think back to all the time I spent enclosed in a water closet; I spent a good
chunk of my 20’s seeking out a place where I could drop my drawers and I spent
even longer hovering over those places that would have be condemned had a
health inspector actually adventured in. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
A dawning realization that I had spent 13 years orbiting
around washrooms gave me the kick I needed. I grabbed my sneakers and headed
out the door. I was in SLOVENIA for goodness sake and didn’t need to be within
10 feet of a washroom. I also realized that later in the day I would witness
two of the most amazing people get married (wedding bells will ring I’m sure)
and that was all thanks to Oscar. Seriously, when Andi found out she needed an ostomy her and Miha hit the internet and came across my blog. A few months
later, Miha proposed and I was sent a wedding invitation. One year later and
here I am, in Slovenia on their wedding day and I don’t need a washroom! <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Thank you Oscar for making my journey to Slovenia
possible, in more ways than one. I’d also like to thank Andi and Miha Lampreht,
they are the nicest, sweetest people anyone could ever hope to have as friends, Oscar and I wish them a long, happy marriage filled with love. <o:p></o:p></div>Oscar and Alliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02344797018125818146noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6859681366587799087.post-33359762607849722482012-05-21T14:31:00.001-06:002012-05-21T14:32:51.788-06:00Italy...wait for it.<div>I have been in Italy for just over a week and this morning I finally did an Oscar change while we were staying in Firenze. I figured Oscar and I are long overdue for a blog post and as I have been sitting on this train (heading into Venice) for over an hour stuck in Bologna (earthquake last night has wrecked some track), the timing is perfect. </div><div>Today's blog isn't an adventure so much as an account of everything I have done in the last week all thanks to my ostomy.</div><div>We flew from Toronto,Canada into Rome, Italy on Monday where we spent the day in bed...completely exhausted after the almost 24 hour oddessy. On the plus side, I didn't use the washroom once on the flight from Toronto to Rome. When we did land we had to go through customs and it was over a 1/2 an hour wait, in a line.</div><div>The second day in Rome we headed to Vatican city to see the Sistine Chapel and St.Peter's Basilica. There were lines everywhere. Want to see a marble bust of a saint? Wait in a line. Want to see the Pieta? Wait in line. Want to see some tapestries? Wait in line. Want to see the inside of the chapel? Wait in line. There are over 17,000 people that pass through the Basilica EVERY DAY and between the pushing, shoving, jostling, people stopping to take pictures of every crack and crevice, the 1000's of pieces of artwork and everything else to gawk at in Vatican City, it takes a very long time and there are very long lines everywhere.</div><div>We headed to the Coliseum next and the length of the lines were astounding. I didn't realize there were that many people in Rome let alone that many people willing to wait around to see piles of rock that have been there for over 2,000 years. We waited in another line and where able to check "see the coliseum" off the bucket list. We eventually got very hungry and wandered into a restaurant were we had to...wait for service, wait for our food, wait for the cheque and generally WAIT.</div><div>We spent 3 days total in Rome and the last 3 days have been spent in Firenze either asleep, waiting, shopping, waiting, eating, waiting or waiting in a line to see the same darn things that 1000's of others wanted to see. </div><div>I have been able to do everything, see everything, eat everything and wait in every long line. I keep asking my mom (my travel partner extrodinaire) how people without ostomy's do the line/waiting thing? She only shakes her head and tells me how lucky I am that all I have to worry about is the occasional sore feet from all the standing. </div><div>I am looking forward to Venice and am very excited to get to Slovenia so I can hug Andi and Miha and witness their wedding. </div><div>Thank you Oscar, you have truly made this Italian/Slovenian trip possible.</div><div><br /></div>Oscar and Alliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02344797018125818146noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6859681366587799087.post-52708249139369401002012-04-24T16:55:00.001-06:002012-04-24T17:00:19.219-06:00ConvaTec has Perfected Moldable<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOtp179FkdJu4BwAKx8icgx7JboEP-WRJfDVu0tGKRuwROKwO1mKZKO5URX8IYsSyEjcz4NIk1ekbinyIZyrWZfW48JSSPpfIHcI1VaVuEM8eLmszFIxt6oGjEMDoDRtKbN0O-3l2Pg4A/s1600/The-thinker.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 245px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOtp179FkdJu4BwAKx8icgx7JboEP-WRJfDVu0tGKRuwROKwO1mKZKO5URX8IYsSyEjcz4NIk1ekbinyIZyrWZfW48JSSPpfIHcI1VaVuEM8eLmszFIxt6oGjEMDoDRtKbN0O-3l2Pg4A/s320/The-thinker.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5735104898313280418" /></a><p class="MsoNormal">The Edmonton Ostomy Association recently had its “suppliers” night. It is an evening where the suppliers (in this case, Hollister, ConvaTec and Coloplast) present their products to those of us who are un-familiar with what they offer. I became intrigued with some of the major differences between the big three and with some gentle nudging from my friend Angie, decided to grab the telephone numbers for the 2 brands I have yet to try, ConvaTec and Coloplast. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Last week I phoned ConvaTec (1-800-465-6302) and spoke to the most delightful, helpful woman on the planet. Cindy asked me all the pertinent questions and because I was able to speak with a rep on supplier’s night, I knew what I wanted. I asked for the Sur-Fit Natura, Moldable skin barrier. The thought of a moldable flange struck me as extraordinary.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Yesterday afternoon my package from ConvaTec arrived. It contained two convexity (Oscar need’s some convex love on the right side) Sur-Fit Natura, Moldable skin barriers and 16 Natura fabric pouches. It seemed like Christmas as I impatiently ripped open the box. I marvelled what I found inside and giddily showed my husband (who was very un-impressed at being disturbed during hockey play-off season) the differences between my current Hollister flange/Eakin Seal (not a Hollister brand)/pouch and what ConvaTec had sent.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">As it was a naked Oscar change day (full flange change), I wasted no time jumping on the ConvaTec bandwagon and did the change in about 2 minutes flat. I was amazed at how simple and MESS free having a moldable flange was. I was also dismayed at how hard I needed to press the pouch onto the flange in order to complete the two piece system. I am over 2 years post-surgery and am not comfortable at all with how much pressure I needed to put around Oscar. First tick against ConvaTec.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">In the package I was sent, it contained 16 little sticker thingies (not the official wording) which I had no idea what to do with. Their use became apparent when I awoke this morning to a spot of poop on my underwear directly where the filter is. The sticker thingies are meant to be placed on the pouch over the filter to prevent poop from leaking out. A sticker???? Second tick against ConvaTec.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Today is house cleaning/laundry day and I have spent the last 5 hours doing just that. All to the rustle of a plastic bag every time I move. The ConvaTec pouches aren’t very quiet and for the first time since I awoke with my new little friend, I am VERY aware that I am wearing an Ostomy appliance. Third and final tick against ConvaTec.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I will finish off the week with the current flange/pouches for my skin’s sake but unless ConvaTec can or has addressed these issues I won’t be dabbling in their products any time soon because really, Oscar and I are all for adventures but besides the moldable barriers (BEST IDEA EVER CONVATEC!!!) we didn’t find anything worth switching for. <o:p></o:p></p>Oscar and Alliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02344797018125818146noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6859681366587799087.post-70344633712690818482012-02-23T11:03:00.002-07:002012-02-23T11:59:22.482-07:00AK-.....cupcake?<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKnIgjvLSUE4HlO_rnu_AVKlVSgtE7ny520efUzpC4D4wjHVljWUGaG9rybL5Q25I_29jWNpVJ48LOdYaXQ_c5k2gQUFMXqLToqeDpLlcVQ9qx2-lShyphenhyphenkXdbYxsp5BheQ56bYP8ajGSGE/s1600/023.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 320px; height: 240px; text-align: center; display: block; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5712393403272157058" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKnIgjvLSUE4HlO_rnu_AVKlVSgtE7ny520efUzpC4D4wjHVljWUGaG9rybL5Q25I_29jWNpVJ48LOdYaXQ_c5k2gQUFMXqLToqeDpLlcVQ9qx2-lShyphenhyphenkXdbYxsp5BheQ56bYP8ajGSGE/s320/023.JPG" /></a>Today is my Oma's (grandmother for you non German folk) 82 birthday. Last week she flew from Ontario, where she lives, to Alberta, where I live, for a 1 week visit.<br />As I hadn't seen her in almost 2 years, it was wonderful to spend some time with her. I picked her up from the airport and got her settled in at my house. We then spent about 3 hours just talking. It was during that conversation that it hit me.....I am Oma.<br />Growing up I didn't identify with anyone in my family. I just didn't see ANY resemblance to ANYONE. My mom, brother, all the aunts and uncles and 1st cousins are all tall. I mean really tall. A get together with them feels like I am walking with giants. I however, stand at 5'3 (5'3 & 3/4 on a GOOD day) and have always felt out of place. I harboured secret thoughts of a hot mailman, back in the day, who seduced my mom and that is how I came to be. No such luck. I just didn't inherit anything from them, or so I thought.<br />While talking with Oma, I discovered we are similar in almost every single way. Things that had escaped my notice as an adolescent became glaringly obvious as an adult. I keep a very neat and tidy house, everything in it's place so to speak, so does Oma. I married a tradesman who then opened his own business, so did Oma. My garden has become a favourite hobby, so is Oma's. I like to wear the latest fashion's and am always one step ahead either in thought or actual clothing, so was Oma. We even share the same initials "A K" How weird is that? It didn't just end there. Physically we are almost identical. Short? check. Big boobs? Check. Tiny hands? Check. The same shoe size? Check. It amazed me, while sitting on the couch, to realize the person I was talking with could very well be ME in 47 years.<br />We discussed my new found love of baking and Oma eagerly started talking "baker speak" with me. It blew my mind when I figured out I understood EXACTLY what she was talking about. We then decided she was going to show me how to bake apple strudel. She sent me to the market armed with a list of ingredients. A few hours later and we were baking up a storm! I wrote down every single ingredient and how to put everything together. <br />Mom came for dinner and between the strudel and the food, it was perfect. It became apparent to mom and I that we needed to go to Ontario and spend a week or so with Oma, picking her brain and writing down all the memories of our family.<br />Three years ago I would never have guessed that I would be sitting comfortably with Oma, discussing everything from fashion to baking, all the while not once thinking about a washroom. I could have never sat patiently in the kitchen, Kitchen Aid stand mixer whirring in the background, listening to and absorbing recipes from generations past. It is all thanks to Oscar. Because of him I am able to be curious and attentive, not having "washroom" in the back of my mind at all times.<br />Thank you Oscar, you have allowed me to spend some quality time with Oma in complete content. And Happy Birthday Oma! Feb. 23, 1930 was a wonderful day because it gave us you.Oscar and Alliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02344797018125818146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6859681366587799087.post-53738656455156294482012-02-09T17:56:00.003-07:002012-02-09T18:19:42.831-07:00Ostomate? Beer? Both??<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSKzGXvBfDv1OW0g8rjIInP_cq9Xcx5qSctyZi7x9EAaBuUpiC5KpR4ExqMV9BENM_woPUiqnm2i0FtBAaia1YYFIEpynBcs8nBvyDLHk0nBPMaTd7pEyloYJgeDl3fOJJomEq-gLxac8/s1600/prhobition-we-want-beer-parade.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 201px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSKzGXvBfDv1OW0g8rjIInP_cq9Xcx5qSctyZi7x9EAaBuUpiC5KpR4ExqMV9BENM_woPUiqnm2i0FtBAaia1YYFIEpynBcs8nBvyDLHk0nBPMaTd7pEyloYJgeDl3fOJJomEq-gLxac8/s320/prhobition-we-want-beer-parade.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5707304763925649442" /></a>Na, we really just want you, hm, maybe the beer too, but YOU for sure. <div>Do you live in or around the Edmonton, AB area? Are you between the ages of 20-40 (or close??) Would you like to meet other ostomates in this age range? <div>If you have answered yes to these questions, please meet us at Pub 1905 (10525 Jasper Ave) at 7:00pm on Saturday, March 10, 2012, for a VERY informal meet and greet. I'll be sure to have something completely ridiculous on the table so you know who/what to look for. Or, you can just look for the loudest, probably most tattoo'd hooligan in the place and I bet you will spot me. </div></div><div>If you have any question's, please e-mail me and i'll get back to you ASAP. </div>Oscar and Alliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02344797018125818146noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6859681366587799087.post-18606239152035521412012-01-18T13:42:00.004-07:002012-01-18T13:49:39.243-07:00Is a pink corvette in my future?<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZJufelz_oQ0Y_CRWdSaktRGtbwe8Klkr0goxrDr7wosVp3QFrjAhOn_q4tWDKikiXUEz_dr10P2e5WZOeGOzXaPjl80BgCMXwX0hsfrC5XkCal5qQUZd2cUiSMHGExFo9QXCICVCJPI0/s1600/barbiepic.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5699075427567039234" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZJufelz_oQ0Y_CRWdSaktRGtbwe8Klkr0goxrDr7wosVp3QFrjAhOn_q4tWDKikiXUEz_dr10P2e5WZOeGOzXaPjl80BgCMXwX0hsfrC5XkCal5qQUZd2cUiSMHGExFo9QXCICVCJPI0/s320/barbiepic.jpg" /></a> To steal a quote from a famous chip company but adding a twist: Tattoo’s are like chips, you can’t stop at one.<br />I think I started getting tattooed as a way to snub my nose at my health/body/being. My first tattoo was of an Egyptian cartouche with the word LEO (Trevor @ Big Daddies Tatties Ltd in Edmonton) inscribed inside. I got it on the back of my neck a mere 7 months after my strokes (blood clots travelled the brain stem) and the location was definitely a F U to the fact that I was not only surviving but living. My second was a full sleeve (Andi Bolz @ Atomic Zombie Tattoo in Edmonton), all Egyptian, with little bits of who I am. I have always had a fascination of Egypt and figured I would never be able to go, the fact being that all those pyramids probably don’t have washrooms. My third is of a pink flamingo (Dano Stephens @ Vince Neil Ink in Las Vegas) done to commemorate the hubby and me getting married at the Flamingo in Las Vegas. The hubby got the same tattoo!<br />As I sit here writing the newest blog, I am sitting more on my left check then right, you see, I have recently gotten yet another tattoo (Andi Bolz @ Atomic Zombie Tattoo in Edmonton). I swore up and down I was done getting tattoos. The pain, the expense, the expense of PAYING someone to inflict pain, all seemed a bit silly. There is no longer anything in my life that I can snub my nose at! I am healed now, the Crohn’s is gone, my body is feeling fantastic and I am married to a wonderful man and we have a successful business. The need to get tattooed should be over with right? Wrong.<br />The dark, pain ridden old being is behind me and now I am getting tattoos that celebrate ME, I am in a new phase of life and I LOVE it, and I have Oscar to thank. I now have a bunch of new tattoo ideas relating to my ostomy, because let’s face it; Oscar and my non-existent bum are a part of me.<br />Yesterday was my first time back in a tattooist’s chair in over 3 years. I was a little bit frightened but more concerned as to how Oscar was going to handle being laid on for a few hours. I shouldn’t have worried, whatever I throw at him he handles with ease. I also had my bum hanging out for all to see over the pony wall at the studio, at least I had picked up a new lacy thong at Victoria’s Secret! I was embarrassed at first, I could just imagine what people must be thinking “who does that woman think she IS getting a Barbie tattoo on her ass?? And talking about ass, hers is AWFUL!” About half way through a strange calm came over me and I embraced the fact that my ass is not perfect, I am not perfect, but I DO have a Barbie butt, all show and no go! It was with that new found resolve that I gritted my teeth and mentally said “eh, so what? Now they have a story to tell their friends.”<br />The actual tattoo took a little more than an hour to complete start to finish. I am eternally grateful that I have such a talented friend and artist in Andi and that she is able to see the humour in what I wanted done. On the way to post-tattoo chicken wings with her, she looked over at me and said “I admire you, you go after what you want and you don’t let things stand in your way.” I said thank you, but am now figuring out how I can wear lacy thongs again. It’s what I want, and Oscar is certainly not going to stand in my way<br /><br /><br /><div></div>Oscar and Alliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02344797018125818146noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6859681366587799087.post-64724690258901982382012-01-13T17:20:00.002-07:002012-01-13T17:27:00.577-07:00An ode to chunky peanut butter...<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8UrednmcAX_7zzJUV7cyb2chtlts_iVW18imSTkJ6AlVR5Mft18B80movtT6RIVnaJ2hG9aHoxr6-y1lxlZpWFVn6x6LJVwJ1RHiE3BGbGNnqie3bWinagmDlwo8f-v3snX8Y8Vk2pck/s1600/2376261415_4961d94634_z.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5697276140206359810" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8UrednmcAX_7zzJUV7cyb2chtlts_iVW18imSTkJ6AlVR5Mft18B80movtT6RIVnaJ2hG9aHoxr6-y1lxlZpWFVn6x6LJVwJ1RHiE3BGbGNnqie3bWinagmDlwo8f-v3snX8Y8Vk2pck/s320/2376261415_4961d94634_z.jpg" /></a> When I had “the Crohn’s” there were a number of things I couldn’t eat and drink. Dairy products, red meat, seeds, nuts, black pepper in anything, spicy anything actually, fast food, alcohol, beans, the list is on-going and for those of you that have/had Crohn’s, you know that this list changes daily if not hourly. That piece of toast felt fine this morning but try it again for dinner and your tummy could feel like it is on fire.<br />I can reminisce about all the food/drinks I couldn’t handle, but the one that bothered me the most was chunky peanut butter. I couldn’t have peanut butter at all, but chunky peanut butter was and remains still, even with my portable poo pouch, my personal unicorn.<br />I love chunky peanut butter! It is good and even useful on so many levels. Need to give a dog a pill? Put it in some chunky peanut butter, they won’t be able to tell if it’s a peanut or a pill. Have gum stuck in your hair? A little pop of peanut butter will get it right out, and the most impressive feat? Shave with it. Honestly, the oils in the peanut butter will make your skin feel fantastic. All those things are wonderful but nothing beats the way it tastes. A little salty, a little sweet, with crunches of goodness thrown in with smoothness found only on the most pristine paint jobs. I love chunky peanut butter.<br />So it was with that enthusiasm that I jumped in and made my first peanut butter and jelly sandwich in over 13 years. The first bite was swoon worthy, the second and third had the flavours of the peanut butter, jelly and fresh bread cascading together in perfect harmony, I don’t remember much about the rest of that sandwich or the one that followed, but I do remember the smelliness the next day.<br />Us ostomates live in fear of “the smell” Or rather, OTHER people being able to smell “the smell.” We know its pure silliness and no one can smell us but on that particular Tuesday morning I KNEW the smell was permeating around me.<br />I just couldn’t figure it out, I had done a complete wafer change a few days before and there were no leaks or any outward signs that something may be wrong in Oscar world. A thorough check later that evening revealed a tiny particle of peanut that had worked its way between the two plastic rings into the thin clear plastic that connects them. It then pricked a miniscule hole that allowed some of “the smell” to escape. Son of a b*tch.<br />After years of waiting to taste the sweet sweet creation that is chunky peanut butter was I willing to be taken down by a little piece of peanut? NO. Oscar and I have decided we just don’t CARE if there is a little smell once in a while and we also decided that some Duct tape works miracles in keeping those little holes closed tight.<br />Thank you Oscar for allowing me to indulge in chunky peanut butter once again, even if it has meant buying fat fat pants.<br /><br /><div></div>Oscar and Alliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02344797018125818146noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6859681366587799087.post-59942156502545263952011-11-14T11:14:00.002-07:002011-11-14T11:22:42.642-07:00Oscar, Allie, Alligators....Oh my!....Part 2<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU-NJ5aCp99-JWk9jJjhO532LFBugqEKIiwSywFXPLVJq-SPlYaXGzTNKH-FswL5NsI3KDRukzVukzVqEOot0vBdIxCiSLmTNlpm4-Yfc4oPMrZBhp7yAe8O9COTBbWdycf3BmLbXtAaI/s1600/NOLA+2011+042.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU-NJ5aCp99-JWk9jJjhO532LFBugqEKIiwSywFXPLVJq-SPlYaXGzTNKH-FswL5NsI3KDRukzVukzVqEOot0vBdIxCiSLmTNlpm4-Yfc4oPMrZBhp7yAe8O9COTBbWdycf3BmLbXtAaI/s400/NOLA+2011+042.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5674917028114020050" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); ">The swamp loomed in front of us, large and imposing as our Cajun guide Arthur sped the airboat along. He showed us areas where the tree branches touched and the Spanish moss grew like some sort of beautiful ghostly weed. Other areas were a vast wetland full of birds of every kind imaginable, while other areas looked like a devastation had happened and the remaining trees were like jutting teeth ready to impale an unsuspecting airboat (the picture above is of my hubby, me in the middle and our friend Ben in the airboat). The swamp is breathtaking. I spent the first hour on the edge of my seat, drinking in all the little tidbits of information Arthur was telling us about this magnificent area. The swamp I didn't realize, is like a bunch of little Eco-systems. Some lush and teeming with wild life, others a cold, seemingly dead space. I was entranced and didn't realize that we had yet to see an alligator.</span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); ">My male companions did. My hubby was squirming in his seat, his eyes glued to the swampy/marshy edges for the tell tale little beady eyes and round nostrils. Arthur was also beginning to realize that we had yet to see the tasty critters and took it as a personal affront that we hadn't seen one. Arthur decided to take matters into his own hands and sped us off through the bayou to a spot usually not visited by tours. We were quickly rewarded with a spotting, and I was quickly rewarded with half a pouch full from Oscar.</span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); ">Through out the entire ride I had not thought once about a washroom or wondered what would happen if I was in the middle of the swamp and the urge struck. The telltale warmth, the pants getting slightly tighter, reminded me that having an Ostomy is the best thing in the entire world. Although we have been to New Orleans quite a few times in my non-ostomy past, I resolutely refused to visit the swamp. With my fertile imagination, I visualized me, ass hanging out of the boat, dealing with a Crohns emergency, and while that in itself would be embarrassing, I was almost catatonic with fear that some huge alligator would get it in his head that a nice piece of white Canadian ass would be just the treat he needed. No thank you. </span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); ">Thank you Oscar for allowing me to be higher in the swamp food chain (at least in an airboat) and for not letting me become the other, other, white meat.</span></span>Oscar and Alliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02344797018125818146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6859681366587799087.post-58142690692880402262011-11-07T08:24:00.004-07:002011-11-07T08:34:11.606-07:00Oscar, Allie, Alligators....Oh my!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgijsD0cu21SvtV13Ej-1Ff0Y3Kn2DQQtDnHCCUITVyGFBYSRkYQ8xGMXoEAsE30tfdWenOrJS0yfRmXhS4kQ6iczfOa5oMGLKj2rSf3s-s2sYVoErM01yk8Su4nRDJL4_jR0W1-kpzAkI/s1600/NOLA+2011+007.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgijsD0cu21SvtV13Ej-1Ff0Y3Kn2DQQtDnHCCUITVyGFBYSRkYQ8xGMXoEAsE30tfdWenOrJS0yfRmXhS4kQ6iczfOa5oMGLKj2rSf3s-s2sYVoErM01yk8Su4nRDJL4_jR0W1-kpzAkI/s320/NOLA+2011+007.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5672276753307456834" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNeSPCyRrQGyGJrCJEw19ioXCFvSpzwHvogL5x9VFxcq_CVYTPJJN6O4BWnatfWB2gCuqk3WL7yJ55_SyX5vegEv7e_O1wlyA8hwBkLOhRBXvkvLyvCv8VXtdgKdPKIj99kLfe1G6Yzyw/s1600/NOLA+2011+001.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNeSPCyRrQGyGJrCJEw19ioXCFvSpzwHvogL5x9VFxcq_CVYTPJJN6O4BWnatfWB2gCuqk3WL7yJ55_SyX5vegEv7e_O1wlyA8hwBkLOhRBXvkvLyvCv8VXtdgKdPKIj99kLfe1G6Yzyw/s320/NOLA+2011+001.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5672275709521221890" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); "><span class="Apple-style-span">The hubby and I spent the last ten days in New Orleans, Louisiana. This trip marked a bunch of firsts for Oscar and I.<br />I've been to New Orleans quite a few times always as a Crohns suffering, rectal incontinent woman. I won't go into details of the serious lack of washrooms in the French Quarter or how if you do find one, it is usually a single room for every person in the establishment. Not a great feeling when your in the middle of lunch with 200 other people and the urge strikes. It's ugly but does prove that us Canadians can and will get nasty if need be.<br />This year we decided to go for 10 days over our anniversary which is on Halloween. We couldn't think of a better place to be then in the city we love and originally visited on our honeymoon 3 years ago. We also decided to dress up and really have fun with the holiday. We went as a Pan Am stewardess and Pilot (top pic is of me and a samari on Bourbon St, 2nd pict is of the hubby and I on Saturday night in full regalia at The Old Absinthe House with a glass of absinthe in front of us) complete with flipped hair and flight bags. I'm not sure if any of you have been to NOLA on Halloween, Bourbon St/Frenchman St. in particular, but the costumes are outrageous, phenomenal and put the best special effects artist to shame. Imagine our surprise when all we heard was "Pan Am! Pan Am!" and were constantly stopped and asked to have our pictures taken. We would slowly make our way up Bourbon and either be stopped or it would rain beads from the balconies, gifts from appreciative revelers. We never did see another Pan Am pilot/stewardess on Saturday or Monday night. The strangest part of the evenings? I didn't go to the washroom once. Lots of drinking ensued but I could care less if I was in Laffitte's or in the Old Absinthe House. The washroom situation just didn't faze me.<br />I also realized I could eat everything. And I did. Shrimp Po-Boys (I'm an expert at these!) crawfish, sautéed crab claws, huge breakfasts from either Ihop or Deja Vu, Muffaletta (gross unless you like olives) and alligator. Yup, alligator. Little pieces of fried goodness that taste like chicken of the swamp. As I sit here on the plane ride home, my mouth is watering just thinking of alligator.<br />Now, as most of you know, I have a very inquisitive mind (how many pouches HAVE Oscar and I contributed to the landfills?!?) and was wondering where, exactly do these morsels of deliciousness come from? The obvious answer, the swamp. I of course was not content to just accept that fact but decided I needed to see for myself. My hubby, our friend Ben and I booked ourselves on a swamp/airboat tour for the next day.<br />We found ourselves being greeted by a man who seemed to be speaking some sort of bastardized English/Mumbo Jumbo. He was a born and bred Cajun who I am sure poured on the accent to scare the tourists. It worked. We threw caution to the wind, with a quick pat to make sure Oscar would be ok, and climbed aboard an airboat. Our destination? The swamp.<br />To be continued.....</span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); "><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div>Oscar and Alliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02344797018125818146noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6859681366587799087.post-52479555049571406332011-10-06T01:24:00.004-06:002011-10-06T01:41:45.900-06:00Unclenched Awesomeness!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDMZ7e1pNqPPiVs3pntqT2qefbahyphenhyphenenLd7odrojysIuQ03IYuQ5QZUmJVCYfTye3M4ArOLIP09u0deM5MFo11h3_-7gvE1fHLA6Y3_k__TOqoKPEPZqxdKf7QJfYgzDuKkuZXEYYHiydE/s1600/photo+%25282%2529.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDMZ7e1pNqPPiVs3pntqT2qefbahyphenhyphenenLd7odrojysIuQ03IYuQ5QZUmJVCYfTye3M4ArOLIP09u0deM5MFo11h3_-7gvE1fHLA6Y3_k__TOqoKPEPZqxdKf7QJfYgzDuKkuZXEYYHiydE/s320/photo+%25282%2529.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5660278233096393186" /></a><p class="MsoNoSpacing">Tuesday, Oct. 4, was my husband’s 30<sup>th</sup> birthday. <span> </span>We played hooky from work, closed the shop and decided to spend the entire day at West Edmonton Mall, at the water park to be more precise. <span> </span>I have been to the mall a million times but have never actually gone in to the water park. All those enclosed tubes, twisting and spiralling, full of gushing water, just didn’t seem like a good idea to a woman with a permanent unclenched rear end.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing">Since the water park didn’t open until noon, I had all morning to mentally and physically prepare myself for what I was sure would be a disastrous foray into the world of water gushing flumes + ostomy. <span> </span>I started off the morning with a naked Oscar change, making sure he was new and fresh and ready to face the great unknown. I debated first with Oscar, then with the pugs and finally with one of our cats over whether or not to wear a belt to ensure the horrific didn’t happen. <span> </span>The horrific being Oscar and I shooting down a sluice at 60 kilometers an hour when the copious amounts of flowing water somehow un-hook Oscar’s pouch and we wind up at the bottom, naked, covered in excrement and the entire water park has to be evacuated. Somehow my 1 piece bathing suit has flown off in the process. <span> </span>I decided to bring the belt. Just in case. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing">Needless to say I spent quite a few sleepless nights leading up to what I have dubbed “the great unveiling.” <span> </span><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing">Noon arrived and we were let loose into the park. A couple of tattooed hooligans (Neil and Ryan) and 1 nervous ostomate, determined to plaster a look of “this is just like any other day in the water” on her face, strode in and decided what to tackle first.<span> </span>While the boys rode every slide that was open, I casually picked out our seats and consumed a beer before I even got up the nerve to take off my swim cover.<span> </span>I shouldn’t have worried, the kids staring at me where more interested in either my full sleeve tattoo or my Ipad . Comfortable in my teal, ruffled bathing suit, I entered the wave pool and floated around luxuriating in the feel of warm water in October. <span> </span>Throw another beer into me and I was ready to take on some slides. Neil and Ryan kept reminding themselves to clench and when I looked askance as to what the meaning was, Neil told me I didn't have to worry. My Barbie butt is the best defence against an unintentional enema. The first two slides made me realize these aren't mamsy pansy water slides but instead, harsh, fast, you better clench ALL your cheeks or you’re getting water up your rear and your mouth/nose. The eye opening moment of the day came when I found myself in the toilet bowl<b> </b>ie: Tropical Typhoon. <span> </span>It is a slide that shoots you down into a huge cylinder where you swish around a few times and then are “flushed” into a splash pool below. I realized that all my fears about Oscar and a water park were un-founded. There wouldn't be any "great unveiling." I could ride any slide I wanted and no one was the wiser with my cute ruffled swim suit hiding any bulges.</p><p class="MsoNoSpacing">Thank you Oscar for allowing me to experience ass clenching water slides, even if I no longer have to clench. Although, holding my breath (as demonstrated by me in the above picture, on Tuesday) does seem like a safe bet.</p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p></o:p></p>Oscar and Alliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02344797018125818146noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6859681366587799087.post-56890064668491715782011-09-19T10:12:00.003-06:002011-09-19T10:17:11.834-06:00Last Friday Night<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhbJxJwtfHahYf_MJUr-7mZeHAvHYt62FCpTvSuB1Puxg1fqYXEUsYRNabZr8jHwpr3z5FFJC4sGq8kZBom5lo6UrjQ856qmnDRhs2QYSsKwICw8G5AqtuL_hhKQe6T09hblVLqc-Hnhk/s1600/body-scan-250vs120.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 233px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhbJxJwtfHahYf_MJUr-7mZeHAvHYt62FCpTvSuB1Puxg1fqYXEUsYRNabZr8jHwpr3z5FFJC4sGq8kZBom5lo6UrjQ856qmnDRhs2QYSsKwICw8G5AqtuL_hhKQe6T09hblVLqc-Hnhk/s320/body-scan-250vs120.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5654104556954647010" /></a><p class="MsoNoSpacing">This summer in Edmonton has been crazy. Not for the constant construction or the busyness, it’s been the weather that has made everything a little insane.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing">10 – 25 degrees Celsius (50 – 78 Fahrenheit), long periods of rain or gale force winds, more mosquitoes then possible, too hot to go outside (30 degrees) and a “best of Mother Nature’s worst” could all describe this summer. Over all it has been, in my opinion, pretty miserable.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing">Until last week.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing">Beautiful blue skies, bright sun and a warm 28-31 degrees. We finally got our summer weather the second week of September. Of course, there are leaves on the ground and a distinct “fall” feeling with all the stores now stocking winter wear, but that didn’t stop a girl friend and I from having dinner on a patio on Jasper Ave. on Friday night.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing">So there we were, 2 blondes in cute clothes, enjoying an un-seasonably warm Friday night, eating a Mediterranean dinner on a patio without a care in the world.<span> </span>Or so it would seem.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing">To look at us, you would never know I was wearing a permanent poo pouch or that she was an insulin dependent diabetic who had to take a needle before meals.<span> </span>We looked like your average every day Canadian, albeit with better clothes and shoes then most, but average nonetheless. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing">We were about to start our meal when T realized she had forgotten her insulin at home. She had switched out purses for the evening and since the insulin needs to be refrigerated she had forgotten to put a new ampule in her purse.<span> </span>She made it through dinner and coffees but we needed to head back to her place soon after so she could give herself an injection. Let me repeat….GIVE HERSELF AN INJECTION. This woman who is not only smart, beautiful and amazing in every way, but has to give herself an INJECTION whenever she wants to eat something. Yet she never complains. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing">This made me realize that as an ostomate, all I have to do is switch out a pouch or two and occasionally put on a new wafer. I don’t have to constantly prick myself to test my blood or give myself an injection when I’m hungry. What the heck am I complaining about?<span> </span><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing">Friday night also made me realize that everyone is dealing with their own demons, whether it is Crohns, Cancer, Arthritis, an ostomy, Diabetes, in grown toe nails, Fibromyalgia or any number of invisible diseases/afflictions. Just because a person looks fine on the outside doesn’t mean all is fine within.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing">Thank you Oscar for allowing me to take a step back and realize that other people’s words and actions may not be coming from a place of hate and anger but rather from a place of pain and loneliness.</p><p class="MsoNoSpacing">A famous quote came to me and I think it’s apt “When you judge another, you do not define them, you define yourself.” –Wayne Dyer</p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p></o:p></p>Oscar and Alliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02344797018125818146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6859681366587799087.post-67662772099915329292011-07-12T21:19:00.002-06:002011-07-12T22:05:44.976-06:00Summer = busy<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV0cKPSuBox0DIFv4BmIzmEcIIDS1e7n4-94toeMNlafbk7fVWRnfgKEHBFnnchw-yVeYQTbULvDm_uYqthhIfLq1KFacyN8svnoRNr-LGwJ-97YZUtupaQpdE8bzJhwFTJptLeLN19Qc/s1600/475px-Busy_desk.svg.png" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 253px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV0cKPSuBox0DIFv4BmIzmEcIIDS1e7n4-94toeMNlafbk7fVWRnfgKEHBFnnchw-yVeYQTbULvDm_uYqthhIfLq1KFacyN8svnoRNr-LGwJ-97YZUtupaQpdE8bzJhwFTJptLeLN19Qc/s320/475px-Busy_desk.svg.png" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5628671522518602370" /></a>I have been stupid busy. Not just "little Johnny has soccer practice 2 nights a week" busy, but I am currently in full blown "days need 38 hours and I need an assistant for my assistant" busy.<div>To delve a bit deeper into the life (the last 6 weeks) of Allie and Oscar;</div><div>1. Our renter's up and left and we have been stuck with over $15,000.00 in repairs (they even stole the toilet seats!). The house is now on the market, please cross your fingers for a quick sale.</div><div>2. Our leisurely trip to Washington and Kelowna had to be cut short due to the rental fiasco.</div><div>3. My final project and exam came due at the end of June for a course I am taking at the University of Alberta. I am still too chicken to check my marks online. </div><div>4. We had our roof re-shingled and are now dealing with possible structural issues.</div><div>5. The shop is booking 2, mostly 3 weeks in advance and we desperately need another mechanic. Easier said then done, and if the caliber of current resumes received are any indication of the job seeking public, we are all in deep trouble.</div><div>6. I started the Zone, a meal delivery diet. I am moody and in need of food. I went to the pool yesterday for Aqua-fit and took an hour long walk with the Pugs tonight all in an effort to loose some of this weight. I looked in a mirror on Sunday and didn't recognize my body. I was so disgusted at what I saw, I have forsworn all alcoholic beverages for the rest of the summer. We are all in deep trouble.</div><div>7. Neil bought a Mercedes ML55 AMG and it needs a steering rack, his '69 VW Beetle needs the engine put in it and my VW Cabrio needs an interior, badly. There just isn't enough time to do what is needed. It will be winter before we know it and the engine will still be on the stand and not in the bug.</div><div>8. I am in need of sleep. </div><div>9. I have been a shit head of a friend, caught up in my own life for the last 6 weeks without regard to anyone else. I am sorry. To those of you that have stuck around, thank you and I love you.</div><div>10. The house needs power washing, the lawn needs mowing, the laundry needs folding, the bric-a-brac needs dusting, everything needs to be vacuumed, papers need to be filed, I have to find time for an optometrist appointment, the cats need their shots, the garden at home and at the shop needs to be weeded, the walkways need to be cleaned......I could go on, but see #8. I am in need of sleep.</div><div>You are probably wondering how all this adds up to an ostomy adventure. The fact that I can do all these things and NOT be confined to a washroom is an adventure. My day to day living that comes with being healthy is all thanks to Oscar.</div><div>Oscar and I promise some funny blogs in the fall. If we have time to sit down and write a post we will, but in the meantime.....go out and enjoy your summer! Oh, and if you have time, care to install an engine? Please?<br /><div><br /></div></div>Oscar and Alliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02344797018125818146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6859681366587799087.post-37102329415195902162011-06-23T00:13:00.001-06:002011-06-23T00:16:08.364-06:00I Shurped...<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHZ99uUGFDvrKmLA112dLeHg8C_-9AjR8cEJ29rKCNk6_YlD_qYd0OSs9MbGurVBkYnQ_oTu887916EQDO7mysqAhNDSbccdBHqkzlkE3qXz2fskqY0S3DXAkNDoXlBv5fER0PLCF-hh0/s1600/Dixie_photo_1.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHZ99uUGFDvrKmLA112dLeHg8C_-9AjR8cEJ29rKCNk6_YlD_qYd0OSs9MbGurVBkYnQ_oTu887916EQDO7mysqAhNDSbccdBHqkzlkE3qXz2fskqY0S3DXAkNDoXlBv5fER0PLCF-hh0/s320/Dixie_photo_1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5621294477965534802" /></a><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-size:12.0pt">Tonight while on the way to the Home Depot, Oscar’s pouch got all puffy and was in need of a burp. For those of you not lucky enough to have acquired an ostomy, a “burp” is required once in a while to expel the gas trapped in the pouch. Gas build up, or inflatable play toys (according to our cats) usually happen when there is runny poop that has clogged the filter. A burp is easy to do on the sly and even easier if you have 2 pug’s constantly present, that you can blame the smell on.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-size:12.0pt">While Neil was driving, I cagily opened the sun roof (ventilation) and quickly opened a corner of the pouch/wafer. The pouch didn’t decrease nearly enough and when I decided to give it an encouraging “pat” some contents leaked out. I was stuck in the car with a poopy wafer and some excrement sitting on my abdomen. Unfortunately I couldn’t blame the smell on the Pugs as they weren’t with us and I certainly couldn’t explain why I was sitting in the passenger seat with my skirt down to my knees, covered in waste, if we had been pulled over. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-size:12.0pt">I grabbed some Kleenex and wiped up the mess but couldn’t quite look my husband in the eye while I mumbled “we need to go home…..now.”<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-size:12.0pt">Neil looked over at me and as cool as can be said “did you just shart?” And then laughed uproariously as if it was the funniest thing he had ever heard. I tried to come back with some witty retort but found I had to think, what would be an ostomates version of a shart? I know a shart is between a shit and a fart and it happens when you think all you need to do is fart but a little poop comes out instead. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-size:12.0pt">Hilarity ensued while we decided what could be the new name for when a burp turns nasty. I don’t think Tupperware had this in mind when they coined the phrase “Just Burp It.” After quite a few strange words were bandied about, we settled on “SHURP” i.e.; a shit-burp. I think it’s completely appropriate and I am sure some, if not all of you, are nodding your head in agreement.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-size:12.0pt">Thank you Oscar for being the inspiration in the creation of a new word “shurp.” Perhaps in the future you can wait until we are safely ensconced in our own bathroom before you try to be a muse for anything else. <o:p></o:p></span></p>Oscar and Alliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02344797018125818146noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6859681366587799087.post-81586877649023144082011-05-27T15:13:00.001-06:002011-05-27T15:19:26.437-06:00It's a megaplex of grindhouse!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfoCSwIsiS8Xpi6s-vDKMjyR8f2I8Q-z8fF7DsG-HA4PtW6EsI4CXAV91B0VOIScDUZkJ9F_ujsTIQ1pVtCA7WEIYN0XlP7T9KWwudWKrD7m8Vv7nH6yX0MyDY_c1N6_dWPwxu0JlKWSA/s1600/drama_masks_by_CrashObscura.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 277px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5611507600522487698" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfoCSwIsiS8Xpi6s-vDKMjyR8f2I8Q-z8fF7DsG-HA4PtW6EsI4CXAV91B0VOIScDUZkJ9F_ujsTIQ1pVtCA7WEIYN0XlP7T9KWwudWKrD7m8Vv7nH6yX0MyDY_c1N6_dWPwxu0JlKWSA/s320/drama_masks_by_CrashObscura.jpg" /></a> In today’s tech savvy population there is a demand for overexposure from everyone, not just movie stars and singers. You’re expected to tweet, update and shout your status or whereabouts’ at all times and if you don’t, people will either think you are mad at them or think something terrible has happened. If you don’t have an account on Facebook, Twitter, Classmates.com, Flickr, Myspace, Yelp or one of the other thousand’s of social networking sites, you are nonexistent. When did the world change to an information hungry population? 9 times out of 10, it’s not even good information. I really don’t care that my second cousin twice removed just had “THE BEST BURGER EVA!” and I certainly don’t care whether Kim Kardashian has had a butt implant or not. I’m weary at the sheer amount of information that we are expected to take in and dish out every day. I want to be un-wired.<br />This brings us to the latest Allie/Oscar adventure.<br />Oscar and I have been slowly un-plugging, un-wiring and generally disappearing for the last few weeks to remind ourselves what life use to be like. It started with the cancellation of my classmates.com subscription. I didn’t even like 99% of the kids I went to school with, why was I bothering to keep up with what they are doing almost 16 years later? Next came cancelling my Twitter account. I never really got the hang of “tweeting” anyway. I decided to keep my blogger account, mainly because Oscar and I love doing things and writing about them!<br />The daddy of them all was Facebook. Or Dramabook as my husband call’s it. I had 100’s of friends, everyone from a neighbour I had when I was 5, to old classmates, to customer’s of our automotive repair shop, to people I didn’t know. I would willy nilly accept every “friend request” I was sent. The adrenaline that pumps when that little icon glows “friend request” was intoxicating. Who wanted to be my friend??<br />I was being pulled into a dimension where my Facebook “friends” ruled everything. If I wasn’t quite sure about wearing those gladiator sandals, ask Facebook. If I needed to find a plumber, ask Facebook. New song that I liked and wanted to share? Post it on Facebook. I would check people’s status first thing in the morning and end my day with an update. It all got to be too much. Everyone with a computer was posting every thought, action and word. The brain to finger filter had been removed and it became acceptable for any acquaintance to spew their typing vomit all over your latest comment. Eventually I started deleting “friends” and THAT caused a backlash the likes of which hadn’t been seen since Tom Cruise jumped up and down on Oprah’s couch. I wasn’t allowed to delete a “friend” and if I pressed “ignore” that person could still see what I was writing, but I could go into settings and permanently ignore them.....it was ridiculous.<br />Thanks to Oscar I was able to delete my original Facebook account and start a new one. Oscar D Ostomy was formed and I was able to pick and choose my friends from an older and wiser perspective. Many in the ostomy community have figured out that “Allie Korpesio” is in fact “Oscar D Ostomy” and I have been sent friend requests accordingly. I have accepted every single one, why? Because there is no drama in the ostomy community. What you see is what you get; or rather what you DON’T see is what you get.<br />Thank you Oscar. You have made my life and my world a stage that I once again enjoy performing in and have kept drama where it belongs. In a theatre.<br /><br /><div></div>Oscar and Alliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02344797018125818146noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6859681366587799087.post-2472897621534408382011-05-25T08:44:00.003-06:002011-05-25T08:48:47.445-06:00Where did we go?<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHOxLADRhZ3jVRkavprgJk0SS33I8IFxyfkAdA-pvycPpWhYDA2Cl3dmUkjgBMWz63UKCNtCZulEymvPK3e3PtWE3SnvoC0OvY5o7rZt3oGeCZLk4itmO04kZywyJz0OrQEe3iaTNNtaM/s1600/yids-question-mark.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 209px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHOxLADRhZ3jVRkavprgJk0SS33I8IFxyfkAdA-pvycPpWhYDA2Cl3dmUkjgBMWz63UKCNtCZulEymvPK3e3PtWE3SnvoC0OvY5o7rZt3oGeCZLk4itmO04kZywyJz0OrQEe3iaTNNtaM/s320/yids-question-mark.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5610664775591842210" /></a>Between class (I'm taking a class at the University of Alberta), the beginning of car show season, gardening and all the other fun stuff the warmer weather brings, Oscar and I have taken a semi break the last few weeks. We're sorry! I promise there will be some new and exiting adventures very soon!Oscar and Alliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02344797018125818146noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6859681366587799087.post-40329295326167313762011-05-16T12:39:00.002-06:002011-05-16T12:42:14.648-06:00The stunt ostomy....part 2<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvCMmhBvhPMN3HC7H2nsz5iqnhW96k4hJntlFBArKWxbZUrNz3EDF-YCTyLKP7XS93W_XoTuWpvwL7cYN7uDoqQS_f5psfNAWjXBKvNucqnJdK7cABX0MQ-TZWdkScJHojNH-wWiFyoNg/s1600/fremont-st-images_032.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 214px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5607385489437984034" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvCMmhBvhPMN3HC7H2nsz5iqnhW96k4hJntlFBArKWxbZUrNz3EDF-YCTyLKP7XS93W_XoTuWpvwL7cYN7uDoqQS_f5psfNAWjXBKvNucqnJdK7cABX0MQ-TZWdkScJHojNH-wWiFyoNg/s320/fremont-st-images_032.jpg" /></a> Some say he bowls overhand and regularly has tea with the queen, all we know is...he’s called Oscar.<br /><br />Sunday was our last full day and it made me realize how lucky I am to have Oscar. We started the day eating a ginormous breakfast at Hash House a-go-go in the Imperial Palace and afterwards began a long walk down the strip. We hit up Treasure Island to see the Pirate ship, crossed the road to the Venetian and had an outdoor gondola ride. Let me paint a quick picture of this “ride” for you; Rich, Nat, Neil and I in a tiny little boat along with some guy with a fake Italian accent pretending to steer/row when in fact the boat had a tiny motor who’s noise he tried to cover up with his singing. His BAD singing. While we were being serenaded I continuously asked for a translation (protecting a little boat doesn’t sound so romantic in English). We exited the boat and when no one fell over, made our way further down the strip. We debated getting tattoo’s at Vince Neil Ink but wisely decided against it as we weren’t drunk enough at 12 in the afternoon. We returned to our hotel and jumped in the rental car only to get totally lost in the desert. I entertained myself with every switch in the vehicle and demanded to know if I was the only one who could see that the hill’s had eyes. After realising we had had driven almost an hour in the WRONG direction we turned around, drove back through Vegas and ended up traversing the big bridge near the Hoover Dam. We drove through Boulder and ate a yummy Jack-in-the-Box meal. We returned to the hotel and after a quick change of clothes for both me and Oscar, we hit up New York New York and rode the rollercoaster. It was my first rollercoaster ride since Oscar came to be and I was nervous. I shouldn’t have been, I waited in that line like nobody’s business AND enjoyed the ride so much I begged to do it again! We had $40.00 steaks (ie:HUGE) at Gallagher’s for dinner and since it was still relatively early, only 10:00pm, we grabbed a cab and went to Fremont St. We did some old school gambling with quarters, I magically changed a $50.00 dollar bill into 25 cents. I’m just that awesome. Some more venturing down the street lead us to “Fremont Street Flightlinez” We were able to go zip lining over Fremont St! After the paper work was filled out and I was weighed (OMG!) we were sent up to the roof of a parking garage where we waited for about 20 minutes before we were strapped in. I did some quick Oscar re-arranging and was good to go. I hovered over the edge and before I knew it I was flying over old Vegas. I was twisting and turning and hanging on with one hand. When I was un-hooked at the bottom, I thought it was the best experience EVER. Once again I realized having an ostomy has opened so many doors and opportunities for me.<br />I won’t go on to tell you about the rest of our trip but I am going to point out a few key activities that I am now able to do because of Oscar. I can sit where ever I want on a plane, I can wait in lines short or long, I can feed quarter’s into a slot machine for hours, I can ride rollercoaster’s, I can wander aimlessly through a mall or up and down the Las Vegas strip, I can go on a boat, I can eat and drink on car rides, I can get lost in the desert and not be overly concerned, I can eat and then continue with my day or night, I can go zip lining and most importantly, I can be present in my husbands and our friends adventures. Thank you Oscar for doing your own stunts and allowing me to do mine.<br /><br /><div></div>Oscar and Alliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02344797018125818146noreply@blogger.com3