Blocked | Stoma

Almonds, Emily thought. Classic culprit. Their fibrous, undigestible skins could clump together like cement in the narrow lumen of a stoma.

Emily smiled, washed her hands, and turned to his wife. “No more nuts, seeds, popcorn, or raw vegetables until he’s fully healed. And even then, chew everything to mush.”

Mr. Hendricks let out a sob of relief. “Oh… oh, that’s better.” blocked stoma

Mr. Hendricks was a quiet man in his sixties, three days post-colectomy for colon cancer. When she entered, he was curled on his side, face pale and beaded with sweat. His colostomy bag, attached to the stoma on his lower right abdomen, was empty—bone dry. But his belly was distended, tight as a drum.

He groaned. “My wife brought me… nuts. A handful of almonds. I thought… healthy.” Almonds, Emily thought

Before leaving, she touched his hand. “You did the right thing calling. Next time, don’t wait for the vomiting.”

As she walked back to the on-call room, she thought of all the simple, terrifying things that could go wrong in a body rearranged by surgery. A stoma was a second chance at life—but it demanded respect. And sometimes, all it took was one almond to remind you. Emily smiled, washed her hands, and turned to his wife

She explained quickly: “Your stoma is blocked. Not by a hernia or a twist—thank God—but by food. We’re going to try to soften it from the inside out.”