I actually surprised myself the way I reacted to getting a colostomy. My dad had a bag; for years I thought "I hope I never have that!" But one night I had a perforated colon flare up and the pain made the decision for me. I didn't want to go to the hospital but had no choice, feeling as if a human simply could not survive this kind of pain. I had been having abdominal trouble for years and couldn't figure it out. Was I lactose intolerant? Was it the coffee? I became an expert on all the wrong things, and the flare ups would eventually subside, so I'd wait them out. But this particular Saturday night was the turning point.

This time, seven weeks ago, it got worse on day four, and I called my friend and asked him to bring me to the hospital. They put me in an MRI machine and I was in emergency surgery within twenty minutes. I easily surrendered to this doctor, the on-call surgeon I'd never met before.

For years I couldn't safely eat. I suspected everything, and it was slowly getting worse, I didn't know it, but my body was full of poison and on the edge of sepsis. I would have died that night had I not gone to the hospital.

I can't hate my colostomy. I actually love it. I love eating now. I love that I'm alive, that I can eat, have conversations with friends and family and have a future. I know everyone's situation is different, but for me, I went from "I hope I never have one of those!" to being extremely grateful the surgeon saved my life.

I'm only 63 and my life for the past three years felt like I was 93. Almost immediately after the surgery I could tell something major was "fixed," and in some ways felt stronger than I have in years. I have to be careful about everything and learn my way around the colostomy bag; I wonder if I'll ever go dancing again, which I always enjoyed. But I had no choice. It was the bag ... or death. For me, it's easy to be grateful.

This bag is a pain to deal with I suppose, but the thought never enters my mind. I think of it as an evolution and something relatively easy to deal with. Seven weeks now of constant chronic pain in recovery is nothing compared to years of pain of unknown cause always taunting me, never feeling safe eating, and having flare-ups that I could never describe other than to tell people it felt like I was going to die. I don't ever want to have to describe something like that again, and I feel strongly that this colostomy is a second chance at life.

In my opinion, perspective is everything. I'm glad to be alive, and wish the best to all those suffering.