Like a cocktail weiner in a refrigerator croissant, I left the hospital with a comical new silhouette. A brace of some kind was a given. I had heard of them referred to as "the turtle," had seen one on a stranger that made me doubt how he got into or out of a car. Other problems gave me no time to ask about it.
Suddenly I had the hors d'oeurve model. It was fat, tall, heavy. Since my waist is smaller than my hips, it bounced around on my buns until it made a sore place. Luckily, as I wrote earlier, the croissant part was taken off in the surgeon's office since it was never going to fit. The bony inside part remained - a sort of corset more Queen Victoria than Victoria's Secret.
Yes, I've mentioned the thing before, but it seems some post-surgery patients are already working or at least appearing in public. This involves clothing a bit more demanding than a choir robe. Like many of you, I couldn't pass myself off as a visitor from an interesting, exotic place.
Enter: my dear daughter in her stylist mode with new clothes! She was not enthusiastic about the world staring at the brace. So, from her magic bag, she produced a sleeveless knit dress suitable for any event, with a very stretchable waist. For cool days or job interviews, a matching pullover top - sort of an almost batwing pullover that would even cover up a bulletproof vest.
There was a cottony-looking knit tunic cover-up that I still wear for air conditioning. Also a fashionable delicate, sleeveless tunic with lots of detail - even wore that when someone took a picture of pal Tom and me.
Luckily I had never taken my jeans to the tailor, so they could be worn with the brace and any top.
But the things she brought were the magic. I felt like a real person, healthy enough that we went out to eat and I even climbed several stairs to the restaurant. There is no medicine better than looking in the mirror and feeling that you look perfectly good and ready to take on the world.