OYC Trailblazers: What Healing Means to Natasha

By Natasha Weinstein

My name is Natasha and I have Crohn’s Disease. I was diagnosed at the age of 11 after years of mild disease activity and extraintestinal manifestations (joint pains, random fevers and stunted growth). It was only when my disease became severe with rectal bleeding and vomiting that I was given a proper diagnosis. Following diagnosis, I went through years of failed medications, endless hospitalizations, 2 pediatric gastroenterologists and multiple surgeons.

Last month I underwent my 10^th surgery. You read that right: TENTH. I have hit double digits, two full hands, big kid status. My abdomen is growing up. To get technical about this most recent surgery, I had a colon resection and revision to my ileostomy. What this means is my surgeon removed a stricture (narrowing) in my colon that was causing my ileostomy (medical device and how I go to the bathroom, also known as a front butt) to malfunction. At the same time, he turned my stoma, Ziggy, the portion of my small intestine protruding from my abdomen, into an end ileostomy, which made Ziggy a permanent fixture on my body. *Insert applause*

This surgery was something I had been looking forward to; I knew its potential and was trying not to focus on the risks and unknowns as this surgery could give me my life, my career and my running for Team Challenge back. And while I was in the hospital, I went through my usual routine: my mom stayed the first two nights on the pull-out couch, my dad would show up every morning along with a revolving door of friends. And I walked endlessly around my hospital floor every 2-3 hours to help me heal.

This word heal is so interesting because how does one truly heal? And what does it really mean to heal? Merriam-Webster defines the word heal as to make free from injury or disease. That sounds simple enough. From a surgeon’s point of view, healing is taking me into the operating room, cutting and snipping at whatever must be removed and then sewing me back together. After a few days of inpatient “healing” and a post-op follow-up appointment, his work is, for the most part, done.

But once that healing has begun, what actually happens in the hospital? When I’m in the hospital, everything feels like a blur, like a time warp where life stands still amidst the white walls and echo of beeping machines. Nurses, doctors and residents scurry about as they tend to patients in every room. So how can one focus on healing with all the ensuing mayhem of the hospital? I have been fortunate enough to have kind and caring doctors who ensure I receive the best care possible, but it is truly the nurses who help me heal after surgery.

During my most recent hospital stay in February, my nurses were my best friends; they were my mother even while my mother was fully present and available. My nurses were the only reason I was able to survive this surgery and begin the healing process. They were the reason I began to heal both physically and emotionally and they even helped me get out of the hospital faster than any of us thought I would.

Natasha after ostomy surgery, walking the colorectal surgery floor with her shiny new pig

When I couldn’t sleep in the middle of the night, my nurse came to my rescue, held my hand and was ready to find a solution to my pain, sadness and hunger. When I needed pain medications, my nurse was on it. When I felt a pang of hunger, you can bet my nurse hunted down the dietitian to get me my favorite Dino chicken nuggets – the only thing I am able to stomach while in the hospital and after surgery. When I was crying and anxious, my nurse was there hugging me and telling me that things would be okay.

These are the same women and men who were there for me when I first got diagnosed 15 years ago. Okay, maybe not the EXACT same women and men, but you catch my drift. The nurses who were there when I was first diagnosed helped me understand my new diagnosis; they helped put everything into perspective when I felt like my world was caving in on me. I still remember those childhood days when my nurses held my hand and told me stories to ease my fear of needles and IVs. They became the reason I was able to fight and gave me the courage I now pass on to my mentees.

These women and men do everything; they fight our illnesses with us as patients and are the driving force behind us getting strong enough to go home and recover. They remember our faces and make our stays as personalized as possible; they care for us as if we are their own families. And most of all, they make everything feel okay.

Hospitals may not be the best place for healing, but nurses certainly help us recover and walk us forward so that we can truly begin to heal. I love my doctors, I truly swear by my medical team, but if it weren’t for my nurses, I don’t know how I could have survived the ten surgeries I’ve lived through and am healing from today.

When Tina asked how I own my Crohn’s and my ostomy, it’s by wearing a smile on my face every single day no matter the circumstances I’m facing. I’ve learned that with this disease, no matter how difficult it gets, I’m fortunate to have my loving family and my supportive medical staff by my side through every up and down.