In December 2025, I was absolutely petrified when I was told that, if my symptoms and swelling didn’t resolve, I may need a stoma. I was distraught. I cried endlessly and mentally spiralled for weeks. I was already unwell, but I withdrew even more. I avoided people, masked that I was “okay” when I did see anyone, and on some days I didn’t leave my room at all. I was frightened, ashamed, and adamant that I could never live with a bag on my body. Four months later, I had no choice. I was desperate