I overheard myself say the other day, “Putting on my bra is my version of dressing up these days.”
While it was meant as a cute and clever remark, I was aghast that it was a true statement. Granted, one reason is that I’ve got a non-walking cast on my left leg that goes up to my knee. (“Now there’s an attractive look,” said no one.)
I knew I’d be off my feet and at home for several months when I had heel surgery. I knew I wouldn’t see many of my friends, who have busy lives and do well to stay in touch via social media, and I was okay with that. It’s surprising how tiring the day is, lugging myself around on crutches or my bent-knee scooter, so I’m not feeling that social anyway.
But as a result of not having much in-person contact, I’ve let myself go.
I’m not able to shower or fully bathe, and washing up means hobbling to the sink and leaning myself against it while filling it with soapy water and trying to hit the major spots before needing to sit down. I do this a couple of times soaping up and a couple more times rinsing off. Drying comes naturally because I take so long to do the entire routine. I don’t know about you, but I don’t want any help in this bathing process, and that only makes it more difficult. I do this bathing routine every other day.
I will accept help washing my hair, however, which I do at the kitchen sink. Whereas BS (before surgery) I used to wash my hair almost daily when I showered, now I do it once a week, again, because it’s exhausting.
Thank goodness Rod is able to wash my sheets, towels and bathrobes every few days.
Doesn’t just reading about this process make you tired? And that doesn’t include teeth cleaning and drying/styling hair (I’ve completely given up on makeup of any kind.).
Bathrobes are pretty much my daily attire. Both my navy blue and gray ones look much like the house dresses of the 1950’s: shapeless, three-quarter-length raglan sleeves, front full-length zipper, no collar. But these robes are so practical under the circumstances. Pants are difficult to near impossible with the leg cast, and I need something that more or less covers my body with one leg always elevated and the other down on the floor. (Putting both legs up strains my back.)
If you’re a visitor to my home during this convalesce, how dressed up I am may be a matter of how shocked I think you’ll be if you see the current real me, the “she’s let herself go” version. If I know you well, like Rod and a couple of close girlfriends, you get the bottom of the barrel, but if you’re the handyman or a professional counselor, I brush my teeth and put on a bra.
Yes, I’m scared that after this forced encampment is over I’ll continue with the letting go; I sort of was headed in that direction BS (before surgery, remember?) when I gained a ton of weight because I could hardly walk, let alone exercise.
In my youth, I’d see women who I worked or socialized with and then years later, when they were retired and older, I’d hardly recognize them because they’d let themselves go. (By the way, this happens with men too!) I swore to myself that I’d never let that happen to me – I swore it!
But here I am.
Oh, how convenient for me to think of all this while I can’t really do much to change it until my foot is healed! At least my cat, Kali, doesn’t seem to mind the difference … but then she’s only got three legs and she appreciates the personality over appearance any day.