A few weeks ago my sister and I were
discussing weight. She had been thin most of her life and she used to say to
me, “Gaining weight is just as hard for me as losing it is for you.”
“Maybe so,” I admitted, “but it
would be a heck of a lot more fun.”
After she gained weight, she said
she felt a lot better, but was hesitant to buy new clothing because her sizes kept
changing. Leggings turned out to be a great choice because they, well, stretched—a
lot.
Since I’ve retired, my wardrobe
changed dramatically.
“If I’m not going anywhere, I might
just stay in my PJ’s all day,” I admitted to my sister. “If I feel like dressing
up a bit, I put on sweatpants. If I’m going somewhere, I’ll wear my stretchy
jeans.”
Recently I bought a pair of
Jeggings. I discovered they had the comfort of leggings, but looked more like
jeans. Ahh. The best of both worlds.
Being comfortable not only kept me
from stressing over every darned holiday pound I gained, it actually prevented
surgery. That’s a bold statement, but from someone who developed knee problems
over thirty years ago, I stand behind every word.
By 2012, my knees had gotten so bad
that I had a cortisone shot before I went on vacation to make sure I wasn’t
hobbling around. The shot provided some temporary relief and the possibility of
surgery was postponed.
As we went into winter that year, I
bought two pair of comfortable boots with low heels. The boots turned out to be
a fortunate purchase because that winter brought weeks and weeks of snow. After about a month, I noticed that my knees
felt better than they had in years. Wearing the low-heeled, comfortable boots
had saved me from surgery.
Why did I go through life wearing
uncomfortable shoes, or clothing, because they were fashionable? Was it vanity,
or just what I thought was expected. After all, I never wore my PJ’s to the
store, or my sweatpants to a conference.
Even people who always dressed for
comfort sometimes have to make adjustments. Jim was always most comfortable
wearing his 501 Levis. As his dementia advanced, he needed assistance with
dressing, and I couldn’t quite handle the button fly. We advanced to zip up
jeans, and that worked for a while.
When Jim went into long-term care,
it was much easier for him to dress in sweatpants and a Kansas City Chief’s T-shirt.
Dressing for comfort had an additional benefit for Jim. He didn’t seem to need
much sleep and would walk day and night until he was exhausted enough to sit in
a comfortable chair or lie down on a couch to take a nap. His constant pacing
meant he needed comfortable shoes. I bought him good athletic shoes and had to
replace them on a regular basis.
I found out comfort wasn’t only
important with Jim’s clothing. It extended to holding hands, hugs, and providing
companionship. Comfort was key to Jim’s physical and emotional wellbeing. Yes,
I discovered the most important part of Jim’s body that needed comfort was his
heart.
Copyright
© January 2016 by L.S. Fisher
No comments:
Post a Comment