I developed Ulcerative Colitis in 1970 during my first year at the University of Wisconsin.  I don't need to tell anyone reading this what a nightmare it was – you all know.   The worst moment for me was when I was shopping in a department store and lost all control.   I was 18 at the time and more than anything just wanted to vanish.   It was embarrassing beyond words for me, but that incident, more than any other, made me determined to somehow do something about it.  But as with most young people, body image was very important at that age, and the idea of wearing a pouch was pretty much the last thing I thought I could deal with.  So, for four years I struggled with the disease.  I bet I knew where every single restroom was in every single building on campus.  And I knew which ones were usually not used very much, where I could clean myself up and cry without being seen.  

During my junior year I met a young man who was pretty accepting of my mad dashes off to bathrooms.  We married in 1973 and though I continued to have worsening problems, somehow I just dealt with them.   In 1976 I had a baby.   The pregnancy was very, very difficult, but my little girl was born healthy, though a month early.  I was very sick by this time, and my doctor finally told me that unless I agreed to surgery, I would need to find a different doctor because there was nothing more he could do to help me and he was not willing to stand by and watch me die from this illness.

Not long after that I came across a very short article in one of the women's magazines that I had picked up.  It told about the Koch pouch procedure that was being done at Mayo Clinic in Rochester.   I simply called them up and after many transfers ended up getting an appointment to come up for a consultation.   I did.

My surgery was done in 1977 and although I had to have 3 revisions in the first 7 or 8 years, I have done very well since.

I have two children, both grown now.   Unfortunately the kind young man that I married became verbally, emotionally and finally, physically abusive.   I was divorced after 28 years.  He used to call me "damaged goods" and that he needed to "trade" me in for a "better model".

During the time that I was deciding to leave him and start my life over, I often thought back to those days so many years before.   When I was so ill, even though I hated how I felt and what I was going through, I was so very scared of having the surgery – of making a life style change – even when I knew it was what I needed to do to survive.  And the surgery was painful and difficult and it took me a long time to heal, but I did and I had my life back again.   Leaving a bad marriage was leading me down that same path.   And I knew that even though it would be very hard, I would be able to make it.  And I have.   The surgery I had 27 years ago has now saved my life twice.