Stability and success after living with a j-pouch for 11 years

When I was in my final year of university, I had ambitions of being a writer… of some kind. I wasn’t clear as to what I wanted to write, except for the fact that I didn’t want to write fiction because I wasn’t a big fan of reading fiction. All that indecisiveness, combined with my ulcerative colitis getting harder and harder to control, led me away from any sort of career in writing. I scribbled here and there on my blog, which was helpful as I dealt with the complexities of my surgeries, but that’s about it.

As time went on, any desire I had to write only waned further, to the point where I now find the practice quite a slog. I decided, years ago, that at the very least, I would post annually in my blog on the anniversary of my second j-pouch surgery to give updates on how life with my j-pouch has been. In the weeks leading up to today, my 11th Pouchiversary, I looked at this blog post like a soon-to-be-due assignment that I knew I would procrastinate over.

Sure enough, I wrote these words today, on my Pouchiversary, because I had a self-imposed deadline to meet. But the fact that I don’t really enjoy writing anymore shows that I have changed in ways I wouldn’t have predicted back when I had my last surgery on this day in 2014. Yet, my j-pouch has been a wonderfully reliable companion who hasn’t changed since then – and I hope never will.

In addition to losing my drive to write, things that used to excite me no longer do, or at least not as much. My interests, activities, and priorities have changed. I ride my bike far more often than I run (but more on running in a bit); I enjoy a latte most days after years of rarely having coffee; I consider my protein intake when I never paid much attention to it; Arsenal results affect my mood less, Buffalo Bills results affect it more.

I bring all this up because the stability of my j-pouch, and the good stretch of health that has come with it, has allowed me to spend more time thinking about my life and less time thinking about my bowels. When I look back on year ten with my pouch, I’m reminded of the things I was able to accomplish.

I completed the Bluenose Half-Marathon – a race I was previously unable to participate in because of my very first ulcerative colitis flare up – and raised over $4,000 for Crohn’s and Colitis Canada in the process. I matched the amount raised for CCC with a donation to Toronto’s Mount Sinai Hospital, so I could give back to two organizations that played major roles in me getting my life back on track.

I took up cycling more in earnest and got my first big boy road bike. I spent most of the summer and fall riding, capping off the cycling season with my first 100 km ride on a cold, rainy day in November.

My girlfriend and I took trips to our favourite places: Halifax, Charlottetown, Niagara-on-the-Lake, Stratford, the Trader Joe’s in Amherst, New York.

My two jobs, one in radio, the other in marketing, continue to provide professional satisfaction and engagement.

I continued to help take care of an elderly family member and was able to support him through doctor’s visits, tests, and ongoing treatment. Plus help out with grocery shopping, yard work, snow shovelling, and the like.

And I’m lucky to live in a happy little home with my wonderful girlfriend and our cat. I feel grateful for it every day.

Most days, my j-pouch is just there, doing its thing. I still use the bathroom about seven times a day, but it’s routine now and never feels like an impediment. I eat just about anything, although lately I’ve found that overdoing spicy foods can cause a burning sensation around my backside and lead to some uncomfortable poops. But a reminder like that of my pouch’s limitations is probably good for me every now and then, so I don’t get complacent when it comes to doing my best for my digestive system.

When I graduated from university, I viewed success through a pretty narrow lens. One that focused almost solely on one’s career and the contributions one made to the world through it. And there was a time when I thought writing could be my route to success.

It obviously wasn’t, and probably never will be. And that’s just fine, because I see my health as my success, and that success comes down to this stellar j-pouch of mine. In creating stability, my pouch has afforded me the ability to bike and work and travel and enjoy nice food and hold realistic dreams of moving back to the Maritimes. With all that and more in my life, I feel content. At peace with what’s come before. Grateful for all that is. Hopeful for what’s yet to come.