funny how time flies

Warning: The post I'm about to post is very Barf-tastic. HORF-riffic. Gross in every way possible. But it's not about me so fair warning.

I work in medical supplies. I do alot of things at my job. Mostly to do with money. But also to do with medical supplies. Because of this I can get very high-horsey RE: #HCR. But I won't today.

I have always had a strong stomach. Been fascinated by 100lb tumors and conjoined twins. Blood and guts do not scare me. In fact, they fascinate me. My own mortality I guess. Doesn't it always come back to my own mortality.

Anyway because of said strong stomach, I handle one of the positions no one else wants to (we are a family owned, my family owned, small, 7 employee business- it just works out that way): ostomy.

Ostomy is when part or all of your large bowel/small bowel/bladder/vagina and or uterine wall/abdominal cavity have been removed. Usually due to organ transplant or cancer. Sometimes it's permanent. Sometimes it's not.

Anyway at work my customers call me the ostomy lady. For the most part, we all get along. I was fanatical about my colon health before landing this position and you can believe that after hearing people talk poop in a bag all day long, you can eat dinner off my colon, it's so pristine.

Not much "gets me." Never really has. Oh yeah, have I mentioned I'm a meat eater? Love meat. Meatatarian is more like it. Meat meat meat (but rarely potatoes and always lots and lots of veggies).

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WARNING!
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So today I get a new ostomy customer. He's been in prison and so his medical care has been basic at best. He doesn't know what he needs, only what he's always been given. Ugh. This makes it hard. And he doesn't communicate very well, and I'm trying, but I'm slowly getting frustrated. (I mean you hear all the euphemisms for shit and see how long it takes you.)

So I'm trying to ask him about his stoma size. The stoma is the part of the intestine/whatever that sticks out of your body to reroute your waste. It looks like what you would imagine it would look like. A pink part of intestine on the outside. It's small. Not that intrusive.

He doesn't get it. He doesn't get it. He doesn't get it. "Oh," he says, "you mean the piece of meat."

"Excuse me?"

"The meat. The piece of meat on my stomach. The meat. The raw meat." (YES HE KEEPS GOING IT'S SO GROSS IT'S SO AWFUL HE WON'T STOP I CAN'T MAKE HIM STOP GOD PLEASE MAKE HIM STOP SAYING THAT PHRASE)

Holding back vomit, I almost have to put him on hold. Cold sweat brace myself later I say yes yes the stoma that's it ok moving on blah blah get off the phone as quickly as possible. Oh my God. I had to step outside. I had to flee the scene.

I'm a little better now but queasy. Maybe I'm not, ugh vom. I just have to quit talking about it. God. Help.


So that's been my day so far. Yours?