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No more than five minutes later, I went to the toilet and my nightmare was confirmed. Once I’d been wheeled into the procedure room I told the doctor what had just happened. The last thing I remember was just crying and crying, but feeling more and sleepy.
I woke up, and knew my fate - that I would be having my fifth surgery, and would be getting the bag back yet again.
We ended up dating, and a few months later I was told the tunnel had been fixed and that I would be booked in to get it reserved again.
It didn’t seem to matter as much this time because I’d found someone who loved me for me and had told me that once the bag was removed, that it wouldn’t change the way he felt about me.
Once I’d recovered from surgery, I remember feeling amazing because I wasn’t in any pain and wasn’t running to the toilet every few minutes; I literally went about 30 times a day previously.
First, I had fevers that would come and go, and which doctors couldn’t explain.
Second, my bottom hadn’t been used in over 18 months.
The muscles would cramp up every time I went to the toilet, and the skin around that area was so sensitive that toilet paper was worse than sandpaper.
I would cry and cry every time I went to the toilet.
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This was until about a year later when I met a guy who I thought I liked, and I thought liked me back.