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It Takes Guts

Sitting in the gastroenterologist’s waiting room, I was petrified but a little relieved. “What will it be like after surgery?” My doctor was going to reveal exactly what my surgery would be. I was glad my sister, Chelsi, was with me. She remained silent usually, but stayed close enough that I could reach out and touch her. When I did, her hands enveloped my hand or her arms found their way around my shoulders. I have wept so much there.

Chelsi is 11 months my senior. She was running and climbing when I was learning to crawl, and all I ever did, according to my mom, was try to keep up with her. That lasted about nine years, until I started showing symptoms of Inflammatory Bowel Disease. We’d be playing on the old galvanized pipe jungle gym in the backyard and I’d have to hightail it for the house and the bathroom. So many times I didn’t make it. She’d come in and find me crying in our bedroom. Mom and Dad always comforted me and did what they could to help me in every way, but Chelsi became my Rock of Gibraltar.

By the time I was 12, I was taking Azulfadine to combat my auto-immune disease. I will never understand how your own body can think parts don’t belong in it. The Azulfadine helped for a while and I had a pretty normal life in junior high. When high school started, so did my problems again. We tried all the new meds for IBD, but most of them caused other reactions for me. After three months of trying to go to school every morning but not being able to get away from the bathroom until it was too late to get to school on time, or getting there and then having problems, I started begging my mom to homeschool me. Of course, that was after Charity found me in the bathroom changing a pair of soiled underpants. I’d gotten to school on time that morning, but could feel the cramps starting in first hour, about fifteen minutes before class was over. Mr. Smizer knew I had IBD (as did all my other teachers) but I still hated to just get up and leave. I decided to wait until he finished his lecture. That was about a minute too long. I hurried up to his desk as soon as he gave the assignment.

“Mr. Smizer,” I whispered emphatically, “I’m going to the restroom, please.”

“Sure thing, Sandy.”

I rushed out and bolted down the hallway to the girls’ restroom. Just as I entered I could feel that awful sensation of something warm and wet in my pants. I ran into the stall and removed my pants. As I cleaned myself, I was crying.

“Why, God? Why do I have to be like this?” I cried aloud, not knowing anyone else was in the restroom.

I carried an extra pair of underpants and wetwipes in my pockets now, and I also used the handicap stall so I’d have more room. I got all cleaned up in the stall and redressed. I threw my soiled underwear away in the sanitary napkin disposal. As I opened the stall door, I found myself facing Charity Stevens. Charity had been in my classes since seventh grade. We were not friends, nor enemies. We just knew each other from a distance.

“Sandy, I saw you under the door taking your clothes off. Did you crap in your pants?”

I’m sure my mouth was hanging open as I stared at her for what seemed like an eternity. Why couldn’t the ground open and swallow me?

“I… I… I have Inflammatory Bowel Disease, Charity. It means my colon doesn’t work right.”

“You did crap in your pants! I knew you were weird, but seriously?”

As I moved toward the sink to wash my hands, she held her hands up and scooted away from me. “Whoa, don’t get close to me. No wonder you spend so much time around the restrooms. I’ll make sure we avoid you in the future.”

“No, Charity. Please don’t tell anyone. Can’t you have some compassion for someone with a debilitating disease?”

Half laughing, Charity retorted, “Seriously Sandy. If you have a disease you shouldn’t even be in school. Isn’t there a special school for people like you?” And with that she turned on her heels and strutted out.

I washed my hands, washed my tear stained face. I didn’t dare cry more. I knew in a couple minutes classes would change and Charity, Samantha, Margarita, and Dara would be there in the hall looking for me. Instead of going back to class, I headed for the office. I needed to go home.

At home I cried and begged my parents to not make me go back to school, but to no avail. The next day I was so sick I almost never got out of the bathroom. Mom said I was making myself worse by all my worrying. Even if she was right, what was I supposed to do? I did make it to school the following day, but not until second period. As I walked down the hall toward Mrs. Hartley’s English classroom, Dara came around the corner.

“Oh, my God, Sandy, stay away from me. Are your pants clean today?” she shrieked. Everyone turned and looked at me. I just kept my face down and rushed into Mrs. Hartley’s room.

“What was that about, Sandy?” I heard Crystal saying. Crystal and I had been together in classes since third grade. We weren’t close, but at least we were friendly.

“It’s a long awful story, Crystal,” was all I replied.

“Seriously, Sandy, did you really crap in your pants?” I heard Chet jeering as he passed me toward the back of the room.

Mrs. Hartley overheard that comment and intervened.

“Chet Armstrong, that is totally inappropriate and if there is any more such conversation, there will be record making consequences.” That was her way of saying you would be sent to the office for discipline.

“You all have a job to do, I recommend you all do it.” With that she sat down at her computer and began typing.

I figured out what she’d been typing when I exited the room. All of the teachers were standing like guards in the hallway watching for problems to begin. While I didn’t like being the reason for the teacher’s vigilance, I did appreciate it. That lasted until lunch. I never ate in the cafeteria anyway. I always just hung out in the student commons. Today when I sat down, three other students got up from nearby benches and move across the room. Cindy, who I thought was my friend, came and sat in the bench perpendicular to me, instead of next to me.

“Is it true?” she asked.

I just looked sadly at her.

“Do you really have a disease?”

I nodded.

“Is it contagious somehow, like AIDS? I mean, I heard Mr. Smizer telling Ms. Bentley it was an auto-immune disease. AIDS is an auto-immune disease.”

“I have colitis, an Inflammatory Bowel Disease, Cindy. It is an auto-immune disease in that my body thinks my colon is a foreign object. It is not like AIDS. It is not transferrable in anyway. If it were, I think I’d find a way to share it with Charity!”

Cindy laughed nervously, but I could tell she was feeling really uncomfortable sitting close to me while everyone else was avoiding me. I decided to break the tension by leaving the student commons. Everywhere I walked, students would step back as I passed them, or the more brazen would sneer and snicker. I decided to go to Mr. Smizer’s room. He was usually there during my lunch period. When I started in his class and he was told I had colitis, he shared that his brother also has colitis.

As I entered the room, “Mr. Smizer?” He got up from his desk and walked toward me, sitting down on the top of a student desk.

“Yes, Sandy. I’m really sorry for all the hoopla today. It will pass.”

“I don’t think so. There are kids talking about me crapping in my pants, and there are others saying I have an auto-immune disease like AIDS.”

“Oh man, Sandy. We could talk about the facts in class and start true rumors going around school instead of the false ones.”

“No! Please, Mr. Smizer. I don’t want to be any more of a spectacle than I already am.”

“Okay, Sandy. We will continue to deal with this in person to person conversations as we see problems.”

“Thank you, Mr. Smizer.”

“Sandy, I know feels monstrous right now, but it will settle down and perhaps it will be easier for you now that kids know.” He didn’t sound convincing.

“Mr. Smizer, can I just stay here and read until lunch period ends?”

“Sure, Sandy.” He got up and returned to his desk, and I sat down in the back row farthest from the door.

At the end of the day when the car pulled up to pick me up from school, it was Dad instead of Mom.

“School hit an all-time low today!”

“So I heard. Mrs. Bentley called me.” Mrs. Bentley went to church with us and she and her husband were in a small group Bible study with my parents.

“It was bad enough going to school and trying to hide my disease. Now that everyone knows, I feel like a leper. “Unclean! Unclean!” That’s what it feels like now.”

It was a really warm day for October, so Dad stopped at Lakeside Rose Garden. He knew I loved this place. We walked and talked about anything NOT related to school or my disease. That was what I loved about Dad. He was great at helping me find beauty in life.

At dinner, which we always ate around 4:30 to give me more recovery time before bedtime, I again asked to be homeschooled. Homeschool would remove me from all this drama. No one wanted to be my friend anyway. I didn’t even try to keep friends. All my friends from grade school and junior high had begun to drift away and I was sure Charity’s disclosure would make that even truer. Besides, who wants to spend half their time hanging out by the bathroom?

At Christmas break my freshman year, my parents did let me start homeschooling. I could finally relax and not fight with my disease. Unfortunately I allowed my disease to become my identity. I did most of my work in my bedroom. I had my own bathroom. Just a few feet to the right of the bathroom door was my desk. It was an old mission style desk we found at an estate sale. I had painted it yellow and added swirls and calligraphy on each side. On the bathroom side was a verse from the song, No One Understands Like Jesus, by John Peterson (Peterson).

“No understands like Jesus;
Every woe He sees and feels.
Tenderly He whispers comfort,
And the broken heart He heals.”

On the opposite side, which faced my bed, was a bible verse, 1 Peter 5:7.

“Cast all your anxiety upon Him, Because He cares for you.”

My curtains were mostly yellow multicolored floral with tiebacks. The walls were painted a creamy white. Dad insisted the wall colors throughout the house should be neutral in case we ever moved. Of course, my parents had lived here since before Chelsi was born, and seemed destined to be here when grandchildren came to visit. But anyway, the color was always in the accents. My bedspread was a quilt with lots of yellow and pinks and oranges in a jambalaya pattern. My book cases were also painted yellow. On the one nearest the door, my mom would keep a fresh bouquet of flowers.

“Flowers make everything nicer,” I heard every week as new bouquets appeared around the house.

I had a walk-in closet, so I didn’t keep a dresser in my room. That gave me enough room for an oversized stuffed chair which was deep enough for Chelsi and I to sit opposite each other with our knees up or Indian style. Mom made a matching cover like the curtains for it. I spent about 70 percent of my school days in my room. Some days the bright colors and flowers were the only cheerful thing in the room.

I spent time at the piano every day, and Mom had me work on English and Spanish in the kitchen, because she insisted, “you cannot properly learn to use a language if you are not using it verbally.” She was adept at both.

The only friends I kept were from my church youth group. Since it met on Sunday evenings, I would just eat a few bites for lunch, nothing any later, and then I could attend without interference, normally. Megan and I grew up together. She is three weeks younger than me. We were together from nursery up. She jokingly gave me the nickname ‘the Poopster.’ I love her, and she is always caring and patient, so I don’t mind her giving me a nickname, but I hate it if anyone else hears it. Meg knew I didn’t want anyone else to know about me, so she usually didn’t say anything in public, but every now and then, she forgot where we were, and she’d blurt out something that made me want to submerge underground. It is usually Chelsi that saw me and helped through the situation. Such was the case just before spring break our freshman year.

We were at a homeschool activity night at Lakeside Community Church playing Dutch Blitz, and I creamed everyone three rounds straight. “And the Poopster takes it all again!” she blurted out. I was sure it was loud enough for the whole room to hear.

“What did you call her?” Mary laughed. I must have turned 10 shades whiter because Megan was looking straight at me with her mouth hanging open.

It was Chelsi who came to my rescue. She was just suddenly there behind Megan pulling on her ponytail.

“Oh yesterday we were making cookies at home with a cookie press, and Megan thought Sandy’s press had a problem because it kept making these gauche sounds. So she kept calling Sandra, the Poopster.”

“Yeah, it was hilarious,” chimed in Megan. “It was a good thing we weren’t making a how-to video. Every time Sandy squished that thing it whooshed out noisy air instead of cookie dough.” With that she proceeded to demonstrate, with sound effects.

The story was true, partially. We were using cookie presses and mine didn’t work a couple times, and Megan did call me the Poopster during our cookie making, but it wasn’t because of my press.

Suddenly, out of my reverie, I heard the nurse’s call, and my thoughts return to the present. Chelsi looked me straight in the eye as if she could hear my thoughts. We rose simultaneously and started toward the door. As I sat down in the chair in Dr. Lieberman’s office, I took her hand. The room didn’t have the same antiseptically clean smell as the examination rooms. There were floor to ceiling bookcases on the wall behind and beside the doctor’s desk. They made the fluorescent light feel a bit less harsh. The lamp on his desk added a touch of yellow to the light, and made the room feel more hospital than you’d expect in a hospital.

Dr. Lieberman walked in the door and put his hand on my shoulder asking, “Hi Chelsi. Sandra, how are you today?”

I would have guessed he could see it on my face. “Should I tell him how petrified I am? Should I tell him I’m afraid I’m going to be a freak? Should I tell him I’d just prefer if he put me to sleep like a badly hurt animal?” Instead I weakly voiced, “Okay, I guess.”

He sat down in a chair next to us instead of behind his desk, awakened his laptop and up popped images from my last tests. He started describing how bad my colon looked. Of course, I already knew that, I felt it.

“75,000 people have this surgery every year in the United States, and about 500,000 throughout the world. So you are nowhere near alone in this situation, Sandy.” He continued talking and I suddenly pick up on the words, “There isn’t enough good section of your colon to save any of it. We will have to remove your entire colon and rectum, Sandy. This means you will have to have a permanent ileostomy.”

My fears had become reality. I felt the world spinning out of control and I’d been thrown off. “How can I keep breathing? I feel sick. I feel faint. I don’t even know what I see. I feel like I’m not in my body at all!” My thoughts were tumbling over each other.

“Sandy, you okay?” Startled to consciousness, I realize Chelsi was opening the car door for me. I didn’t even remember leaving the doctor’s office. I squeezed a tiny smile out and sat down in the car. As Chelsi drove away from the office as I stared out the window. Out of the corner of my eye I could see she kept glancing my way. Instead of going back to our apartment, she drove to Mom and Dad’s. That is where I’d be for six weeks after surgery anyway. Mom came out the door as we drove up. I could tell she was crying. She threw her arms around my neck and pulled me into a tight hug as I got out of the car.

I glanced at Chelsi. “I called her while you were in the bathroom.”

“It’s going to be okay, Mom,” I said perfunctorily, although I didn’t feel that way at all.

Inside the house, since I had not eaten yet that day, Mom fixed me a 4-ounce banana protein shake, one of the few things that I had been able to eat with little problems until the last few months. The doctor’s orders were to eat very lightly but get as much soft protein down as possible today. Tomorrow I wouldn’t eat anything but clear liquids. Surgery would be the following day, May 14, 2009 at 8 AM. I had to check in at 6:30 AM.

After we finished retelling Mom the details, and my shake was gone, I wandered into the living room and ran my fingers along the curve of my grand piano. This was my baby. I spent hours and hours playing classical music as I grew up. It was like the piano could feel my emotions. I sat down and starting going through songs by Debussy and Chopin, songs in minor keys that echoed my feelings. One emphatically sorrowful melody was Chopin’s Prelude in E Minor, Opus 28, No. 4. I didn’t just play this from memory, I became part of the music. I was this sad melody that struggled to move from one chord to the next, one phrase to the next. Only the song would end, my sorrow didn’t.

As I played, my mind wandered back to my high school days when my Inflammatory Bowel Disease was diagnosed as Colitis. During the awful time of my freshman year, I would stop eating just so I could stay away from the bathroom. Some people live to eat, I literally only ate to live, and no more than absolutely necessary. My weight dropped to 84, which concerned the doctors with my 5 foot 7 inch frame. That is when I started drinking protein shakes.

Once I started homeschool, if there was an activity outside the house that I wanted to go to, I would literally stop eating 18 to 24 hours before it so that I wouldn’t have to spend time in the bathroom, or be afraid I wouldn’t have one when I needed it. I kept a water bottle with me, which my mom would fill with Pedialyte. And I NEVER ate any food at functions I attended. Kids thought I was really weird, but at least they didn’t know what my real problem was.

At our fall football frenzy I was standing near the food table with my water bottle, but not eating, when Rissa walked up to me.

“Why don’t you ever eat anything? Are you anorexic?”

“No, I just have severe allergic reactions to lots of food, so I have to totally monitor when and what I eat.”

“Wow, I didn’t know that. What a drag!” and off she went. That was how most conversations went and no one would think any more of it.

I was in a great home school group. I raved about it so much that the following fall, Chelsi joined me at home for her junior and senior years. We had music and drama and sports opportunities. Mom wouldn’t let me do anything strenuous in sports because she knew I wasn’t eating well enough for it. Chelsi was on the girls’ basketball team. I played the piano for a couple musicals. We had talent competitions, and I won my junior year playing piano. Megan (who was homeschooled also) and I did an Abbott and Costello production of “Who’s on First?” in our senior year. We didn’t win, but everyone loved it! We also had social functions, not dances or proms, but special banquets with Christian bands or speakers like comedians Scott Wood or Chris Blackmore. I always pretended to be eating but never put anything in my mouth. I was good at moving food around my plate to make it look like I’d eaten some. And of course, Chelsi and Megan and I were together with or without dates, so usually no one noticed. None of us had any regular boys in high school.

As these memories came back, my music grew more upbeat. I played the pieces from my competitions such as Dmitri Kabalevsky’s Opus 60 Four Rondos and Stephen Heller’s Curious Story.

Chelsi leaned into the room with her head tipped sideways, “Sounds as beautiful as ever!” I glanced her direction with a smile.

After high school I opted for online college, but Mom and Dad insisted I needed interaction with kids my age, so I also attended Faith Bible Institute one afternoon a week for a Bible class. By now I almost had a science to my not eating to being able to go out. I did well in college online, and at one Bible course per session, I could complete a certificate in General Bible Studies in the same length of time.

In my third session I met Julian Guestner. He was the same age as me, and had been homeschooled as well. He wasn’t in our homeschool group because his family had just moved here during the past summer. We hit it off and would talk about 10-15 minutes before and after class each week. This continued for several weeks and then he asked me out.

“Sandy, we have so much fun talking together. Could I take you out so we could have a little more time getting to know each other?”

Panicking I responded, “I would love to go out, but I’m particularly busy this session with other school work and it is really taking ALL my time to keep up.”

“That’s fine. I can wait three more weeks till we have break. Then we can go out on a date.”

The first thing out of my mouth when I arrived home was to tell Chelsi that Julian had asked me out. She was all excited and asked when and where we were going.

“We’re not!” and I proceeded to tell what I’d said and how he reacted.

“Why don’t you want to go out? For four weeks you have been coming home telling me about Julian.”

I was sure she’d understand why I wouldn’t want to, but she seemed shocked. That evening Mom called and said Chelsi told her I wouldn’t go out because of my colitis. Wow! I couldn’t believe that the people closest to me didn’t understand.

“You need to go out. You will do fine just like when you go to class.”

After hearing that for the two weeks, on the last day of class when Julian asked me out again, I agreed. His church was having a big concert that weekend and he invited me to attend with him. Afterward, he said, we could go out for ice cream (it was the middle of July.)

Julian picked me up at 5:45 so we could get good seats for the 7:00 concert. We stood in line for 25 minutes and got inside to great front row seats on the lowest level of the balcony.

“Julian,

the concert was great and I enjoyed every minute of it.”

He was fun and such a gentleman. He took me to Rich Drews’ Frozen Custard stand, with all outdoor seating and no public bathroom. I decided I would just ask him to get me a diet Sprite. He tried to convince me otherwise, but I remained resolute. While we were sitting there talking, and he was eating his custard, I forgot that I even had a disease. It was so much fun.

Suddenly he was holding his spoon to my lips, saying, “Taste this.”

I didn’t even think about it. We sat there and talked about 20 minutes more and I started to feel the cramps coming on.

“Julian, I need to use a restroom soon, and there isn’t one here.”

“No problem, we’ll just head on home now,” and we returned to the car.

The cramps were getting worse and I was tensing up. I asked Julian to just stop at the Walmart we were approaching, which he did. He let me out by the front door and went to park. Unfortunately the stalls were all full and I had to stand and wait.

I knocked on a couple doors and the person inside just said, “In a minute.”

Then it happened. I could no longer hold it and it just came. NOW the people came out of the stalls. I blasted in one and tried to clean myself, but you can’t in a small bathroom stall. I also didn’t have wipes or extra undies with me because I hadn’t faced this problem since public high school. The people had left the restroom. I went to the door and peaked out. There was Julian.

I took a deep breath and called him over.

“Julian,” I said near tears. Reaching my hand out I said, “I need you to take this money and go buy me a pair of size 2 ladies underwear.”

I could see the color drain from his face, but he took the money and turned to go. I went back and stood in a stall. Two women came and went.

In about eight minutes Julian knocked on the door and softly called my name. “Sandy?”

I went to the door and took the bag from him. Then I asked him to stand guard outside the door and not let anyone in.

I took off my soiled underwear and threw it away. Then I washed myself all up and redressed in the new underwear. (Actually he bought a 2-pair set, so I just put them both on under my dress.) Now I had to go out and face him.

When I exited the restroom he immediately asked, “Are you okay?”

I told him I would explain everything in the car. He took my arm gently and escorted me to the car, opened my door, and waited until I was totally buckled in before closing it. Once he was in and the car was moving out onto the road I explained.

“I have colitis, an auto immune disease where the body thinks my colon is a foreign object. Whenever my colon starts to work, like it is supposed to, my body basically starts to attack it. This means almost anytime I eat, by the time food starts moving through my lower intestines, I end up with terrible cramps and usually horrible diarrhea. It takes my body several hours to totally recover from eating, so whenever I am going out, I don’t eat for hours ahead of time. That was why I opted not to eat any ice cream, but I didn’t really expect one bite to cause such a reaction.”

Julian had sat totally silent while I talked, with both hands tightly on the wheel. When I finished talking, we were at a stoplight and he turned and looked right into my eyes, reached his hand over onto mine in my lap.

“I am so sorry to hear that you have to deal with such a hard trial. I want to be your friend and support you through it.”

I was so taken aback. This was so opposite what I experienced in high school. I took a deep breath and relaxed in the car seat. By now we were almost to Chelsi and my apartment, but I asked him if he would go to my parent’s instead. (We only lived three blocks from them.) Chelsi was there so I called and said we were coming. When we arrived, we went in and told them all about our evening, from start to finish. Julian saw the way we joked about my “trial” and relaxed some also. From then on, he was like a new member of our secret club. After all, he passed the initiation with flying colors!

For the next 11 months we kept dating, but spent most of that time at my parents’ home instead of in a public place. Then Julian left for a two-year mission trip to Irian Jaya. That was 16 months ago. So when I got really bad last year and was told the colitis was now ulcerative colitis, he wasn’t around. Now that I was facing surgery, he only knew it from emails. These thoughts turn my music back to a melancholy mood. I knew I loved Julian, and I knew he loved me, even though he had never actually said it. I expected him to propose when he returned in eight months, but how could I expect him to marry someone who looked like a freak with this gross bag hanging on her belly. I had pictured marrying him and having him look at me on our wedding night and express something like Solomon did,

“Your neck is like the tower of David,
    built with courses of stone
on it hang a thousand shields,
    all of them shields of warriors.
5 Your breasts are like two fawns,
    like twin fawns of a gazelle
    that browse among the lilies.
6 Until the day breaks
    and the shadows flee,
I will go to the mountain of myrrh
    and to the hill of incense.
7 You are altogether beautiful, my darling;
   there is no flaw in you.”

Song of Solomon 4:4-7

He would never be able to say, “there is no flaw in you.” The more I thought about it, the sadder I got, until I just quit playing and broke down crying aloud. Chelsi was even at a loss to know how to make me feel better.

Sitting on the back deck and facing heavenward I cried, “God, I’m terrified. I know I can’t live the way I am, but how can I live with a disposal bag attached to me?”

It didn’t seem like an answer was forthcoming, but looking around I saw my laptop inside the patio door on the kitchen counter. Bringing it back to the deck, I starting surfing the web to see what I could learn about living with an ileostomy. I saw lots of images and read medical explanations that just scared me more. Then I came upon a website called Girls with Guts. I listened to a homemade video of several girls sitting around in a bathroom talking and joking about their Inflammatory Bowel Disease. They had all had surgery and had a portion or all of their colon and/or small intestine removed. Some had ileostomies, some had a J-Pouch. Even so, they were sitting there laughing about all the awful experiences and embarrassing disasters they had with colitis and ulcerative colitis. Now they were almost all pain free and had control over their bowel behaviors. There were pictures on the website that made them look proud of their “bag.” They definitely didn’t think of themselves as freaks! In other pictures they were dressed very seductively alongside their significant other and looked amazing. Some had captions that quoted their man’s description of how sexy they were. I read blog after blog and decided to respond and tell them about my upcoming surgery. There was a chapter a few hours from my home.

“Perhaps after surgery,” I reasoned, “I can visit one of their meetings.” Feeling a tad bit relieved, I laid down in my old bedroom and fell asleep.

I didn’t wake until the next morning. The house was totally silent, but there was a note by a bright yellow daisy on the table from my mom. “Sandy, Gone to the church for Ladies Bible Study. Back around 11:00. There are three flavors of Jello in the fridge as well as strawberry and grape juice. Enjoy. Luv ya, ”

Taking a glass of juice back to my room, I sat down to compose an email to Julian.

“Julian,

I got the final news from the doctor yesterday morning. Although I expected it, it still hit like a bomb. Chelsi was with me. We came directly back to Mom and Dad’s. I’ll be here until several weeks after the surgery. I’m not signed up for any classes for the summer session. If I feel up to it by June 1, I can still pick up an online class.

Dr. Lieberman said that my entire colon including the rectum is diseased, ulcerated and must be removed. He also said that they cannot tell definitely one way or the other if it is Crohn’s disease also. If it isn’t this should be the end of my bowel problems. If it does end up being Crohn’s disease there is a chance it can show up elsewhere in my digestive track.

Anyway, what it all boils down to is I will end up with an ileostomy. I’ll have to wear an ostomy bag for the rest of my life. That sounds terrifying to me, but I found a website last night called “Girls with Guts.” It is a blog site where girls with IBD support one another through all stages of the disease. There was a video on it of six ladies who had either an ileostomy or J-Pouch, and they were joking about all the horrible experiences and embarrassing disasters (like mine at Walmart), and how different life was now. Check it out. I think after I recover enough to travel, I try to go to one of their gatherings.

24 hours from now, I’ll be in surgery. It starts at 8 AM. Dr. Lieberman says it will last between five and ten hours, most likely about seven. Pray for Mom, Dad, and Chelsi. That is a LONG time to sit and wait to know everything is okay. Megan said she’s coming after she gets off work at 12:00. That will be good for keeping things light. I’ll have Chelsi send you an email when I get out so you know your prayers got us through.

I am on clear liquids today, and have to drink a quart of GoLitely© as my dinner tonight. Well, this will be the last time for that!

I still remember on our first date how you turned and looked at me and said something like, “I’m sorry you have to deal with this trial, but I want to be your friend and support you through it.” You’ve done that for me, Julian. You made me feel special and worth knowing despite this disease. You helped me laugh when all I could do was cry. You gave me a reason to smile. Now starts a new chapter.

I’m not sure how soon I’ll feel up to writing again. I know you’ll write, so I’ll have Chelsi read them to me. Thanks for being my friend!

Sandy”

About the time I finished the email Mom and Dad arrived home. Dad comes home for lunch a lot but today he stayed home, for me. After my reaction yesterday, they were really worried about me.

I ate some Jello and more juice while they had lunch. During lunch I told them about the website I’d found, that it was girls with IBD supporting each other through all stages of the disease. I told them I’d like to visit one of the chapter gatherings as soon as I was well enough. I also said I’d contacted them and told them about my surgery.

I helped Mom with laundry after lunch and she was surprised at how much chipper I was today than yesterday. Dad walked in as we were talking and agreed. I explained that I didn’t feel alone anymore after reading and listening to the video on the website. I was still really scared and was really afraid that I would feel disabled after surgery, but at least I wouldn’t have to deal with the cramps and diarrhea anymore. And no one would know I had an appliance unless they were really close to me. So at least life outside my home should get better. And with them and Chelsi at home, life here was already good, so what more could I want.

Midafternoon Mom helped me pack for the hospital. I had my netbook and iphone ready for them to bring as soon as I felt up to it. We didn’t want them laying around while I was too out of it. I’d be wearing hospital gowns the first several days, I’d already been told, but the last several they had suggested front opening night gowns would be best. So mom had found three button down short sleeve, long night shirts. Those, plus my robe and toiletries, were in my bag.

Suppertime arrived and the dreaded time for the GoLitely©. Every human should be punished at least once in their life with a round of GoLitely©. It would help them understand a little what it is like to have colitis, because there is nothing about going litely with it! Normally when you have a colonoscopy done they require you to drink a gallon of it. That would literally kill me if I did it now, so the doctor said just drink a quart of it, and only that much if I didn’t start having severe bleeding.

Since I had a bathroom in my bedroom, I took the dreaded potion to my desk and computer. I figured I could watch a movie while I went in and out of the bathroom. I got through about four ounces before the cramps started. Within five minutes I was stationed on my throne. I decided I needed comedy, so I pulled up an old classic, “Ace Venture: Pet Detective.” It didn’t really feel funny though, because I didn’t feel like laughing, but it did distract me a tiny bit from all the cramping. A half an hour later I downed another 4 ounces. This trip back was even faster, and much more violent. I was doubled over on the toilet with the computer sitting on the floor. When I finally did get up, there was more blood in the toilet than anything else. I decided to wait another half hour and see if nothing happened, then I’d try one more ounce. Fifteen minutes later I was back in the bathroom passing only liquid, which of course, looked like just blood. I decided that was enough. Three more trips to the bathroom and I was totally wiped out. The movie had long since left my mind. In fact the computer was still sitting on the floor in the bathroom playing when my Dad came in and found me asleep in bed.

About midnight I regained consciousness and realized someone had turned out all the lights and put a blanket over me. I got one last drink of water and went back to bed.

About five-thirty the next morning my mom woke me. I took a shower and put on my stretch knit ankle length dress mom found at a resale shop, so I wouldn’t have to have a waistband on me when I came home. That took 17 minutes. So we still had 13 minutes until we needed to leave. Chelsi was at the house already, so Dad called us all to the livingroom where we held hands and they each prayed for me. I felt amazingly calm, but none of them looked that way. After they all hugged me I said, “Wait, I need to pray.” And we all took hands again.

“Jesus, thank you for the amazing peace you have filled me with. Please give this same peace to Dad, Mom and Chelsi as they wait for surgery to be finished. I know somehow You are going to use this for good and I claim your promises in Jesus’ name. Amen.”

From the car as we rode to the hospital, I saw a mother chocolate lab and her three 3-4 week old pups in a fenced yard. The pups were wrestling and falling all over each other. I pointed them out to everyone. About a mile from the hospital the road passes through Lakeside Rose Garden, one of my favorite places. There was already a truck unloading chairs for some program or event. Roses of every shade of the color spectrum filled the air with the most amazing perfume. I breathed in as deeply as I could to try to capture it and take with me.

We rounded the corner and there was the hospital. I knew when I left it, my life would be changed forever.

It only took about three minutes to check in because I was pre-registered. They just had to put on my hospital bracelet. There was a wheel-chair to drive me to surgery, but I said I wanted to walk. I held Mom and Dad’s hands like I did when I was six years old, as we walked down the corridor, through the doors marked SURGERY, and past the waiting room information desk. The orderly told them they would wait here while I was prepped. Then, if I wanted them to stay with me until I was wheeled to the operating room, someone would come get them.

I changed into the hospital gown, had my bracelet checked multiple times, and got hooked up to an IV. The nurse went and got my family. There was only two chairs, so they took turns sitting and the third person stood beside me for the next hour plus while we waited for 8:00. I never understood why we had to be there so early.

The anesthesiologist came in, introduced himself, and check my IV.

“You’ll be getting a shot of Valium in your IV about 5 minutes before entering the operating room.” To my parents he said, “She probably won’t be conscious after surgery for about an hour. Once she is conscious her care will switch from me to the pain management team on the surgery floor.”

The next person to come was Dr. Lieberman. He explained again what the surgery was going to be and asked if we had any questions at this time.

“Surgery will last up to 10 hours. Normal is around seven. I will come out and speak with you as soon as she is in recovery to let you know how things went and how she’s doing. Sandy, this is going to be tough for a few days, but in about a week you are going to start feeling like a new woman.”

The last person to come was the surgical nurse again. She re-explained the details about recovery and that the information desk would have updates every hour or so on how things were progressing. There was a beeper system available if they wanted to leave the surgery waiting room. They would be there for me in about two minutes.

Mom, Dad, Chelsi and I all held hands and Dad prayed again. They kissed me as two nurses arrived to take me to surgery.

The corridor to surgery looked kind of dark and outdated compared to everywhere else in the hospital. Then we entered the operating room where it was bright as sunlight and looked extremely technological and sterile. The anesthesiologist spoke to me.

“Okay, Sandy. Dr. Lieberman is right here and we’ll be getting started momentarily.” I could hear Dr. Lieberman’s voice talking to the nurses. He was doing something to my IV. “I want you to count backwards for me starting at 100.”

“100, 99, 98, 97…” That was the last thing I remember before waking up in my room.

The first thing I remember after surgery was waking up in my room, not recovery. Mom was sitting in a chair at the foot of my bed. A nurse was looking at my abdomen. She notice me rouse.

“Hello, sleepy head. I’m Karen, your nurse for the day. How are you feeling?”

“I feel like I can’t move.”

Laughing a little, “That’s the anesthesia. It is wearing off now. You should start feeling your body again in the next half hour or so. Do you feel any pain?”

By now Mom had come around the opposite side of my bed and was holding my hand.

“No, not real pain. My belly feels real tense.”

“I’m going to give you some morphine through this machine that is attached to your IV. I’m laying this button right in your hand. You can give yourself more as you need it for pain. If you still feel too much pain, let me know and we’ll ask the doctor to adjust the amount.”

“Okay.”

“It is important to get the pain under control right away as you come out of the anesthesia, so don’t try to be brave and endure any. Okay?”

“Yes.”

“Can I get you to take a sip of water?”

“Please.”

Mom held the cup and straw up to my mouth and I took a couple small sips.

“I’ll be back to check on you in about 10 minutes. Push the call button on the rail if you need me sooner.”

“Okay.”

As she exited the room, Mom brushed my hair away from my face.

“The doctor said you did fantastic.” She seemed to sense I couldn’t take in too much information yet. I’m going to get a warm washcloth and wipe your eyes and face. She always knew little things that would help relieve some tension or make us feel better.

After she wiped my face, I said, “Thanks. I’m just going to close my eyes for a little longer.”

“Sure, honey.”

The next time I opened my eyes I had a totally different sensation in my belly. I gasped. Mom was next to me in an instant. “Squeeze the button, Sandy.”

I think I pushed it about three times. Mom was stroking my head as the nurse walked back into the room.

“I can see by the look on your face the anesthesia has worn off. Did you press the button?”

I nodded. I didn’t think I could talk.

“In about three or four minutes you should feel a difference in the pain level. Sandy, it won’t take away all the pain, but it should make it bearable. Sometimes it helps to raise your head and knees a little, but right now everything will be excruciating just to change your position. I’m going to check your vital signs. If the pain has not subsided some by the time I am done, I can give you another dose to get the pain down to manageable. Okay?”

Again I nodded. Mom was wiping tears from my eyes. I didn’t even realize I was crying.

By the time the nurse finished taking my vitals, the pain hadn’t subsided enough for me to notice so she gave me another dose of morphine. “I’ll be right back. I have to go outside the door and record your vitals and the medication administered.”

I looked up at Mom and she could see the fear in my eyes. “Jesus,” she whispered aloud. “Please give Sandy some relief.”

Again she wiped my face with the washcloth. I close my eyes and took some slow deep breaths. About that moment, the nurse walked back in.

“Sandy?” She now was brushing the hair back from my face. “Are you starting to feel any relief from the pain?”

“Yeah, I can breathe now at least.”

Looking at her watch, “In about 20 minutes I can give you another dose. Do you think you can tolerate this level of pain that long?”

“Yes, I can manage.”

“I’ll be back before 20 minutes is up.” She turned to leave and as she reached the door, Dad and Chelsi were just coming.

“She is awake now, but don’t stay more than a few minutes. The more she sleeps now, the better.”

Dad and Chelsi came over and squeezed my hands. Mom didn’t budge from next to my head.

“We won’t stay so you can rest. We’re going to take turns being here 24 hours a day until you feel stronger. I love you so much, baby girl.” Dad was nearly crying too.

“Hey, little sis, I’ll be back later. We’re praying for you. I sent Julian an email already.” Another hand squeeze and they were gone.

The next several hours were a blur of the nurse coming and going, squeezing the morphine drip button, moaning, Mom caressing my hair or washing my face, and passing in and out of consciousness.

Dr. Lieberman came into the room sometime late that evening. I have no idea what time it was. I just remember him being there. “I’ll be back tomorrow,” is the only thing I really remember him saying.

That first day I don’t remember ever moving, but in the morning my head and knees were slightly elevated. I do remember asking for more pain medication and getting two extra doses of morphine.

As the sun started peeking around the window blinds the nurse came in and flipped the light behind my head on. “I need to check your vitals before my shift changes.”

“What time is it?” I asked. Mom was rousing from the recliner as I spoke.

“It is about 5:40. The shift changes at 6:00. How are you doing now with pain?”

“I’m surviving. I’m okay for now.”

“On a scale of 1 to 10, with 1 being feel great and 10 being unconscious due to pain, where are you?”

“Probably about a 7 or 8 right now. I think I was living at a 5 or 6 before surgery, so we’re getting close what my bad days were before surgery now.”

“Our goal is to have you at a 5 or less within 16 hours after surgery. We will want to have you sitting up by this afternoon and that will raise your pain level, so we need it down low enough that you can handle it going up a little with moving around. I can give you an oral pain medication to coordinate with the morphine. Can you swallow a tablet for me now?”

“Yes, I can do that. What’s your name?”

“Shannon.”

“Thank you, Shannon, for helping me through the night.”

“You are totally welcome, sweet girl.”

She gave me a gabapentin tablet and said it would take about 15-20 minutes to take effect. When my day nurse, Karen, came in 25 minutes later, I actually smiled. She took my vitals again and told me what to expect for the day.

“Dr. Lieberman is on the floor now, so he’ll be in within the next 30 minutes. You will get clear liquids today. Your bowels won’t start moving again until the swelling from surgery has gone down, so you will stay on the IV food until then. We will remove the dressing later when Dr. Lieberman comes in, and assuming the bleeding has stopped, we will fit you with an ostomy bag. He will probably explain this to you, but you will get more details and help from the ostomy nurses than he will give you, so don’t worry if you have lots of questions after he leaves. I know that probably doesn’t make a lot of sense to you now, but it all will as the day goes on. I’ll be back when Dr. Lieberman comes in.”

I think my eyebrows must have been getting more and more arched as she talked, partially out of fear of the unknown, or known, and partially because it was so much to take in so quickly.

“Mom, I’m not sure I’m ready for this, I mean, to see my…my stoma.” Mom came and took my hand. She didn’t say anything. I think she had the exact same thoughts. A stoma is the outward part of the small intestine that they attach to make the opening in your skin for your bowels to drain into the ileostomy bag. My surgery was called ileostomy because the colon was removed at the ileum. If I still had my colon and it was attached to my belly, it would be called a colostomy. I had learned all these details as I studied about the surgery and read and listened to the girls on the Girls with Guts website. I had looked at plenty of pictures, but I couldn’t imagine seeing it on myself.

“Sandy, no matter what we face, God will see us through. You believe that, I know. He doesn’t say it will be easy, but that His grace is sufficient to see us through. I’m claiming that promise now for both of us. Maybe in a few months we can sit in the bathroom and make jokes about how bad life was before compared to then. At least you never have to go through another Walmart experience like with Julian.”

Just then the door opened and in walked Dr. Lieberman and my day nurse, Karen.

“Well, Sandy. You are looking really good this morning. How’s your pain level?”

“About a four or five right now, I’d say. The two medicines are helping a lot.”

“Okay, good,” he said. “What we’re going to do now if removed the dressing again, but instead of replacing it with more dressing, we will replace it with an ostomy bag. The one we use now is clear because it allows us to see better how the stoma looks and how your bowels are functioning. When you go home, you can use the flesh colored bags, which is what most people prefer, so that you cannot see the stool in the bag.”

I took a quick deep breath. This was not sounding comforting in the least.

“About midday the nurses will get you up out of bed. The more you move around the faster your bowels will start to function again. Your abdominal muscles are going to hurt more when you move around soon after surgery, but it is very important for your recovery.”

Karen, my nurse, was standing beside Dr. Lieberman with supplies. Dr. Lieberman started gently removing the dressing. The head of the bed was slightly elevated and the pillow raised my head high enough that I could look down as see my belly as well. The inner bandages were fairly bloody as he removed them. He had a sterile wipes in his right hand which was closest to my face so I couldn’t not see the surgical area through it. He wiped my belly and then moved his hand to dispose of the wipe. For the first time I could see the stoma on my belly. It was bright red like exposed muscles. I think it was about the size of a large walnut. Way bigger than I expected. I was holding Mom’s hand still and I squeezed hard. She turned her eyes to my face from the stoma and pulled my hand closer to her heart. Dr. Lieberman sensed my shock and fears as well.

“Sandy, the stoma is quite swollen now, as is the entire ileum and part of your small intestine. Within a couple days the swelling will go down. When it does your stoma will be about ½ to 1 inch thick and an inch and a half to two inches in diameter.” He and the nurse were exchanging items.

“The ostomy appliance that we put on today is not designed to last as long as what you will normally wear at home. As your stoma shrinks you will need a smaller opening to protect your skin from the feces. The nurses will watch your stoma and when it has shrunk enough they will change your appliance again. By the time you leave the hospital you will be wearing an appliance that fits your body correctly. The ostomy nurses will teach you how to apply and change your appliances and how to properly care for your stoma.”

After he wiped all around the stoma, he laid a plastic ring by the stoma with a wider waxy looking ring and an even wider ring of flesh colored medical tape on it. He took this paper with all kinds of holes in it and held it above my stoma moving it until he found the hole that was closest in size. Then the nurse picked up the ring and started cutting the center hole along lines on the backside that matched the hole size he’d said. She peeled of the back paper cover from the waxy ring and handed it back to Dr. Lieberman who put it carefully around the stoma and gently pressed down. I closed my eye and inhaled. It was like putting a knife in my gut.
“I’m sorry Sandy, your abdomen is just so tender now. By the time you need this changed you should have very little pain remaining. I’m going to let your nurse finish this up. Everything is looking perfect and you are doing fantastic. Clear liquids today and well see how you are doing in the morning. The nurses will get hold of me if you need anything that is not already indicated on your charts. Do either of you have any questions for me?”

Mom and I looked at each other. “I don’t think so,” she responded. “Karen said the ostomy nurses would probably be the best source of most of the information we need.”

“That’s absolutely correct. I trust and depend on them totally to make sure you have all the post-operative and continuing care you will need. Okay, then. I will see you tomorrow, little lady. You remember that a week from now, this will all be a distant memory!” He turned and disappeared out my door.

The next two days were very uncomfortable, to put it mildly. Mom, Dad and Chelsi made sure that one of them was with me every moment of the day and night. The hospital staff was very kind and attentive, but I was so much more comfortable with my own family members. By the end of the third day I was managing with only the morphine drip within the allotted amounts. I was able to stand and walk in my room (to the bathroom) without holding onto someone, and I could make it on an accompanied walk all the way around the hall square in the post-op ward I was in. I told my parents they could all sleep at home that night, I’d be fine.

On day four Dad stopped by on his way to work and brought my netbook and iphone so I could catch up on email and facebook and such. Dr. Lieberman came while Dad was there. He told Dad that I was doing tremendously. Then he turned to me and said, “Sandy, I have some great news. We got the biopsy results yesterday afternoon and there was no cancerous cells and it does not appear to be Crohn’s Disease either, although they would not give an absolute on that diagnosis. This should be the end of all your bowel problems.”

“Fantastic, Doctor!” exclaimed my Dad. Turning to me, “By September YOU will be a new woman! You can go to school on campus if you want, you can go anywhere you want anytime you want!” You will be able to eat in public with no fear of getting sick! Oh honey, this is a wonderful answer to prayer.”

He was so exuberant, I didn’t even need to say anything. I just laughed and hugged him. “Thank you, Dr. Lieberman, for the good news.”

Then Dr. Lieberman and my nurse, Karen, checked my belly. He palpitated it to determine if the swelling was decreasing. I was still on a liquid diet because my intestines hadn’t unswollen enough to be functioning yet. “Sandy, there is a definite difference between yesterday and today. You can probably see that your stoma has decreased in size. I’m going to write orders for your flange to be changed this afternoon to a smaller size. I expect you will start having some bowel movement today. You are recovering nicely. Keep this up and you will be here less than a week! I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

I was just getting back into bed after a shower when there was a knock on my door, and in poked the head of a tall brunette with beautiful porcelain skin. “Sandra? Sandra Halzbern?”

“Yes, that’s me.”

“Hi. My name is Angela Brenner. I am a member of Girls with Guts. You posted on our blog that you were having surgery, and since I was going to be in town now, I decided I’d visit you. I hope you don’t mind. May I sit here on the corner of your bed so I’m close to you?”

Motioning for her, she sat down close enough that we could touch each other. Angela was as tall as me, but she was also wearing four-inch red stilettos. She had a knee length red with white pin stripes pencil skirt, a white lacey camisole and a sheer poet’s blouse over it. Her hair was pulled up in a loose coiffure with a large red silk flower. Her makeup was impeccable emphasizing her dramatic eyes and cheekbones. And her lips were cherry red as well.

“Please, call me Sandy. This is amazing. I didn’t think I’d be able to connect without coming to a meeting. I’m hoping to do that by your June meeting.”

“You seem to be doing really well. I take it you have a high pain tolerance.”

“Yes, I do, but I am using as much of the morphine as I can. It makes me sleepy, but there’s not much else to do in a hospital anyway.”

“So true. The main thing I want to do for you today is answer any questions you have about having an ileostomy. Nothing is off limits. Do you have any questions already? I’ll go ahead and tell you that most women want to know about having sex with an ostomy, so feel free to ask about that too.”

“Thanks, Angela. I have definitely had concerns in that area. I’m in a LONG distance relationship now. He’s been in Irian Jaya for 16 months with 8 months to go. I think he’ll ask me to marry him when he returns, but he hasn’t actually said he loves me yet. I love him and really want to marry him. But I was hoping to be whole and beautiful for my wedding day.”

“Listen, Sandy. You CAN be whole and beautiful on your wedding day. I know right now it all looks terribly overwhelming, but your stoma will decrease in size as the swelling goes away, and you will find better appliances to use.” She turned and glanced at the door and then stood facing me and unzipped her skirt at the side. She pulled up her shirt and fold the top of her skirt down and showed me her bag. It was flesh colored and looked like fabric instead of plastic. She said it was called comfort wear. She said the same manufacturer made a mini pouch that could be worn for the times you were going to be intimate. There were covers that you could put over the mini pouch if desired. There were pouch pockets that could be tied around the waist and leg to keep the large pouch covered an out of the way, or some women use pouch panties that were lacey with a pocket for the pouch, that had a split crotch or no crotch. She said she had pretty much tried them all and she and her husband had pretty much decided that it wasn’t an issue and they’d rather be more spontaneous and not worry about any of it.

“He loves seeing me naked and doesn’t care about my ostomy bag at all. Frankly, we have sex a lot more now than we did before I had surgery because now I feel good and want it. We don’t have any children yet, and it seems like one of us can’t wait to get the other undressed by the end of the evening. I can be as aggressive as him, and he loves it. Of course, I’ve never started undressing him without him doing the same to me. Believe me, Sandra, sex is NOT a problem because you have an ostomy.”

I giggled and turned several shade redder. No one, especially a virtual stranger, had ever talked so frankly and openly with me about sex. “Then there is hope. That has actually been my biggest fear.”

“Sandy, you have to give yourself time to get adjusted to your new body, find the right ostomy products for you, and then you will start seeing life is so much better and more amazing than you ever thought possible before your ostomy.”

We talked about 20 minutes longer. I asked questions about did wearing such fitted clothing ever cause a problem with her bag, how often did she have to empty it, what kind of food were safe to eat, and even traveling outside the United States with an ostomy. Angela said she would be back in town next weekend. I gave her my phone number and parent’s address so that she could stop and visit me there.

“Call me anytime you need to talk to someone who understands,” Angela had said as she closed the door behind her. This new friendship went so far beyond what I have with anyone in my circle of family and friends. Looking at the business card she left with me I was beaming when my nurse, Karen, came in the room.

“I saw you had a visitor a little white ago. She stopped at the desk to make sure it was alright to visit with you. Angela has actually been here a couple times in the past couple of years, which means that you may meet some other Girls with Guts members right here in Allentown. I am not sure how the organization works, but if there is a way for you to connect, I’m sure they will make it happen. I’m very impressed with everyone I’ve met from there. In fact, your ostomy nurse spoke at one of their retreats a couple years ago. She will probably give you more information before you leave the hospital.”

“I feel such a bond to Angela already. It is a closeness that I have never felt with anyone before. I really don’t know how to express it.”

“That is wonderful. You keep building on that and you will do great with this new lease on life.”

Everything progress as perfectly as it could. On Day 6 after surgery Dr. Lieberman said, “I am going to keep you here one more day and then let you go home. Assuming everything looks as good tomorrow as today, I’ll sign release orders in the morning.”

I call Mom as soon as he left and told her the news. She said that was perfect timing because Dad could take the entire morning off to get me all situated at home. I really thought they were being a bit overprotective, but it was nice to have someone who would be there to help me because I was still really sore, and I was limited to lifting no more than 5 pounds. Just reaching out and lifting my netbook right now was uncomfortable.

After a week at Mom and Dad’s I was feeling good enough to walk around the block. Angela called that second Friday and asked to stop by. This time she showed up in sandals, shorts and a tank top. I hadn’t gone for a walk that day, so I asked if she’d like to walk with me. I really wanted to have her all to myself without Mom listening. I didn’t expect to talk anything that I wouldn’t want Mom to hear. It was more that this relationship was so different and special that I wanted to relish all for myself.

We walked slowly around our neighborhood block, which was almost one mile exactly. She was so easy to talk to and she was a great listener. As we talked she mentioned that she was going on a week-long mission trip with the youth group at her church next month. She and her husband were high school small group leaders. That led me to ask about her church and I found that we both go to the same kind of Bible church. We shared a common relationship with Jesus. My faith was about the most important thing in my life. Being able to share it as well as the ostomy bond with Angela would probably make this friendship the deepest I have ever experienced.

Angela shared with me that the conference grounds they would be staying at had a large shared shower room with individual curtained stalls, but not individual dressing rooms. Although she had shared her testimony and experience with IBD with the youth group this would be the first time they would see her undressed. She wasn’t ashamed of her body in any way, but she was just a little apprehensive still about how they would react seeing her.

“I know it is important to expose them though to help educate them about real life with physical adaptations. I want these girls to see that I’m just as beautiful and just as full of life as any other woman.”

Her husband, Jeff, was going as a leader with the guys. “It would be interesting to be together, but not together for a whole week,” she said with a wink. She promised next time she came to visit (she was here about once a month because her family lived here), she’s bring Jeff to meet me.

We were back at the house by now, and Mom had lemonade and sugar cookies for us. I told Mom about Angela’s church activities and Mom quickly found all kinds of thing to talk about with her.

By the next time Angela visited I had moved back to Chelsi and my apartment. I was taking an online course, and trying to decide if I wanted to do online or on-campus classes in the fall. This would be my senior year. I was becoming more involved in the music program at church already. I was scheduled to play keyboard once a month. Chelsi was after me to work with the high school girls in the fall, but I wasn’t really sure what I wanted to do. I’d never had the freedom and option to be away from home so much.

Julian and I were in contact almost daily. He was so excited that I felt so good and that I was getting out so much more. He would be home in six months now. One day in mid-July I got a call from his sister, Rachel. Rachel was one year older than Julian. She wanted to bring me something. I told her I was actually going to be by their church on Saturday evening and asked if it would be easier for me to stop there. “Only if you have dinner with me,” she responded. So it was set up.

Rachel lived in an apartment above her parent’s Victorian style home. They actually had two apartments upstairs and their large home on the first floor. They had redone the front entry way so that when you entered, there was the stairway to the left and another door to the right which was their entrance. At the top of the stairs were two doors, one for each apartment. Rachel occupied one and they had the other rented out to a young couple from the Bible school. Mr. Guestner, Julian and Rachel’s father, was the registrar at the school I had learned since we started dating.

When I pulled into the driveway, Rachel was in the yard picking some flowers. The interior door to the Guestner’s home was open and Mrs. Guestner saw me enter with Rachel.

“Sandy, it is so good to see you. We’ve been praying for you so much. Julian keeps us up on how you are doing. You look great, in fact, you look better than I’ve ever seen you!”

“Thank you, Mrs. Guestner. I’m feeling better than I have ever felt. I’m still trying to find my way in this new kind of life. So many choices now. I want to make the right ones, but they all sound so exciting. Julian keeps telling me not to make any commitments without praying about it for 30 days. I’m doing that, at least with long term commitments. Being able to come out like this and eat dinner with someone is so new and fun. I could become a party animal if I’m not careful.” We both laughed. She hugged me and I followed Rachel upstairs.

Rachel’s apartment was so quaint with her Victorian woodwork and windows. Her little table sat in the round tower. The lacey curtained windows were slightly open and there was a delicate breeze drifting across the table. On the wall to the right of the tower was Rachel’s desk with a bookcase built at the top of the credenza. To the right of this was the doorway to her small galley kitchen. There was a door beside the cabinets that led to small exterior porch. At each end Rachel had matching black metal chairs.

There was more room in the room where Rachel’s desk was. I guessed it was supposed to be the dining room. Instead she had a stationary bike with a stand for a book or reading tablet. You could tell she was a student, although she’d be done in December. To the left was the door we entered. Near the corner opposite the tower was a hallway which led to the bathroom and bedroom. At an estate sale Rachel had found this queensize four poster dark walnut bed and matching mirrored dresser and chest of drawers with the most ornately carved headboard I’d ever seen. There were dogwood shaped flowers and birds and even a couple butterflies. If you leaned against the headboard, the carving would be just above your head.

“This is my first wedding present, to myself. All I need now is a man,” she giggled.

We went into the kitchen and I could smell dinner in her crockpot. She had two salad bowls prepared in the fridge, and dished up chicken marsala and mashed potatoes with more of the sauce as gravy. It was a new experience for me to sit and relish the taste of food. We ate and talked about my recovery and new choices, our church activities, our classes, our families. By now we were ready for dessert. She had it dished up already in her fridge also. It was New York style cheesecake with chocolate raspberry sauce.

Cheesecake was like a death sentence for me before surgery. I hadn’t had it in over five years, but nothing else I’d eaten had bothered me, so I took a bite. When that rich sweet taste lay on my tongue I could almost feel tingles spread through my tongue and cheeks up into my brain. I closed my eyes and softly moved my tongue to let the flavor float through my mouth. When I swallowed, it felt like velvet caressing my throat and enlivening every cell it touched. Each bite was as good as the first. By the time I finished I felt like I had been robed in thick satin trimmed with dark brown fur and had danced around the room until I couldn’t feel the floor anymore.

I thanked Rachel for dinner. I couldn’t begin to express to her the depth of the experience. She probably would have thought I was crazy. The only people who understood these feelings were those that I was meeting from Girls with Guts.

After dessert Rachel cleared the table, opened the closet and took out a twelve inch box. She sat back down and handed me the box. It was wrapped in dark yellow onion skin type paper.

“Open it. It is from Julian. He sent us all gifts last week and this was included for you.”

I looked at the folded gift tag. Sure enough inside it were the words, “To the gutsiest girl I know. Love, Julian”

I gasped a tiny breath. That was the first time he’d ever used the word love in any context relating to me. I tore open the paper carefully. I wanted to try to save everything. There was a wooden box inside carved with a masted sailing ship and the words “He guided them safely” on the outside of the lid and on the inside, “so they were unafraid. Psalm 78:53.” The lid was hinged to the base. On one side were four spots for rings with the remainder an open area, all lined in dark red velvet. Inside lay a note from Julian. I decided to buy my gifts and ship them before I came home. I hope you don’t mind that I included yours in my family package. You feel like family to me. It has been so long since I have been able to look in your eyes. Every time you look at this jewelry box I want you to think of me.

I was so overwhelmed with emotions. Rachel’s dinner, this gift and words from Julian. Tears started sliding down my cheeks. Rachel move her chair next to mine and put her arm around me.

“You know, Sandy, although he hasn’t said it actually, I’m sure he’s in love with you, and I know you are with him too. I can’t think of anyone I’d rather have as a sister than you!”

I emailed Julian as soon as I got home. I described everything about the visit, except Rachel’s comments about being in love. In his very next email I got this message.

“We are actually almost done with the mission construction project. We start on the last building August 1st. That means I should be home before school starts in September, three months ahead of schedule. Please plan to meet me at the airport.”

I started watching his emails for a date. Three weeks later it was finally set. “I arrive on September 3rd at 6:58 p.m. My parents will be at the airport, but I really want you to come also. Please drive separately. I can put all my luggage in their car and then we can go out for dinner or something. Don’t worry, I’ve already told them this is my plan.”

Eight more days. I was so excited but still felt a twinge of fear about my new self and our relationship. The days seemed to drag by. Two nights before he was due back I had a dream that when he got back he took me out and told me he was accepting a position as the coordinator of building projects at the mission and he would be traveling from one country to another, staying about the same length of time as he had here. I didn’t want to travel like that. I was just learning to go around town. I definitely wasn’t ready to consider traveling the world non-stop. Needless to say, the dream really bothered me. For the next two days I had a non-stop conversation with God.

“Lord, you know that I want Julian to follow You with his whole heart. If you want him to work like this I am willing to give up my aspirations to marry him. It won’t be easy, but I will not stand in his way.” Then later I’d catch myself praying, “God, why did you let me grow in love with this man if you are not going to let us be together? Please Lord, can’t You give Julian a ministry that my life can fit into?”

On the way to the airport I was still having the same conversations with God. I chided myself for being over-reactive to a dream. Julian hadn’t given me any reason to think he was planning to keep working overseas. As far as I knew he was planning to finish Bible school and get a masters in business. He had a heart for missions, but he had never given me any indication that he desired to work in missions overseas as his life work.

I parked the car and was walking toward the airport entrance when Mr. and Mrs. Guestner drove past. I waited for them to park and catch up with me. Mrs. Guestner gave me a hug, Mr. Guestner put his left arm on my back and took his wife’s hand with the other.

“Sandy, I’m so glad you are feeling so much better and doing so well. Julian left a sick young lady and is coming home to a beautiful healthy woman.”

We entered at the luggage area and checked the arrival/departure list. Julian’s plane was due in seven minutes. We found our way to the security check point that he would come through. About three minutes later a line of people started through the security. Julian was the fifth person in line. He was darkly tanned and his hair was a little wild and bushy and he had a full beard.

“Oh my, would you look at my son!” exclaimed Mrs. Guestner. About that time he round the end of the security rope and headed straight for me. He grabbed me around the waist and twirled around in a circle. He set me down on my feet again and planted a kiss on my cheek. Then he turned and hugged his mom and dad a couple times each.

Turning back to me he took hold of my hand and grabbed his carry-on luggage with the other as we headed to the luggage area. He was talking non-stop and we all just let him. He described the last building and the service that was held to celebrate the opening of the new medical compound and school. The medical team arrived the day before he left. The school staff had started preparations two weeks earlier to open school on September 7th. Once his luggage was retrieved and in the trunk of his parents’ car, he hugged them again and promised he be home around midnight.

Again holding my hand we headed to my car. We got in and exited the airport. I asked him where he wanted to go and he said, “The Rose Garden.” I turned and looked at him. He had this huge satisfied smile on his face. It took about 15 minutes to get to the Rose Garden. He jumped out and ran around the car to open my door. We walked through the roses down to the lake. There is a gazebo built out over the lake edge, and it just happened to be empty. We went there and sat down on the bench overlooking the lake. Julian almost bounced off the seat and turned and knelt before me. Talking my hands with his, he said, “Sandy, I have been dreaming about this moment for the past seven months, since the day you told me you were actually going to have surgery.” I want to be with you through every good and bad moment in your life. I want to be your strength when you feel weak, and your cheerleader when you enjoy great moments. He reached into his right pocket and pulled out a small ring box. He opened it, took out the ring, held it up between two fingers, and said, “Sandy, will you do me the great honor of marrying me?”

This was exactly what I had wanted and I wanted to grab his neck, pull his face to mine, and kiss him, but something in me stopped me. My dream still echoed in my head. Instead I looked into his eyes and broached, “Julian, I really want to marry you, but I cannot marry you if God is calling you into missions. Just functioning around town is totally new to me, I don’t see myself being a world traveler.”

“Oh, Sandy,” he pronouced. “I think this trip was one of the most amazing things I have ever done, but I don’t feel like God is directing me to go back there or anywhere else in the world. My strengths are much more in the administrative areas than in the mechanical. I’m planning to get my business degree and work here. I’m not sure what exactly. I love the kind of work my dad does. I love planning and logistics. There are a lot of different ways a business degree could lead me, but I don’t see them being in mission.”

My heart leaped right through my chest and Julian caught it. “Yes, then. I’ll marry you.” My arms were around his neck and he was kissing me. He stopped and took the ring from his closed fist, placed it on my finger and kissed it. It was just the right size. I looked down at it. It was white gold with a touch of rose and yellow gold set in fillagree design that surrounded a single inset diamond.

“I hope you like it. It was my grandmother’s ring, but it never was used. They took the diamond out and used it in something else. I had my dad ship it to me last month so I could buy a diamond for it. If you prefer, we can find a newer style and put the diamond in it.”

“Julian, it reminds me of your house. You know I love antiques. There is no way you are getting this off my finger.”

Realizing that we had not been together in almost two years, we decided we should take enough time to get premarital counseling and be totally in tune with each other before our wedding. We set the date for February 12, the Friday before Valentine’s Day. We could miss two days of work and school on the 15th and 16th and take a short honeymoon.

Time flew by and finally the day arrived. Everything was perfect. All our dreams were fulfilled. We had booked reservations at a bed and breakfast about a hour northwest along the lake. We arrived around 11:30 p.m. just as the snow started. The proprietor showed us to our room and wished us well. Julian swept me up in his arms and carried me into the room.

This was the moment I longed for and dreaded. Julian set me down and pulled my body against his. He reached behind me and started to unzip my dress. I ran my hands inside his suit coat and up his chest to his buttons. He had already removed his tie. He had the zipper down before I had one button undone. He started pushing the dress off my shoulders. I dropped my arms and it fell to the floor. Underneath I only had my strapless bra and lace panties and my shoes. I pushed his jacket off one arm and he shook it off the other. I giggled and reach up to unbutton his shirt. His hands were running up and down the curves of my body as if he were a sculptor examining the shape of his latest creation. I pushed his shirt off his shoulders as he unbuckled his pants and let them drop. We both kicked off our shoes. He pulled my body against his and started kissing my face, my mouth, my hair, my neck. He reach both hand around my back and clumsily unfastened my bra. I pulled away from him just enough to pull it from between us, but he backed away a step and looked at me.

He reached the back of his fingers up and brushed my lips. “Your lips are as red as scarlet threads; your mouth is beautiful.” Cupping his hand to the side of my face, “Your cheeks are red like the halves of a pomegranate.” Moving his hand down my neck, “Your neck is elegant and perfect.” Then he reach both hands and caressed my breasts gently. “Your breasts are soft as two fawns as the day breathes its morning breeze.” Taking my hand he pulled me toward the bed and sat on the edge. He pulled me close to him placing his face between my breast and turning to kiss each. “I will go up your myrrh mountain and climb your fragrant hill.”

My eyes were closed and my head was back. He took hold of my panties and pulled them down until they dropped. Leaning down a bit he kissed my belly button. It was obvious he saw my ostomy bag. His head came back to my breasts, but his hands were caressing all of me. “You are so beautiful, my love, without blemish. My heart is your captive, my bride; you have stolen it with one glance. Your love is more pleasing than the finest wine, and the fragrance of your perfume brings more delight than any spice!” He pulled me onto the bed beside him and kissed my lips as he continued to caress me. I felt I was melting into him. It was impossible to tell where one of us ended and the other began.

My fears were gone. Life was good.

Girls-With-Guts. 2013.

http://www.GirlsWithGuts.org

Ileostomy Surgery. Ileostomybag.org. 2010. 8 May 2013.

http://www.ileostomybag.org/ileostomy-surgery_5.html

Peterson, John. No One Understands Like Jesus. 2013. 30 April 2013. .

Valentin, George. Ileostomy – What to Expect After the Ileostomy Procedure. SpeakNET.com. 2013. 8 May 2013. http://ezinearticles.com/?Ileostomy—What-to-Expect-After-the-Ileostomy-Procedure&id=5152294

Cross W5A3 8

“Move it you worthless MAGGOTS!

Sergeant Narzod Phlegmhammer’s voice thundered over the steady rhythmic thump of fifty ogre soldiers marching in formation. He was quite the motivator. Sergeant Phlegmhammer was the epitome of an ogre Iron Guard soldier; big, loud, and a disposition that would make a goblin wet himself.

The Iron Guard soldiers of the Snotreaver Klan were on a raiding mission to the human village on the far side of the Dreadwood forest. They had been marching since sun-up and would not reach the edge of the forest until sun-down. There, under the cover of the trees, they would make camp in preparation for the morning raid. Sergeant Phlegmhammer believes in a good nights sleep before a raid. An ogre needed to be well-rested before beginning a day of killing and pillaging.

“Platoon! Halt!”

The Sergeant spun around and barreled through the first two rows in formation; ogres flung left and right in his wake. He stood towering over the soldier. His bulging, red eyes were piercing into the cringed face of the now trembling soldier.

“Did you say something MAGGOT?!”

“Sir! Yes Sir!”

“Well, let’s hear it twinkletoes!

“Sir, I was questioning when we may be stopping to set up camp, Sir.”

“Are you getting tired soldier?” The Sergeant was seething. His yellowed, jagged teeth were clenched and dripping spit.

“Sir, No Sir!

The Sergeant straightened up; his broad, muscular chest now pressing against the nose of the still shivering soldier. He stood there a moment, motionless, his head raised back and his chin pointed out, his massive jaw extended out creating a shadow over the soldiers head. His red eyes glowed fiercely under his furrowed, protruding brow. He slowly gazed left to right looking over the soldiers who stood silent and still. He drew a deep breath.

“Is anyone else tired of marching?”

In thunderous unison the Iron Guard barked, “Sir! No, Sir!”

An ominous smile began to stretch across the wide maw of Sergeant Phlegmhammer.

“That’s good to here maggots, because we are going to march all night if we have to because I have no reason to hurry home just yet. My wife is fat, and ugly, and I hate her! So, if it is alright with you maggots, I think YOU will keep marching until I get tired and ladies, I am far from tired. Platoon! Forward, March!”

With a quick about face the Sergeant moved forward, twice the pace as before. The horde of ogre soldiers falls quickly into lockstep. Marching is one of the things an ogre army does a lot of and does it fairly well. In fact, besides raiding, killing, and pillaging, marching is one of the things that ogre soldiers are best known for.

Gorkus Beiberbasher was not your typical ogre soldier. He was not even your typical ogre. He had the domed hairless head, small pointy ears, and protruding brow of an ogre. He had the beady, red eyes and the small, wide nose with flared nostrils of a typical ogre. His jaw made up half the size of his head and was full of jagged, yellowing teeth. Like most male ogres he had two large tusk-like teeth that jutted out from his lower jaw. These two large teeth keep an ogres mouth partially open most of the time which is the primary cause of the large amounts of saliva that can be found wherever ogres have recently been. Gorkus also had the typical rough, green skin, and barrel-shaped body of an ogre. Sergeant Phlegmhammer was an exception. He had a hideously deformed body; small waist, large chest, and muscular arms that were proportional to the rest of his body. It was a remarkable accomplishment of his to ever find a mate with these grotesquely abnormal features.

So, for all intents and purpose Gorkus looked like most ogres. He was just much smaller than most ogres, even some female ogres. A typical male ogre stands 10 feet tall (Phlegmhammer is close to 12 feet tall). A typical female stands at 8 feet tall. Gorkus stands just below 7 feet tall. However, that is not what makes him so different, or unique, as he would prefer it said.

Ogres, by nature, are mean, even violent. They are loud, obnoxious, and have terrible personal hygiene. The typical ogre will spend their free time fighting and drinking and drinking and fighting. Some ogres, after a long, hard day of pillaging, will spend their evenings pillaging another village just for fun!

On the other hand, Gorkus Beiberbasher, first and foremost, has a stringent personal hygiene regimen. Similarly, he keeps a tidy cave and that is not an easy feat! Unlike possibly every other ogre anywhere at anytime, Gorkus cringes at the thought of violence. He even faints at the sight of blood. Although he has to go on raids; it’s his job, he’s an ogre, that’s what ogres do, Gorkus would much rather spend his time gardening. As for his free time, he relishes the solitude of an afternoon fishing and after a relaxing day in the sun he can bring his catch back to the cave, season it with some fresh herbs from his garden, and grill it over an open flame. Now that’s a good day!

The sun was beginning to set. Pushing through the web of limbs and branches, the fading beams of light cast jagged shadows stretching over the gathering fog at the feet of the monstrous Dreadwood forest trees. Sergeant Phlegmhammer had given the order to make camp in a small clearing inside the border of the forest tree line. The girth and density of the forest trees would provide ample cover to hide the gathering horde from the unsuspecting village waiting just beyond the forest edge. The Sergeant gave the orders to unpack the supplies, pitch the tents and gather wood for a fire. A handful of soldiers set up a perimeter around the camp to keep watch for trolls, dire-wolves, and any other threats the night forest may offer.

Making himself useful, Gorkus fashioned a broom out of a branch, some twigs, and vines and swept aside the loose dust and leaves around the circle of rocks gathered for the camp fire. If he had the time he could have crafted several fine rocking chairs out of the larger branches and vines littering the forest floor.

The acrid smell of smoke mingled with the savory fragrance of roasting meat and the bitter-sweet aroma of the honey mead spilling from the mugs and mouths of the ogres gathered around the campfire. Although the other soldiers frequently belittled Gorkus they did appreciate the herbs he brought from his garden, as well as his culinary skills.

“Soups on boys!” Gorkus announced as he hastily dashed out of the way of the onslaught of voracious ogres. Gorkus had learned early on that if you are preparing a meal for ogres than you best eat and drink your fill while you are doing the cooking because it is a guarantee that nothing will be left once the dinner bell is rung. Sounds of slurping and chomping spewed out of the melee as pieces of bone picked clean of every last bit of meat, fat, and gristle were jettisoned from the heaving pile of gluttonous ogres. Every so often one of the large heads would emerge from the heap and cast a wild-eyed glance at Gorkus. The ogre would let out a load, rumbling belch and would give Gorkus a dribbling, toothy grin then quickly plunge back into the throng. To Gorkus, this was a profound display of gratitude, appreciation, and respect. Because ogres rarely express such sentiments and, even less likely, anything profound it was more likely just gas.

Gorkus began to clean up the after the evenings carnage while the rest of the ogres, their stomachs bloated with meat and drink, began to settle in around the fire. Gorkus carefully packed away his cooking utensils and any herbs that were left over then he grabbed his makeshift broom and began to sweep up any remnants of the massacre left on the ground. Gorkus thought to himself, “No one likes ants around camp”. This was especially true of the ants in the Dreadwood forest. They are large enough to carry away a small ogre child.

When he was finished sweeping Gorkus found himself a tree to sit back against and he began to quietly whistle as he gazed into the fire. His eyes were following the glowing embers as they floated up into the forest canopy above when he noticed that two of them seemed to hang motionless in a tree several yards up and just a few paces behind where Sergeant Phlegmhammer and his lieutenant were going over the plans for tomorrows raid. Gorkus continued to stare unblinking at the two glowing dots until his eyes began to sting from the campfire smoke. A silhouette around the dots began to take shape and when it appeared to move Gorkus bolted upward. He looked around nervously. He did not want to attract any unneeded attention until he was sure that he was not imagining things. The last thing that he needed was to get the whole camp up in arms over something he may or may not have actually seen. Gorkus slowly began walking around the fire towards the tree. He began whistling again to appear as if nothing was happening. A loud crackling from the fire almost sent him running, but he was able to gain back a little bit of his composure. When he rounded the fire he was able to see a little better with the flame at his back.

“Could those be eyes?” Gorkus whispered to himself.

He took another step forward.

“If it has eyes then it has a…..mouth.”

Gorkus stopped in his tracks and began to tremble ever so slightly.

“Pull yourself together” he sternly, but quietly said to himself. “You are an ogre. An ogre of the Iron Guard. Be brave. Be vigilant.”

He took a deep breath and exhaled. With his nerves subsiding he took a slow, but deliberate step forward. He fixed his eyes on the mysterious creature in the tree. With a little more confidence he took another step forward. After a few more steps he caught the attention of Sergeant Phlegmhammer. The Sergeant slowly stood up, his chest jutting out and muscles tensed, all the while glaring down at the small ogre. Gorkus kept moving forward, one small step after another, apparently oblivious to the Sergeant’s cold stare.

“Bieberbasher?” Phlegmhammer gruffly stated with curiosity and just a bit of agitation.

Gorkus kept moving forward; his focus solely on the fearsome beast lurking in the shadows.

“Bieberbasher!” Phlegmhammer growled; his eyes flickering orange and red from the reflection of the fire.

Gorkus walked right between the Sergeant and the lieutenant; their massive jaws dropping in utter disbelief. With each step Gorkus could make out more and more of the creature’s head and body. He thought to himself that “For a fierce, monstrous, ogre-eating, demon-beast it really wasn’t that big”.

Phlegmhammer barked “Bieberbasher!!! You worthless pile of troll dung, just what do you think you are doing?!!”

Gorkus jumped to attention. “Sir, there is a creature up in that tree”. He pointed at it; his hand trembling.

“So! There is something in a tree and you find that an acceptable excuse to ignore your commanding officer!”

The Sergeant charged at Gorkus grabbing him by the throat with one hand and pinned him against the tree with the creature in it.

Phlegmhammer leaned down and pressed his forehead against Gorkus’; the Sergeant’s large, crooked nose smushing the lower half of Gorkus’ face. The Sergeant’s back heaved in and out; his anger seething with each breath.

“You little maggot.” Phlegmhammer whispered; his graveled voice barely containing the rage underneath. “You ever ignore me again I will rip out your eyes, stick them to the back of your head so you can watch while I kick your worthless butt! Now, you get up in that tree and bring down whatever is hiding up there. For your sake it better be something we can eat or we’ll be having Bieberbasher for breakfast. Now move!”

It would be easier for most ogres to knock down a tree rather than climb one, but the trees in the Dreadwood forest are much too big for even an ogre to knock down. Fortunately for Gorkus he was just the right size to easily move from branch to branch. He made quick work of getting up into the tree and only another few yards to the branch where the creature is perched. From his vantage point Gorkus could no longer see the creature which made him much more apprehensive than he already was before he began climbing. Gorkus thought to himself, “Even if it is smaller it could still have big claws and big teeth.” He looked down and saw Sergeant Phlegmhammer standing at the base of the tree and obviously still fuming. Gorkus let out an uneasy little chuckle and then whispered to himself “I think I’ll take my chances with demon beast and it’s big claws and big teeth.”