Those who know me will not be surprised to learn that I value practical and clean much more than neat. Jan occasionally has to send me back upstairs to avoid going to work sporting my terrorist look or my "what two-year-old dressed you" look. I don't believe that clothes make the man -- our acts define us, not our clothes.
However, I am noticing the power of what I wear to affect how I feel about myself, which can affect how I act. When I was "wearing" a wheelchair, I started thinking like an invalid and briefly forgot I could walk. This morning, wearing a hospital gown and lying in a hospital bed, when some doctors left my light on after their 7 a.m. visit, I was ready to page the nurse to turn it off before remembering that four steps is still well within my abilities. When I wear pajamas, I feel less feeble than when I wear the hospital gown, and when I wear running clothes, I feel pretty normal.
Yesterday, free of Jan's fashion guidance, I did a corridor walk in what I considered a practical if mismatched ensemble: gown, socks, running shoes. The running shoes made a huge difference in how I felt walking, compared to the no-skid socks I was worn before. Sick people walk corridor halls with their IV poles while wearing socks. With my running shoes, I'm a healthy guy with leukemia. The gown is practical because it's the only thing that the hospital will wash, and I'm saving my running shorts for working out on the treadmill.
It was a good walk. In the shoes, I can go faster, and I can kick Ivy's feet without adding to my toe bruise collection. Occasionally I felt an unaccustomed breeze, which made me wonder if I was totally wrapped up. But I checked a couple of times, and I had the gown tied up as tightly as it gets. Not that I minded the sensation -- I was thinking that maybe the Scots have a good idea with the kilts.
When I got back to my room, a nurse told me that she brought me an extra gown.
Me: What for?
Nurse: To wear like a cape over your first gown, on your walks.
Me: Why?
Nurse: I heard you were flashing.
Sorry, Jan!
Here's a message I received on Facebook. It sounds like it is in response to this blog post, but it works as good advice for everyone in the medical system, whether or not they know how to dress themselves.
ReplyDelete"Be sure to secure a backside protector, someone who will always make sure your behind is covered."
I'm with you on the fashion sense, Joe. Not having had a customer visible job in over 15 years now, I dread the day I might ever need to dress "business casual." Haven't bought anything other than jeans, T-shirts, and a couple of very simple knit shirt in over a decade. I'm certain my feet would take great umbrage by wearing anything other than my New Balance cross trainers or my hiking boots.
ReplyDeleteIt seems that in addition to sharing HLA haplotypes, we also share the same fashion sense, or more appropriately, the same lack of fashion sense. I guess the fashion sense gene must be genetically linked to at least one of the HLAs, and we must have inherited the mutated version (probably from dad). I recall, on at least one occassion, being sent back up to change my outfit by mom and Lauren, before venturing out of the house in a fashion backwards form. I like to think that I'm a little more fashion forward these days, but I still definitely prefer function to form (and still defer to Lauren's better fashion sense, when I think it really matters).
ReplyDeleteDefinitely from Dad. You just have to see my photo from Prague to appreciate how strong my fashion sensibilities are!
ReplyDeleteJoe, I'd say you're not fashion challenged--just ahead of your time! Would that everyone favored your practical approach to clothing. Just think how many fewer foot surgeries would be needed for women as a result of damage from high heels and how corporations could benefit from rewarding talent rather than expensive suits!
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ReplyDeleteDoes this mean there's more to fashion than having matching socks? I'm generally pretty pleased with that level. That was one of the advantages of wearing a uniform: not many decisions to make beyond sleeve length.
ReplyDeleteMy wife (PICU nurse) has often commented on how easy it is to fall into "invalid syndrome," so good for you for being aware of it.
Great observation Joe. Being a bit misfashioned myself, I can relate. I'm retired now and who knew it was so easy to forget to 'dress'. Just keep those running shoes ready and put em on everyday. We're in this race with you!
ReplyDeleteIt's great to be famous, if only for being a nonfashion plate. But then the occasional "good" dressing makes a terrific impression!
ReplyDeleteWe once had a similar wheelchair effect when we went to a museum in NYC. Char's feet hurt, so we got her a wheelchair. Then, when it was time for a restroom stop, we had to remind her that she could actually get up and walk for special occasions like that. Since then, I sometimes think of limping at the museum and getting a wheelchair too, but never quite had the chutspa to do it.
Joseph Muskin had trouble posting the following:
ReplyDeleteWith regard to fashion and socks, I found what I think is a good strategy. Big box stores sell 6 and even 10 packs of MATCHING socks: Black for dressing up for the workday, white for the weekend. This helps make wash day a lot easier, you only have to match white to white and black to black. And who cares if you lose a sock and end up with an odd number of socks. Eventually you will lose another and have complete sets again. And, as it is easy to lose track of time in a hospital, this can have an added bonus if you adhere to the black socks Monday – Friday and white socks on the weekends, you can simply look down to your feet and at least be in the ballpark of what day it is.