: beyond clean underwear :

motherMoms, it turns out, have been misleading us for decades. The state of our underwear is of no actual concern in the event of an accident or injury. Other, more pressing matters crowd out the usual thoughts of fashion or modesty or dignity.

While it’s true, displaying your tatty, sagging skivvies to a group of total strangers is an awkward moment, that’s all it is: a moment. Then you’re on to bigger, scarier things like IVs, X-rays, electrodes, chest tubes, it’s a busy time. So scratch undies off the list, what you should worry about is Phase Ialone in bedI, also known as ‘the hospital stay’.

Everyone reacts differently to the lack of privacy and independence, but I think we’d all agree it’s a dreadful, mind-numbing experience.  Daytime television is awful, nighttime television is awful, counting ceiling tiles is tedious, plotting escape is somewhat entertaining, but pointless when you’re connected to equipment and devices and hanging bags of fluid. With nothing to do and extremely limited mobility, the minutes pass like months.

After this latest disaster, I made a vow to never again leave the house unprepared. Seriously, you do not want to get caught off-guard. I was and I paid a heavy price –I caught a severe case of the stir-crazies. So just assume your every destination is the hospital and pack a bag accordingly. Call it the Comfort Kit and keep it with you at all times.

Herewith, suggestions for a more enjoyable confinement:

undies 1

undies 2

undies 3

undies 4And that’s the latest dispatch from home, where I’m surrounded by books and movies and food and privacy and quiet. The best part? I’m not attached to anything, not a tube or a contraption or a device. Oh, what a lovely feeling.


copyright © 2016 the whirly girl


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