Six months ago, the word "stoma" had sounded like a medical curse. Now, "Buddy," as he called the rosy nub of his small intestine protruding from his right side, was just part of the team. But tonight, after a celebratory dinner where he’d foolishly nibbled on a few nuts and forgot to chew his mushrooms properly, Buddy had gone silent. The ostomy pouch, usually gurgling with activity by now, was flat. Empty. And Leo’s belly was starting to look like a kicked soccer ball.
Leo felt the pressure in his abdomen release like a popped balloon. The colicky pain vanished, replaced by the dull ache of relief. He cleaned up, applied a new pouch, and drank another small cup of tea. stoma blockage what to do
The clock on the nightstand read 2:47 AM. Leo lay perfectly still, one hand pressed against his lower abdomen, the other gripping the edge of the mattress. A cramping, colicky pain was building—a wave of pressure that would crest, hold for a terrifying second, and then ebb, only to return a minute later. Six months ago, the word "stoma" had sounded
He knew the first rule: do not eat. Do not drink a full glass of water. You cannot push a cork down a full bottle. Instead, he shuffled to the kitchen, poured a warm cup of peppermint tea, and sat down. He took tiny, rabbit-sized sips. Warm liquids acted like a gentle lubricant. He avoided cold water—his surgeon had told him cold shocks the bowel into a spasm. The ostomy pouch, usually gurgling with activity by
He knew this feeling. It wasn’t the normal gurgle of his ileostomy. This was the enemy: a blockage.
The pain pulsed again, a 6 out of 10. He ran a warm bath. As he lowered himself into the water, the heat began to unclench the knots in his abdominal wall. He then performed the "gas pass" pose—knees to his chest as best he could.