"It Knows We're Here to Kill It"

So, I keep having this recurring dream, only it's not a dream. It's a scene from the movie Armageddon. For those of you who haven't seen it, let me set the scene: there is a giant asteroid hurtling toward the earth, hell-bent on destruction. How do we stop it? Turn oil drillers into astronauts (in a mere 12 days), and then send them into outer space (obviously). Once safely landed on this ball of death, the aforementioned oil drillers will drill, set nukes and blow the asteroid to smithereens (is there even a proper spelling for that word?). Then we will all be free to enjoy our gooey, animal-cracker love stories and, you know, buy things.

So, the scene that keeps replaying in my head occurs once our oil drillers/astronauts (who coincidentally look like chiseled models), land on the asteroid, suit up and leave the shuttle. The asteroid kicks up a fuss, spewing rocks and... other rocks, and generally making it seem as though the uninvited guests are precisely that: unwelcome. Cue Harry Stamper (aka Bruce Willis) saying dryly: "I don't think this thing likes us." To which Chick (Will Patton) replies: "That's because it knows we're here to kill it."

I relay this exchange to you for that one line: "that's because it knows we're here to kill it."* This is how my stoma has come to appear to me over the last few months. Prior to my second surgery (the one that created the J and gave me the loop ileostomy), my stoma (aka shithead and its many incarnations) and I got along well enough. Sure, I loathed it and pretty much everything it stood for, but since it was responsible for saving my life, I tried not to hold too much of a grudge.** For the most part, we tolerated each other; meaning it behaved itself and I didn't poke at it with sticks and other pointed objects just for kicks. But, the second incarnation (or shithead: the sequel) has been an entirely different story. I hate it; it seemingly hates me. I base this on the fact that it will not let me sleep through the night, ruins perfectly nice clothes (the limited stuff that fits me at the moment), aids the degradation of the environment by forcing me to do more laundry AND has forced me to wear an ostomy belt, which I had almost escaped entirely. 

And I'm sure it's all in my mind, but the closer we get to "S Day" -- aka Surgery Day (2 days!), the more the stoma seems to ramp up its hatred. Like it has finally understood that I am going to be getting rid of it and it has decided that this will be its final hurrah. At first I was more angry with it than usual: "why can't you just leave me alone, idiot!?" But, now, as the surgery gets closer and closer I find myself feeling a little bit sorry for it.*** In 56 hours (give or take) it will be nothing but a bad memory and I will be able to wear a regular-length t-shirt without worrying about what will be exposed. So, I now invite it to rage all it wants...it won't change anything and, in the end, I will vanquish it in the same way that Harry Stamper and co. saved the world in Armageddon. Only they got high schools named after them and got to play with nukes. All I get is the satisfaction of saying (and meaning): bring it on, bitch. You've only got two days left. [And, if push comes to shove, and you prove your supremacy I can always spoon (with myself) in the bathtub. Dignity and self-respect were so last year.]  





The symmetry of this scene in the movie can also not be over-stated. The teams go through medical tests to "qualify" as astronauts. At one point, a nurse holds up an anal probe and Chick says: "Ah hell lady, I just came here to drill." Her reply? "Good. So did I..." I feel your pain, fictional movie cast... 




* NERD ALERT!  One reason I love this quote is because it allows me to use one of my very favourite spelling bee words: "anthropomorphism". Which simply means ascribing human characteristics to things that are non-human, non-living or static. In this case, implying that a piece of rock could care about anything or want anything. Wow, you can take the girl out of the classroom, but you can't take the utter dweeb out of the girl...
** Also, it's hard to hold on to that high a level of anger toward an inanimate object. Believe me, I had a good run of maybe 19 days, loathing my body, my lot in life, and resenting everyone who had it easier than me. But, soon enough, that got old. And, my being pissed off all the time didn't seem to be making any of my shit (pardon the pun) any easier to deal with, it just made me pissed off about it. Besides, having a face all pinched and wrinkled because I turned into a harpy wouldn't help me land my dream man (a mash up of Ryan Reynolds, Ryan Gosling, Robert Pattinson, Joshua Lyman, Jake Gyllenhaal and Ronald Weasley). 
*** But not really.