By Brenda Elsagher

The first time I saw my ET nurse, I remember thinking how attractive she was with her hair all done up and makeup applied so beautifully. Somehow, that just didn’t make sense for a woman who worked around poop all day. She was elegant and refined and made it almost dignified to talk about these personal body habits.

“Do you have any questions?” she asked.

“Yes, I do,” I said hesitantly.“Where do the farts go?”

“Flatulence goes into the pouch,” she said calmly.

My mind was busy at work; “So flatulence must mean fart and pouch must mean bag.” That was my breaking point. The tears streamed down my face at the thought of farting in a bag the rest of my life. That was twelve years ago, but now I can see some good uses for them. Crowded restaurants,
subways or theaters—any place a person might need some more space.

Why not use them as a nonviolent approach to ending wars? I propose we form “The Flatulence Brigade,” and brandish our own version of biological weapons. Homeland Security will surely take my advice and back this newest line of defense.

A bunch of innocent looking, Hawaiian shirt-wearing, American tourists with cameras would pass through airport security with our weapons in place. We’d then proceed to the hot spots, where people need dispersing without violence. At the count of three, we’d open our non-filtered pouches and let those pungent fumes into the air. “Silent, but deadly” would take on new meaning! But people wouldn’t die, they’d just get nose-stunned.

People would come out of hiding and surrender their weapons. It would be a cheap organic approach that would save nations from economic ruin. No lives would be lost, but nobody would know what hit them. We wouldn’t need the National Guard anymore. When the President sends in “The Flatulence Brigade,” wild college parties would disband, prison riots would cease and all would be well in the world. Heck, a gal can dream.

It wouldn’t work at all if most people were like WOC Nurse, Pat Keegan. This woman is fearless when it comes to farts and poop. She relayed a story to me in my book, I’d Like to Buy a Bowel Please!

In 1980, Pat was a new ET who typically dressed in short skirts and three-inch spiked heels. Nervously, she had successfully finished teaching her first patient how to irrigate his colostomy when she turned around with the full bedpan in her hand and slipped. All that success flew everywhere, on her face, her hair, and her lab coat. She and her patient stared in shock and then burst out laughing. She donned some scrubs, cleaned up the best she could and went on with her day.

Pat says, “There’s nothing bad about poop or pee except when you can’t do it; that’s the only time it’s bad.” Being able to laugh at ourselves is half the battle, with or without a stoma. The first “Flatulence Brigade” will be meeting next week. Let me know if I can sign you up.

Brenda Elsagher is a national keynote speaker, ostomate of 12 years and author of If the Battle is Over, Why am I Still in Uniform? and I’d Like to Buy a Bowel Please! You can submit your funny or inspiring story for her next book, Bedpan Banter. Go to www.livingandlaughing.com for more details or to order Brenda’s books. She welcomes comments or questions about this column at 1.952.882.9882.