The Adventures Of Samwise

I haven't wrote anything for a while because I keep thinking of topics that I want to write about, but I can't really get into it. And I don't want to half arse any, because if I'm going to do that, then I may as well not write it, you know? So I've opted for a pretty safe topic of more frequently asked questions. Since starting this blog, I realise I've kind of taken a mental note of more stuff that's happened like, 'totally mention that in the blog'. So these few questions are the things that I've noticed come up more often.  What does a stoma look like? It took me a while to get brave enough to look at a stoma before I had one, because I was so worried it was going to be hideous. And yeah, they're not PRETTY, but they're also not awful. It's kind of like a tongue but without taste buds. If anyone is curious but hesitant to google it (because obviously we all know that's when you get the worst possible images first) then her

I haven't wrote anything for a little while as I've been super busy, so I thought instead I'd just put a nice little anecdote about a time where Samwise didn't behave himself to make you laugh on a Monday afternoon. Going to do my best at story telling here, so bear with me. It was around 11am on a Thursday. Or a Tuesday. Probably. I was in a lecture on facebook talking to other people in the lecture, on facebook. I started to feel the burning on my stomach that happens when the bag starts to lose it's seal, meaning that some output is getting onto a tiny bit of my skin, and since a stoma output has a high level of acid in it, it can really hurt. So anyway, when I felt this I figured I best go to the toilets and check that shit out (ha). Luckily there's rarely any girls in the toilets near my lecture halls, as girls don't seem to want to build circuit boards and play with buttons on desks. So I stood over the toilet, and got my stuff ready to do a quick

That's one of my favourite quotes. It's from The Old Man And The Sea by Hemingway. It kind of sums up how I feel. I often get told that I have such bad luck. That's usually accompanied by a sorrowful look, a head tilt and a soft voice. I know that people mean well. I really really do get that. But I find it so offensive anyway. Because I don't possibly understand why anyone could think that I have bad luck. I kind of get where they're coming from in terms of "oh wouldn't it be better if you didn't have any of this!!!" But quite frankly, no. I am me and I am perfect like this. I am broken and I am faulty and I am happy and I love it. This is me. Healthy is not. That is okay. I don't need your interpretation of luck, because I have my own. I should definitely be dead by now, that is a fact. I am not, that is also a fact. So how that can make me anything other than lucky, I have no idea. People assume that lucky would be to be like them, and t

I'm sat in bed right now with my big pup snoring next to me and my four rats sitting munching their dinner and I'm very proud of myself. Because today, I did completely ordinary and mundane stuff that I would usually do every single day, and I did it all without crying once. That's a big deal. So there's this weird thing, that I'm sure I'm not the only one who experiences. Where once I come out of hospital (oh, spoiler: been in hospital again) I struggle.  Even washing. You have no idea how exhausted you can be until you have to have a lay down after having a quick shower. By which time you need to shower again because you're too sweaty. None of this is helped by my brain. It dislikes me as much as my body does sometimes. At the moment, the levels of anxiety I have are some of the highest they've been for a very long time, if not ever. But I'm still smashing it. So yesterday morning I was talking to one of my favourite family friends. Someone who