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Fashion and Its Healing Power
There are those who think fashion is frivolous or silly, but I know better. Only a couple of people on Ricochet know this, but I was sick last year. On May 20, 2016, my friend and neighbor threw me into the car and rushed me to the ER when I had a severe attack of abdominal pain. She knew I’d been having these for months because I’d missed parties and dinners, and this time she said, “Okay that’s it! We’re going to the ER.” I made her wait while I took a bath, washed my hair, shaved my legs, dried my hair, and put on makeup and an outfit. My reasoning was that if I showed up looking the way I was, they wouldn’t even try to save me.
When I got to the ER, they did a CT scan. A doctor came into the room and said, “We found a mass in your abdomen. You have cancer. We’re operating right now.” I barely had time to absorb this dire diagnosis because they knocked me out. Lucky for him, because I was about to give him a piece of my mind on the topic of bedside manner. I mean he wasn’t exactly DocJay.
He later told me that when I’d arrived at the ER, I was about six hours from death. My friend saved my life. And I had made her wait an hour while I took a bath, did my hair and makeup, and selected a chic outfit. No wonder they call vanity a Deadly Sin. But I couldn’t help it! One of my favorite quotes from a famous style icon and former editor of Vogue was running through my mind:
“I loathe narcissism, but I approve of vanity.” — Diana Vreeland
Thanks a lot, Diana! That’s the last time I listen to you.
But on to the healing power of fashion. I went through chemo from July 1 till the end of January. It was a mild course for lucky patients like me who are curable. The mass was contained, and they got it all plus 21 lymph nodes. The chemo was just to be on the safe side. I didn’t even go bald or throw up. I didn’t feel good though. It was pretty awful, but it could have been worse.
My last treatment was January 25. The week before it, I woke up one morning, looked in the mirror, and realized that I Iooked dreadful. My skin had aged 10 years since July, and there were little red blotches on my face. I couldn’t believe it. The doctor said, Well you were being poisoned for six months. She said I’d go back to normal. At the beginning they told me that, while I wouldn’t go bald, my hair would get thinner, and it did. And here I was at the end of it, alive but with a blotchy face and much thinner hair, looking like the Wrath of God. So what did I do? I accessorized.
I was determined to at least feel pretty even if I didn’t look it. Even though I work from home and some days never see another human, I got up each morning and put on something cute. And bracelets and a necklace. And perfume (Calèche by Hermès). I slick my hair back into a ponytail. I do this every day, and now that a few months have gone by, I’m starting to look normal again.
*An aside: Boss Mongo directed me to the Etsy shop of a family friend, and I bought some chokers from her. Her stuff is so cute! I wear them every day. Thanks, Boss! You didn’t even know why this was so important to me. Here’s a link: https://www.etsy.com/shop/LooshandCo?
Even when I didn’t look like I wanted to look yet, fashion and style made me feel better about everything. Frivolous and silly? Maybe. But during that awful time, I know it contributed to my recovery. Somehow I know that if I’d spent the last few months in sweatpants, I’d still be that blotchy person looking back at me in the bathroom mirror that day in January.
I had my last CT scan on February 20, and was declared cancer-free. You guys never knew it, but you saw me through one of the worst times of my life. Logging in here every day and laughing and reading all of you, it was almost as healing as clothes. Don’t get all cocky, I said almost.
And now for a few of my favorite fashion quotes:
“Your dresses should be tight enough to show you’re a woman and loose enough to show you’re a lady.” — Edith Head
“People will stare. Make it worth their while.” — Harry Winston
“Trendy is the last stage before tacky.” — Karl Lagerfeld
@docjay @bossmongo
Published in Humor
Hilarious story, @thereticulator (#119)
For years my mom had complained about having to color her hair- she wanted to just let the grey show, but could never bring herself to slog through the grow-out period. Then she found out she had lymphoma and was going to lose all of her hair with chemo. She said the only upside of cancer was that she never had to look like a skunk letting her color grow out. She also lost a significant amount of weight. My mother’s wardrobe is stuck in the 90’s, and when she couldn’t fit into her clothes anymore but was unwell enough to not be able to leave the house, I went shopping and got her tons of cute up to date clothes, straw fedora hats, colorful silky scarves, and big earrings to wear after losing her hair. The oncology nurses always commented on how great my mom looked when she came in for chemo. It was a small thing, but it was my way of making cancer not suck so badly.
So happy to hear that you are better!
You’re a good daughter, and I can see that you get what I was saying. And thank you!
The only thing I can think of writing is, “What a woman!”
I’m smiling real big right now. Thanks, Ray
Courageous and fascinating post written by a brave and lovely lady.
Right Angles, so very happy that you are going to be OK! As everyone has said, you are a remarkable woman!
And thank you for the ultimate tribute to good grooming and fashion. Since retirement, I have often gone the sweatpants, no makeup route. It really does change my day in practical ways, and not for the good.
My mother, in her 90s and suffering from Alzheimer’s, still got up every morning and made her bed, got dressed, and put on bright red lipstick. Her self respect was beautiful to see, every day.
Thank you, AQ. My mother the southern belle, also with Alzheimer’s, did the same. I can still remember her sitting on the sofa, her eyes kind of glazed over like she wasn’t in there anymore, but dressed in a silk blouse. It always made me feel that an important part of who she had been was still in there somewhere.
I am frightfully late to the party.
So glad to hear your story has a happy ending and that you’ll be with us here at R for a long, long time. Thanks for sharing.
I can appreciate your hour before going to the ER. Doubled over in pain from diverticulitis, I took a shower, put on makeup, dressed – tho not as fancy as you – and perfume [Oscar (de la Renta)] before being dropped off at the ER. Like others have mentioned, this makes the attending staff very happy – for obvious reasons.
Good for you! It’s funny, we never think about the poor ER staff. I feel we are doing them a good turn by being well groomed, the poor things. I mean all the blood is gross enough, I say.
How can I ever thank you for this post, RightAngles? The best I can do is express my eternal gratitude and add you to my prayer list. If you ever need anything in cyberspace, just send out the Bat Signal.
Ever since my mother died in 2014 and my husband was diagnosedwith EOAD, I have completely let myself go. I’ve always cared about how I look and I generally “clean up good”. Since these tragic events, I’ve gained weight, left longer intervals go between hair stylist appointments and rarely wear make-up. I dress very slovenly if I’m not going out and often don’t even blow dry my hair after my shower.
I was never like this. I always cared about how I looked. Now I even find declining some invitations because it’s such a tough slog to get myself fixed up, especially from my current state of Ground Zero. No more!
I was so inspired last night, I went onto one my favorite sites, Marushka, and ordered $165’s worth of tops. Granted, they’re various forms of T-shirts but I have to start somewhere, right? I also made an appointment with my stylist for this week. Next stop: tossing all my grungy clothes on the way to my Final Step: looking exactly like our First Lady!
You are a true gem and you make me glad I renewed my membership. God bless you, RightAngles or should I say RightAngels!
Jeanne, knowing a little about what you’ve been through lately, I’d say you have a pretty good excuse. To think that anything I said could inspire another person, well that was really nice of you to say. And the bat signal goes both ways. @jeannebodine
‘Sgood advice, @aaronmiller – “dating” doesn’t have to mean “sleeping with”. It’s good to walk down the aisle as a bride feeling confident you had your chance to pick someone else, and didn’t. It means not giving yourself an excuse to wonder later on in your marriage, “Could I have done better?”
@rightangles, I always enjoy your posts and drawings! You express yourself with great humor and grace. So glad that you were rescued and treated. May you continue to recover and enjoy fashion!
Thank you!
Trust me, we don’t care about blood. We do however care if you come in smelling like feet and an ash tray.
Ha! My great-grandfather went to medical school. When the class was observing a surgery, he fainted haha.
Wait, it doesn’t??
I’m already envisioning RightAngles giving us a fashion seminar at the Ricochet Meetup in Montana. And I can’t believe I let this get to over a hundred comments before putting in a meetup plug.
Oh yes, we have plenty of entertainments in store! For one thing, I plan to play “Lady of Spain” on the accordion. — Wait! Come back!
There’s nothing like a cute girl playing the accordion…
https://youtu.be/OXws7iEpwUA
Makes their chest look pleated by the end of the evening.
Hey crazy, speak for yourself. I can think of at least 1/2 dozen things just off the top of my head.
Thank you for sharing! I am so glad you are cancer free and through your treatment! I’m sure you looked fab through it all.
Gosh, RightAngles! I’m so glad you are still with us and better now.
Shocking story, but inspiring. I admire your bravery, and your humor.
Dang, RA. Beat me to it.
I have been misinformed all these years.
Well, there is that pesky Code of Conduct thing…
As have I. Who knew?
I’m reminded of the famous E.B. White line in Charlotte’s Web: “It is not often that someone comes along who is a true friend and a good writer,” hoping you don’t mind being called a true friend, because aside from our Ricochet cyber-relationship, this piece is an act of friendship. Moving, funny, smart, and tough, a short course in how to deal with nasty stuff, and weren’t you kind to wait until there was a happy ending to share. Thank you.