#CW: ileostomy

[voiceoffenrisulfr]

Magic and Madness - Chapter Six

To Understand Everything is to Forgive Everything.

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 -> Tony Stark x Stephen Strange

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 -> Stephen has a job to do, and it almost destroys him. Where else can he go for comfort?

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 -> 2388

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 -> (E) Avoidance, GSW, ED mentions, alcoholism, internalised homophobia, self-doubt, self-blame, smuuuuut.

𝐀/𝐍 -> A Companion Piece to Multitudes, exploring the relationship of Tony Stark and Stephen Strange. This chapter best corresponds to Multitudes chapters seventeen and eighteen - I recommend starting there if you're reading both <3. Masterlist can be found here!

Check it out below, or on AO3 here! Dividers come from yours truly.

<- Previous Chapter (5/46)

I avoided the compound like the plague.

The announcement of Natasha's plurality came of very little surprise to me – delivered, as it was, by a video call with Bruce. He didn’t ask why I refused to attend the meeting, and I didn’t volunteer the information.

I couldn’t face the man who had so unceremoniously dismissed me after almost two days of careful touches and hesitant kisses.

My hands shook whenever I thought about the look on his face when he glanced at me – the pure revulsion and desperation I found in his hollow gaze.

Despite my remorse, though, I couldn’t bring myself to regret it. It had been a glorious, if short-lived, experience. My only sorrow was that it had, by all accounts, left him drowning himself and finding solace at the bottom of a bottle.

I tried to be surreptitious in my probing – simply asking after the team when someone reached out to me, clarifying individual members – Tony included – when they weren’t detailed. Nat, in her rare correspondence via video, always made sure to talk about him first, and was by far the most candid.

I got the call in the evening a few weeks after I absconded, phone ringing out , shrill in the darkness. Steven's panicked explanation was accompanied by a backing track of Nat’s staccato, desperate whimpers as I dressed hurriedly, throwing on the first thing my hands reached for – a painfully familiar hooded sweatshirt that still smelled faintly of sex and aftershave.

Wreathed in an agonising comfort, I stepped through to the hospital.

You know I’ve done this too many times when they don’t even look up anymore. A little wonder would be nice.

“What is it this time, Dr. Strange?” My head nurse sighed as she spoke, eyebrow raised in surprise as she glanced at me. “... You look like hell, Stephen.”

“Thanks, Clarissa,” I snapped, rolling my eyes as I smoothed my hair. “GSW to the lower left quadrant. No known spinal implication, and there’s an exit wound. Patient is showing transient consciousness. ETA four minutes. Is there a team free?”

She nodded quickly, pushing herself to her feet. “Yes, Doctor. You got lucky; it’s been a hectic day. OR two is available.”

I nodded sharply, pacing impatiently as I waited. Somewhere, in the back of my mind, I wondered if he would be there.

My question was answered as they barrelled through the door, Tony’s hands pressed to the wound in the archer’s side. “BP is 83 over 54 and falling fast. GCS eight, oxygen steady – mostly. Pulse 73 and dropping. Looks like the bullet fragmented after penetration.”

I motioned Nat away quickly, her eyes wide as she trembled, and offered her a quick smile. “I’ve got to get him into surgery. I’ll do what I can, Natash- Nat. I’ll do my best.”

Five hours and six minutes.

His insides were shredded by the shrapnel, and while I lived up to my promise, I hated that I couldn’t do more. My forehead found the wall as I sobbed softly, mourning the parts of the archer I couldn’t save.

But I had a job to do.

So I simply scrubbed a hand over my face and peeled off my bloodied gown, unable to stop the spark of anger that drove me to throw it violently into the contaminant trashcan, jaw set.

I should have done more. I should have been better.

I should have been there. Maybe I could have made a difference.

Natasha was curled on the floor, pressed against the wall, blood trickling through the fingers pressed to her ribs as she stared blankly into the distance. I sighed as I approached, steeling myself. “Let me take a look at you.”

“… Wh… What?” she murmured, blinking owlishly up at us, and I inclined my head toward the blood under her hand, jaw twitching. “I said, ‘Let me take a look at you’.”

She blinked again, blank and disinterested. “We’re fine. How’s Clint?” I offered her a wry smile and an extended hand, pity tugging at my heart. “Let’s make a deal.”

“Clint had a lot of internal damage. A lot. I’ve patched him up as best I could, but…” I sighed guiltily as I slid the needle through the edge of her wound, but she showed no reaction. “You’re lucky he was in front of you. You would likely have lost your lung, but instead it just broke the rib.”

“Lucky,” she scoffed, eliciting a flinch.

“He’s not come around yet. He… We had to perform an ileostomy. There wasn’t enough intestinal tissue left to salvage. He’s been fitted with a bag – if he… That will be permanent,” I added softly, jaw tight with remorse.

I should have been there.

She winced, glancing up. “Will he wake up?”

I hesitated only briefly, the loss of concentration bringing a faint tremor back to my hands. “We don’t know. He lost a lot of blood and sustained significant injuries. He underwent massive transfusions. The fact that he survived surgery is reassuring, but…” I sighed again, head shaking. “I’ve had this conversation too many times lately.”

When she glanced at me curiously, I offered her a weak, shaky smile. “I said almost the exact same thing to Clint, when it was you that may not wake up.”

I spent two weeks in my own alcohol-driven despair, wracked with remorse and selfish thoughts of comfort found in his embrace.

He’d tell me I tried my best. He’d tell me there was nothing more I could do. He...

No.

He’d tell me I repulse him, and that I am wrong.

Two weeks of long and suffering silence was all it took for Clint to start to come around, and I got the call to return. I’d checked on him daily, but they thought I’d like to be the one to break the news to him.

I can’t imagine anything worse.

But the archer, to my wonder, was impassive, seemingly unphased by this permanent alteration to his life, despite my immense shame and guilt.

The only person who seemed to struggle as much as I was Natasha herself. Chained to his bedside, I’d watched her grow steadily more gaunt, refusing all but water – and even that had to be administered intravenously. Not a single morsel or drop passed her lips during her silent vigil, and the weight began to drop from her frame once more.

A quiet word with Bruce when they eventually returned to the compound confirmed my worst suspicions – that she was, once again, skirting danger.

Bruce desperately argued that her weight was holding steady, but I could only snort. “You don’t believe that any more than I do, Banner. We need to find out how this is happening – before it’s too late. And ‘too late’ is approaching far too rapidly.”

The day she ended up being taken, unconscious and severely underweight, I broke.

When I appeared in his bedroom, he was lay with his hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling.

“… Hi. I know I shouldn’t… I shouldn’t be here. I just…”

He nodded slowly, extending an arm to me with a quiet sigh. “Come here, baby boy.”

The name broke me, and I sobbed, falling down beside him and weeping desperately against his chest. “I should have done better. I should have done more. I…”

Shushing me gently, his fingers caressed my back as he held me close. “You did amazingly, honey. You did better than anyone else could have done. None of this is your fault, do you hear me?”

“I knew she was struggling. I knew that something wasn’t right. But I left it to Bruce, and I… I should have spoken to her. Helped her. This is all my fault. I’m not… Fuck, I’m such a… Fuck.”

He brushed his lips against my forehead, pulling me nearer. “Sweetheart, you did everything you could. You were incredible.”

“You never called,” I whispered into his chest, voice cracking. “I thought you hated me.”

He snorted weakly, shaking his head. “You? Never. Myself? Well… That’s a different matter entirely."

“I hate that I made you feel like that.”

“Not you, baby boy. Never you. I… I’ve missed you, Stephen. So much,” he muttered into my hair, fingers tightening against my spine.

“I’ve never hated myself quite so much as I do for what I said to you. I’m so, so sorry.”

I pushed my face through my tears to claim his mouth with mine, hands curling in his hair desperately. “Show me how sorry you are.”

“Aren’t you going to ask-”

“I already know you’re sober, Tony. I’m surprised and impressed.”

“I’ve been sober since Clint’s accident. I… I wanted to prove I can do it. Before I reached out.”

I purred happily, pulling him closer. “Fuck me like it’s you last night on this earth, Stark.”

He raised an eyebrow with a snort, dragging my shirt over my head. “You got it, baby boy.”

I lay in his arms as he smoked, and I scowled. “You shouldn’t substitute one vice for another, love.”

“One makes me significantly less of an asshole than the other, sweetheart.”

“Don’t you also have a ‘no smoking in the building’ rule?”

“It’s my building, who’s going to tell me off? You?” he added with a smirk, and my fingertips trailed his hip lightly, humming with delight at the hard lines I’d missed touching.

“Sounds fun. I might be into that.”

He barked out a surprised laugh, shaking his head. “Doctor Strange, you never cease to amaze.”

I arched an eyebrow, fixing him in my gaze. “Mr. Stark, I am a surgeon who tried to micromanage his own surgery, despite the fact that I would be profoundly unconscious for the procedure. I am nothing if not authoritarian.”

He purred and tugged me nearer, fingers curling around my back to drag me atop him. “Oh, yeah? I seem to remember you being pretty submissive every time I’ve made you beg...”

Smirking, I took his hands from my hips and pinned them over his head, delighting in the soft gulp the motion elicited, pressing my body against his. “You assume I couldn’t make you do the same?”

“Y-You gonna boss me around?” he stammered, back curving minutely against me as he blushed.

I hummed playfully, tongue trailing the length of his jaw. “... Not yet. Maybe when it’s my turn to fuck you.”

He stiffened, and I winced.

Fuck. Why would I say that?

“I-I didn’t mean to-”

“I’m scared,” he ground out quietly, gaze flicking away as he reddened.

I released his wrists and lay over him, watching him with my chin beside the glowing light of his reactor. “... What are you scared of?” I pressed softly, and he grimaced minutely.

“I... I’m not sure. I’m scared it’ll hurt. I’m scared I won’t be... Clean. I... I’m... I know this isn’t exactly straight, but I’m scared that if it’s me that gets... I’m scared that it’s just, y’know, more... g-gay.”

The last word was a pained, shameful whisper, but my heart throbbed proudly.

He’s never said it before. No matter how drunk, or sober, or angry.

He’s never said it.

“Do... Should I talk you through your fears? Or do you just want acknowledgement?” I asked quietly, fingers dancing across his collarbone, and he nodded shyly.

“I-I guess you can... Try and help.”

Smiling fondly, I kept my gaze on him as I thought. “Well... You saw – pretty intimately – my first time. Did I look like I was in any pain?” He shook his head reluctantly, and I pressed a kiss to his chest. “It was... Unusual. A little uncomfortable, at points, but that very quickly gave way to...” I swallowed dryly, cheeks heating. “You’ve seen what you do to me, Tony. It’s... The best I’ve ever felt. By far. By far.” My light shiver made his smirk, hands shifting to caress my back gently. “I don’t think I’ve ever had- No, let me try again. I have never, by far, had so much sex in such a short period of time. And I still want more.”

He grinned at last, palms finding my ass pointedly. “I’m happy to stop this conversation and give you more, baby boy.”

Heart fluttering, I did, admittedly, hesitate thoughtfully before I shook my head. “I’d rather make you feel better... At least first.” He rolled his eyes, but nodded, and I purred. “As for... I mean, it’s not a big deal either way. But there’s ways you can... prepare. Which I could talk you through, but I’m concerned for your blood pressure if I say any more about that,” I teased as his face turned crimson. “But... I’ve never bothered, and we’ve never had a problem, right?” He shook his head slowly, and I grinned, kissing his cheek. “Exactly.”

His jaw tightened in anticipation, eyes drifting further from mine. “As for the last... Tony. My dear, sweet, darling Tony. If you’re straight, all your sex is straight sex, regardless of how you do it. And the same is true for gay people, and bisexuals, and all the other myriad of sexualities out there. It's not more or less of what it is depending on how it’s done. If you’re gay, then you’re gay, and that’s fine. You’re not extra gay if you decide you want to... Be fucked,” I finished, blushing lightly. He was trembling at my words, still unable to meet my gaze, but he licked his lips dryly.

“I’m gay.”

I couldn’t help the blink of surprise, but buried it in a gentle kiss, nipping his lip lightly. “As am I, sweetheart.”

“It... That’s why I never settled down.”

“I tried. I loved her, I truly did, but... She was the only one.”

“I’m... I’m ready to settle down, Stephen,” he added softly, gaze flicking to mine at last. “With you.”

“I... You... Wh... Huh?”

He swallowed again, leaning forward to kiss me lightly. “I want to be yours, Stephen. And I... I want you to fuck me.”

God forgive me, but I am going to commit every sin. Send me to hell if you must; I’ll go with a smile.

The whine that eked from my lips was indecipherable, and he grinned softly. “Stephen Strange... Please fuck me.”

... ... ...

Yes.

Yes.

Yesyesyesyesyesyes-

[phunnibun]

Yesterday on my theater blog I ranted abt Crutchie and how he can be baby-ifed by the Newsies fandom.

This is infact ableism and I want to discuss why I’m very loud about this.

CW - Ableism, medical experience, ileostomy, surgery, GI issues

Since I was a baby, I struggled with GI issues. My doc thought I could control it but I in fact couldn’t. I wasn’t taken care of until my older sister had graduated. Then, I was 10-11 I got a diagnosis that was wrong and got a surgery that made things worse for me.

Up until this year, I got the correct diagnosis and I went under an ileostomy surgery. Now my family treats me as if I’m 100% able bodied and get mad when I take care of myself.

My experience has been with medical ableism, ableism with an invisible illness and not being cared for medically by my parents.

It’s been hell, I’ve gotten better but I need those to know that those with visible illness should be cared for but not babied. And those with invisible illnesses need to be cared for but understood that we aren’t always able bodied.

[contentment-of-cats]

Revenge porn and not in the context of bunny boiling.

I spent most of 2022 trying not to die. March was the rampup to chemo and radiation that ran for five weeks, followed by round two chemo that ran from the end of May through August. I spent September through mid-October recuperating until I broke my shoulder, then had the colon resection, lymphectomy, hysterectomy, ileostomy, and uretal resection in mid-November.

I was a fucking mess. The pain was off the scale. I went home taking 10mg of oxycodone every four hours. It was the end of December that I was declared in remission and celebrated by standing up to take a shower. During all this time, I remember one communication from @cyberwitch85 aka @cordeliaperry about a server and privacy at some point. I don't remember if it was via Discord or DM. At no time did anyone tell me there were issues with her and Drac. Drac did tell me via email that there was a new server and I was invited. I went now and then, but most of what I did was sleep. I did not know that there was Shit Disturbing going on until February of 2023 when this crossed my dash.

I do not ever want anyone to forget that @cyberwitch85 aka @cordeliaperry (aka who knows how many other names she may have) nuked her blog, but screencaps are forever. Threatening someone with releasing their nudes to 'ruin [their] fandom life' is revenge porn, and illegal damn near everywhere.

Hold on tight, this is going to be a long and bumpy ride.

So, in early November, CW enters bunny-boiler mode with Jade.

Then this happens, with Cyber finding a new target and oh everything was just for funsies, dontchaknow. @cyber-glitch85 and @thralaniweek are Cyber as well. Please note, at some point Drac stopped talking to most of his fandom acquaintances.

Fast forward to this year. Totes believable, yes?

Then we got THIS funny shit - screencaps below. How do I know it's This Silly Bitch? Are there that many server mods running around pulling revenge porn shit?

And the comments.

Followed by this unanswered ask.

And then this golden turd - don't know if there were deleted replies in this one.

Followed by Jade saying 'fuck this noise.'

Jade decides she is too old for this shit and posts the whole damn thing. Cyber in typical Cyber fashion, deletes her replies. I am eternally grateful to the people who told me to screencap everything with this silly bitch.

Here are the replies she deleted.

Finally, we get this:

And also we get this from OTNF.

With some folks able to smell what's cooking. It looks like Cyber deleted her replies on this one, too.

In short, bunny-boiling narc goes batshit: threatens revenge porn.

That's it. Full stop. That's the post. Knowing a lot of people were afraid to be exposed in other ways because she collected their information after soliciting their trust as detailed here:

The thing is that narcs specialize in being likeable, trustworthy, leaders. Then they slowly squeeze the air out of everyone around them. I didn't know the extent of that silly bitch's fuckery until March/April and every time I find out more, it just pisses me off.

Revenge porn - she threatened someone with revenge porn. It's right there.

And yes, unfortunately there's more.

[semicharmedliving]

Mona Lisa Vito Is My Queen

CW/TW: surgery, operations

I mean, let’s be real: is there anyone more iconic? Every time I watch My Cousin Vinny and it gets to the part where Vinny calls her to the stand I get giddy. Every single time. I know it’s coming. It’s always the same. But it’s always so satisfying.

As you may have guessed, that was on last night’s watchlist. Dad and I tried to watch Poor Things, but that was just not working for us. A little too weird and a little too much sex for us to watch together. I do plan on finishing on my own, at some point. It was also weird for me after having been drilled into yesterday. I’ve got two more drains hanging from my body, and a Frankenstein-esque tale was maybe a little too on the nose. So we stopped partway through; Joe Pesci and Marisa Tomei came to the rescue.

So yeah, yesterday was a lot. The drains were unexpected, and are painful. And the news with them isn’t ideal. Despite being on basically constant antibiotics for the last 5 fucking weeks (yes, I’ve been in the hospital for 5 weeks. I’m starting to go stir crazy.) I’m still having pockets of inflammation and infection pop up. So now the doctors think that I’m going to have to have another, larger operation for an ileostomy. Not what I wanted to hear. Not sure how to tell dad. Not sure how to even deal with it myself. Then there’s my aunt in it all, who got into one of her pitbull modes (which I appreciate in her) over the fact that I’ve been here for so long and haven’t had nearly enough talk about the cancer in my body. She wants me to transfer to a different hospital. I did put in a request through a form she sent me. It makes sense to me that my doctors are saying with my active Crohn’s and infection that I can’t begin cancer treatment, but it also seems like this has just taken too long. I don’t know what I’m thinking or doing. Stay, transfer? I just don’t know. I’m out of my depth. It’s taking it out of dad too, I can tell. He’s trying really hard, but I know this is difficult for him. And mom. We’re all tired.

I guess today is hard too. I’m just coloring and letting my brain be mush. Dad should be here soon. What will we do? Idk. Probably watch something. There’s not much to do in the hospital. Had a nice FaceTime with the group earlier. I should be in Ocean City with my friends right now, but here I am in a hospital bed instead. The weather down there is even nice for March. I don’t know. I don’t believe that everything happens for a reason, but I feel it a little? Like I always end up where I’m supposed to be. Even though this certainly doesn’t feel like where I am supposed to be right now. And they’re moving my room to a different floor today. I won’t get to say bye to my favorite nurses and that makes me sad.

I don’t really have a point to all of this rambling. Just getting it out I suppose. Happy Saturday, I guess.

Saturday, March 16, 2024

[authorphilip]

CW: Medical stuff. Marie Kondo. If you are averse to medical information (or Marie Kondo), please stop reading now.

Mr. Bag

Good afternoon, lovers. The only complication in my current recovery period has come with the management of my ileostomy, which is the looping of my small intestine to the surface of my skin. The surgeon has done this to block any activity in my colon, giving it three months to heal after ten inches of it was removed and then the left over bits reattached. That part of the surgery, which was the major, fundamental part of my medical issues, is moving along swimmingly. I have no more discomfort, no more pain in that area at all. But, my stoma (the exposed knob of small intestine on my skin that forms my ileostomy) has been a bit of a challenge to get used to. As I enumerated in my last update, it took me longer than expected to learn to eat again. I’m just now learning to completely nourish myself with the help of small, frequent, low-fiber meals eaten slowly. I also found a two-in-one, chewable multivitamin (WHEN DID GUMMIES TAKE OVER THE VITAMIN MARKET!?) that also has calcium citrate. These things have brought my strength back. I’ve done research on stoma positivity, and have found many people much younger than me (and Loretta Young, Ann Sothern, and Napoleon!) who have ostomy bags for the rest of their lives. I am very fortunate that mine comes off in March, when my stoma is “let down” back into my body. The stoma positivity movement, as you can imagine, is small, but it’s strong. The movement discusses focusing on the relief from the original pain that caused the surgery. I only felt that relief yesterday. Late to the game, I’m still excessively grateful the relief came. I’m starting to feel like myself again. The complications with my stoma are relatively minor, yet excessively irritating. The surface of my belly skin is loose and full. I’ve always been a big man, and I’ve unintentionally lost weight since September from all this, leaving my skin more loose than normal. Because of this looseness, my stoma rests in a dimple on my stomach, a concave dip in the skin. This makes forming a good seal with my bag difficult. Every movement pulls against the adhesive. After many different kinds of bags and adhesives and wax seals and sprays and methods, Susan, my ostomy nurse at Stanford, came up with a pretty good system for changing my bag. It has worked, to an extent. Even with all the precautions taken, and the right products, a small open wound has formed just above my stoma. Susan told me this happens all the time and that no one really knows why they occur. She sees them multiple times a day on patients who have had ostomies for thirteen years and more. They just sort of show up. I’m going to the dermatologist on Wednesday to have it looked at and cultured, but neither Susan or my surgeon think it’s infected With the new system of wound dressing Susan taught me last Tuesday, the wound is already starting to shrink, thankfully. David, my home nurse, said that with my skin and level of activity, that I will probably not get my skin back to normal by the “let down” surgery in March, that my skin won’t heal until after the procedure. Because of the wound and the pooled waste, I have to change my bag every other day, as opposed to every four days most people with bags have to. Fine. I’ll do it. Dr. Shelton, my surgeon, whom I had a follow up appointment with last Tuesday—after Susan taught me about Di-Dak-Sol, AG Silver, and DuoDerm—walked into the examining room and said, “Philip, we just gotta get you to March. You’ve got about seven or eight weeks left. We just gotta get you there.” Over these next weeks, I hope I get even more energy back. I can’t wait to get back to my normal life to make it even better. I didn’t expect life to start getting better already, but like I said earlier, the relief came. Right on trend, I’ve been watching “Tidying Up with Marie Kondo.” I like a lot of her philosophy, but my favorite concept is gratitude for material items. If I’m being honest, I have to admit that I’ve hated my stoma. I’ve hate the bags, the fact that I can’t get a good seal, my bloody, irritated skin, having to care so much about medical supplies and when they’re being delivered, taking up forty-five minutes in a bathroom that five people use, the leaks, waking up with a bag of my own waste on me, not being able to eat normally. When Marie Kondo advises removing an item from your life, she says to take a moment and thank it for what it has brought you. This morning, as I was sitting in my boyfriend’s father’s bathroom, after I prepped my wound dressing and the adhesive of my new, clean bag, I slowly removed my used bag, filled with waste, my digestive fluid having eaten away at the plastic and wax bond. Before I dropped the used bag into the red bio-hazard bags I buy off Amazon, I held it for a moment—"You were only with me for forty-eight hours, but you did your job. You collected my waste and died so I could heal. Thank you, Mr. Bag.“ I started to weep a little, as I am wont to do, but I sucked it up fast because I wanted to get out of the bathroom in case someone else needed it.

[voiceoffenrisulfr]

Magic and Madness Masterlist

A Companion Piece to Multitudes, running relatively adjacent as of chapter thirteen (here), exploring the relationship of Tony Stark and Stephen Strange. We hope you enjoy. Be aware of tags <3

Chapter One - We All Crave the Adulation and Adoration. Stephen finally gets to try Tony's macaroni and cheese, even if it isn't in the presence of the man himself.

Chapter Two - To Sleep, Perchance to Dream. Stephen and Tony spend the night together. CW: Referenced homophobia-driven child abuse, heavily implied alcoholism, some T-ish smuttiness (i.e nothing particularly explicit and everyone has their pants on. For now.)

Chapter Three - Awake, Arise, or Be for Ever Fall’n. Stephen returns for the Cloak, and finds more than he bargained for. CW: sexy times, internalised homophobia, alcoholism, self-hatred. Generally, Tony being Tony. But also some sweet parts.

Chapter Four - It is the Green-Eyed Monster Which Doth Mock the Meat it Feeds On. Tony acts like Tony, and Stephen gets caught out. CW: flirting with someone else, ED mentions (Nat), guilt, alcoholism, internalised homophobia. And smut. All the smut. All the time.

Chapter Five - From Ancient Grudge Break to New Mutiny. It finally happens, and Tony finally snaps. CW: ALL THE SMUT. internalised homophobia. Withdrawal.

Chapter Six - To Understand Everything is to Forgive Everything. Stephen has a job to do, and it almost destroys him. Where else can he go for comfort? CW: Avoidance, GSW, ED mentions, alcoholism, internalised homophobia, self-doubt, self-blame, ileostomy, smuuuuut.