What if one split second sent your life in two completely different directions? (tagline for Sliding Doors)

I once wrote a breakup letter - a Dear John, if you will - to Crohn’s disease upon the advice of my therapist. I think that I may have blogged it. Her intention was for me - a codependent woman - to stop identifying myself by my disease. I don’t think that it worked. But that might have been because I didn’t do my traditional break-up ritual. 

In the past, after a bad breakup, I’d do the requisite stuff: get a bad haircut, maybe get a dog, wallow and eat things and - most importantly - I’d watch the film Sliding Doors and revel in the alternate universe that I’d veered on to and prepare myself to for what is to come. 

I feel in the need for some Sliding Doors. My marriage is more solid than ever and every day I’m struck with gratitude for my understanding, loving, patient husband. My upcoming surgery will give me so much new freedom and i won't need to run to the bathroom every half hour. But the midriff that I've come to know in the last 17 years will be forever changed and I find myself thinking, "If I'd known it was my last summer of swimming without an ostomy....", "If I'd known that the last time I had / did/ went..." It's those break up thoughts, where you feel surprised by an end. Sure, there's much to look forward to (without thinking about the scary bits) but I've grown accustomed to my middle and will be sad to bid this version of it fairwell. 

So I want to break out the ice cream and warm up the telly, but a sample ostomy arrived and my husband's response to it was relief and optimism, so maybe I'll just take it one day at a time and be pleased that I have no need for Sliding Doors.