In an ideal world, I’d have an adjustable bed. 

At the push of a button, I could gently raise my legs, tilt my pelvis and take the weight off my abdomen without effort, strain or awkward manoeuvring. I could change position slowly, safely and in a way that actually supports a body living with a parastomal hernia. 

But that’s not my reality right now. 

So instead, I found a compromise.  I bought myself a wedge cushion. 

After a fair bit of research and making sure it suited my height, I chose one designed to sit under the thighs and calves rather than directly under the knees. When it’s in the right place, it creates a subtle pelvic tilt. 

Just enough. 

That slight tilt is said to reduce intra-abdominal pressure, allowing the abdomen to soften rather than brace. And when it works, it really does help. My stomach feels less heavy. The pulling eases. Rest comes a little easier.  It’s not dramatic relief but it’s noticeable and when you live in a body where small changes matter, that’s worth a lot. 

But like most adaptations, it isn’t perfect.  The problem isn’t the cushion itself.  It’s getting it there. 

Once the wedge is in position, it does exactly what it’s meant to do. But transferring on and off the bed in a stoma-friendly way becomes more complicated. 

To get out of bed, I have to push the cushion away with my legs, which immediately engages my abdominal muscles. The very thing I’m trying to protect. 

Getting into bed isn’t much better. I have to move the cushion aside or lower it to sit down safely, then lie back and then awkwardly, try to hook it back into place using my feet. That grappling, scooting motion defeats the purpose entirely, putting strain right where I’m trying to avoid it. 

So there’s a strange irony to it.  It’s brilliant once it’s there.  Not so brilliant getting it there. 

It’s one of those adaptations that works in theory, works in practice but only after a bit of wrestling. And when you’re already tired, sore or nauseous, that extra effort can feel like too much. 

Still, I don’t regret it because even imperfect support is still support. 

This is what living with a changed body looks like sometimes, finding tools that help most of the time, accepting their limitations and using them gently rather than expecting perfection. 

One day, maybe, an adjustable bed will be possible. 

For now, this wedge cushion is a halfway house, not ideal, not effortless but offering moments of relief when my body needs them most. 

And sometimes, that’s enough. 

This post reflects personal experience and reflection, not medical or professional advice.