Let's Make Some Noise!
Of course, in order to be ready for summer I had to squeeze in a pedi/mani. No self respecting girl would accept less. This turned out to be a bit of an adventure... I ran several errands before the mani/pedi which resulted in me eating lunch late. So, I crammed some Chick-Fil-A down my throat with a Coke.
When I need to be in a setting like a doctor's office or a mani/pedi chair, I try to avoid eating on the run and ingesting carbonated beverages. Let me explain why. When I eat fast food now, it goes through my system much faster (probably because it's not real food) resulting in a full ostomy bag fairly quick. When I add a Coke to that, it adds air to the mix making my bag feel like a water balloon. While the food/Coke are being digested, there happens to be a lot of rumbles, grumbles, squirts and toots that sound from my abdominal area. Sometimes I feel as though there is a microphone attached to my bag. This was the case Tuesday as I sat down in the massaging pedicure chair.
My ostomy begins the very normal after meal excretion of waste and much to my horror-- it's LOUD! I am doing everything I can possibly do to hide these lovely noises short of jumping up and running out the door trailing soap suds behind me!
I try placing my hand over my stoma in order to muffle the sounds but it seems to have the exact opposite effect. It's as if I've placed a bull horn there so that my ostomy may shout as if leading it's people to war.
I am nervously glancing around in hopes that the packed nail salon customers are unaware of my drill Sargent stoma. So far, so good. I relax a little and resume reading and enjoying my massage chair.
Peace does not last long.
Just as the salon settles into a quiet synch of humming pedicure chairs, my ostomy sets off a series of booms comparable to those of the 4th of July celebration held over the Statue of Liberty. Of course, my head shoots up from the book I'm absorbed in, paranoid that everyone is staring and pointing. No one is staring point blank but there are a few quick glances and surprised expressions aimed in my direction. My nail tech at least has the decency to keep her eyes on my toes but does not manage to hide the raised eyebrow and not so sly smirk.
"Kill me now!" is all that is running through my tunnel visioned mind at this point. Since there is nothing I can do, I sit there in my massage chair feeling the heat of my embarrassment and try to bring my vision back to focus on the words of my book all the while, mentally kicking myself for thinking food and a coke were vital to my existence.
Really, I carry plenty of reserves. I could have waited until after the mani/pedi to consume sustenance.
So the pedi part of the mani/pedi has come to an end. I very carefully stand and balance on the heels of my feet so as not to mess my pretty toes. While admiring my beautiful toes, I realize that I cannot see my right foot as easily as my left. This would be because the carbonation in the Coke, that sounded like a wonderful idea, has now expanded my ostomy bag to its fullest extent. If it were helium, I'd be somewhere over New Mexico now. I have a dadgum balloon of pooh on the right side of my abdomen.
Of all days to wear stretchy Capris.
Tunnel vision has returned as I hastily try to pull my shirt over the bulge and walk awkwardly to the mani chair. Afraid that I might draw more attention to my predicament, I decide against going to the ladies room to remedy the situation.
Bad, bad choice. Do you know what happens when you hold a full balloon to your mouth and speak in to it? Well, let me tell ya, it's freakin' loud and distorted. Need I explain further? Can you see where this is going?
Um, yeah, the mani was most uncomfortable as I tried to ignore the sounds rupturing from my gut. I couldn't bring myself to make eye contact with the manicurist as she warbled on in a language far from my comprehension. I pretended that the giggles and hoots were not about me...not everything is about me...right?
I'm not sure if I will ever be able to cross the threshold of this salon again.
Ever.
Once I'm done, I've paid and of course tipped HEAVILY, I make a break for my car. Once I sit down in my car I notice that my bag is so stinkin' tight, I might explode if I don't let out the pressure.
I look around in absolute panic, as I know the explosion just might be near, for something--anything to empty my bag into.
What do ya know, my empty Coke cup sits patiently waiting to assist me in such a dire moment.
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