Vanilla Blush create sexy underwear for women with an ostomy bag
June 11, 2016 by admin
Filed under Choosing Lingerie
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Nicola Dames is the owner of Vanilla Blush and is helping women with an ostomy to feel amazing about themselves.
As an ostomate herself, Nicola has created a range of beautiful underwear specifically designed for people with an ostomy bag and is doing wonders in the field of ostomy underwear.
There are ranges for both men and women and includes hernia support wear, swimwear and beautiful but practical underwear.
They look like any other high waisted underwear from the outside but have an internal pouch that houses your ostomy bag, keeping it off your skin and close to your body.
A photo posted by Vanilla Blush (@vanillablush) on Apr 19, 2016 at 5:18am PDT
As a young woman with an ostomy, I tried them out and I can’t believe how great they feel, I have never worn specific ostomy underwear before, but now I have tried these, I am a bit in love.
I think originally I felt that they were trying to hide the ostomy bag away and I wasn’t comfortable with that, but having tried them, they are so practical and cleverly designed.
A photo posted by So Bad Ass (@samcleasby) on May 14, 2016 at 2:22am PDT
What I love most about them is they are not medical, they don’t look any different to beautiful lingerie, the website doesn’t scream “SICK PANTS FOR SALE HERE!” Buying and wearing these knickers just felt like a great experience.
I don’t want reminders of my illness, especially not when I’m trying to wear something to feel good and Vanilla Blush get it so right.
Trying this range of knickers (going from a UK size 6-8 up to a 20-22) was a breakthrough for me and just fell in love with them, I felt in control, beautiful and awesome.
Having an ostomy can feel like a real taboo, it can be isolating and can knock your confidence, more and more people are choosing to share their stories along with images of themselves which helps to normalise a situation that over 100,000 people in the UK are living with.
What is nice about this company is the use of real models with ostomies.
Now for the sex bit, Vanilla Blush do some crotchless knickers. I loathe to use that term as it sounds so tacky. The underwear is the same shape as the other pants but has a split gusset that looks like normal knickers when together or when separated, it opens underneath.
I wasn’t sure about these and had a bit of a giggle about the connotations of crotchless knickers. I tried them on out of curiosity more than anything.
#ileostomy #sobadass #stoma #stoppoobeingtaboo #effyourbeautystandards #colostomy #stoma #pinup
A photo posted by So Bad Ass (@instastoma) on Feb 15, 2016 at 7:51am PST
They are a very clever design. It’s not that I want to hide my ostomy bag or that it shouldn’t be seen, it’s more that the presence of it can sometimes be off-putting, the rustle of it is a subtle reminder that it is there and so these pants mean you can be intimate whilst your bag is safely in the pouch and flat to your body.
The pants look like classy, beautiful lingerie, it didn’t feel seedy or weird but just that someone had actually thought about the sex life of people with an ostomy, which is something hospitals and doctors simply aren’t doing.
As more and more people are having ostomy surgery for treatment of illness, cancer or accidents, it is so important for companies to recognise the power of the ‘poo pound’ – people with an ostomy are like anyone else, they want high quality and beautiful products that are accessible for those of us with a few extra needs.
For more information about life with an ostomy, see the IA Support and So Bad Ass.
MORE: How a teddy bear is helping kids with an ostomy to smile
MORE: World Ostomy Day: Let’s stop poo being taboo
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From lingerie to statins: Bedtime rituals through the years
June 9, 2016 by admin
Filed under Latest Lingerie News
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When I was a bride, I had a wedding “trousseau,” a kind of bridal bonanza of stuff: pots and pans and linens and luggage.
But it also included what I considered the best part: lingerie – nightgowns made of filmy, floaty fabrics in lush colors like baby blue and peach, and even one clingy black one.
For a brief blink of time, I felt like a Hollywood starlet.
Then along came real life: mortgages, taxes, head colds, compromise, trips to the hardware store for ant traps – and kids.
My starlet days were finite.
Ultimately, our three daughters seized those nightgowns for their dress-up trunk, and, in time, our granddaughters discovered them and did the same.
My husband’s early-marriage bedtime attire fared even worse. He had a couple of tailored bathrobes, and some pajamas in wonderful plaids that picked up the auburn in his hair way back then.
They have completely disappeared along the way, along with the auburn hair, now silver.
One of the things about marriage – long marriage, especially – is how steadily and yet stealthily things change. And that includes bedtime attire and rituals.
These days, my bedtime “trousseau” consists of long johns washed and dried so often the material has been reduced to a paper-thin layer of flannel, mismatched pajama bottoms and tops that are my nighttime version of comfort food, and a once-quilted bathrobe of now indeterminate color, somewhere between pink and beige.
For spring and summer, the bedtime wardrobe shifts to shirts and shorts that bear the names of our daughters’ colleges, and charity events in which we’ve participated. We look like urchin characters in a Dickens novel.
And then there are the bedtime rituals we must attend to, our hands meeting romantically at the bulging bathroom medicine chest so overloaded it barely closes.
“Don’t forget your statin,” one of us will remind the other as we jockey for space at the sink. “Where’s the Advil?” is another rallying cry.
This sacred space has been transformed into an overloaded pharmacy dispensary, with those horrible printed inserts spilling out about possible side effects and allergic reactions.
Together, we rummage through the preparations for skin, heels, elbows, tummies, colds, coughs, and mysterious viruses.
There is not just brushing, but flossing with the gloom of the periodontist echoing in our ears about the condition of the Friedman gums.
Sometimes, there is the need to minister to strains, sprains, pulled muscles, and tricky backs, so his-and-hers heating pads are now in the armamentarium.
In the bedroom itself, there are newspapers and magazines piled sky-high on the night tables, one of which also contains a white-noise machine for the resident insomniac – me.
There is the humidifier to plug in.
There are pillows to sort by depth and filling – our pillow tastes are, alas, as variable as our tastes in food.
And there is the final sigh about the damn bedroom shade that somehow refuses to stay put in the dark of night, and when we’ll call the shade guy to have a look.
There may be some nudges about his snoring, and my need to run our ceiling fan in all seasons because I am permanently overheated.
And we argue over old and dumb issues along with some new ones, certain that even after decades, we can help the other to see the light.
But then there’s also this:
The man who has been by my side for 55 years is still there.
And if I have a bad dream, and nudge him to hold me, he does. And if it’s thundering, ditto.
My guy is there to remind me that long marriage, with all its compromises and all its disenchantments, is still a haven for two imperfect people who will wake up in the morning and know this is where we belong.
pinegander@aol.com
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