I Forgot My Pants

How do I begin to talk about my pants: my post surgery pants, I mean?

They weren't really an issue in week one, post surgery, when my difficulties were in moving about. To wit: getting out of a chair and straightening up was a bit of a trial. Getting in and out of bed and even rolling over too. Oddly enough though, I wasn't in pain just sitting or lying about but just making those big changes of position. I was even fine walking around once I had actually straightened myself up. In those respects, the surgery was easier than anticipated.

But after that first week, when both the internal discomfort and surface swelling began to decrease, another problem arose — surface irritation all around the incisions, which pretty well covered my whole lower abdomen as the operation was a double hernia and covered both sides. Surprisingly to me at the time, there was a whole lot of surface tenderness and irritation. Anything rubbing on that below-the-belt area has been quite irritating and still hasn't settled down completely in week four of post-op.

So, what does one wear in such circumstances?

Bed was easy. I simply stopped wearing pyjama bottoms to bed (yes American Google spellchecker, I do choose to spell pyjama with a y). So except when the sheets hit the incision region, which is something that I can control pretty well, the nights are pretty good. Oddly enough, I have always disliked  not wearing pjs to bed, but needs must as they say.

Now, what about daytime? For awhile, I reverted to bandages so that there was something stationary in the tender area between my pants and me. This prevented direct rubbing. And I wore the soft track pants over top, but the elastic band tended to sag down to the irritated area. I have to freely admit that this problem was aided by my belly which does not want to hold a belt up high.

These are the only pants that I have worn since surgery day except for once which I will get to soon, below.

Then a neighbour, who has had the same surgery, gave me a tip. Braces. Actually, he said suspenders, but I was brought up to say braces, which I like better even though people look at me funny when I say it. Being used to people looking at me that way, it doesn't bother me (I was a teacher, after all), and I can easily add the word that they will understand. It's like saying plaster instead of bandaid. It's just better and part of my British heritage passed from my grandparents to my parents and then me.

The braces looked pretty funny because the only ones in my possession are Santa-themed. I used to have another pair, but nobody knows where they went, not even Sue who I have always thought knows all. All that is worth knowing anyway.

Fortunately, I suppose, it's been cool enough to wear shirts or other coverings over top of the braces, so I didn't stand out too much although family were not always spared. I think Danica especially found it odd and disconcerting.

In summary so far— I wore no pants to bed, and track pants and braces during the day. I feel as though all those needed to be part of the story, but now I finally get to the main point, which is that ...

. . . I forgot my pants, or I should say 'about' my pants. Totally. Completely. But wait ... it's not what you think.

It is about the night Shauna and the kids took us out for our anniversary supper. I sure didn't want to wear track pants to a fine restaurant to celebrate such an occasion, and my jeans (they are nice, respectable jeans, by the way) are a tad on the tight side.

It was then that Sue said, "Why don't you wear your black pants?" (still with braces covered by a shirt, of course) .

Me: I don't have any.
Sue: Yes you do.
Me: No, I don't think so.
Sue: Yes you do.
Me: What are you talking about?
Sue: You bought a pair last fall and a blue pair too?
Me: What?

Of course, she was right. She found them in my closet with the tags still dutifully attached. Apparently, I purchased them last September when Sue was to donate her piano to the Glen Gould Foundation in Toronto (which you may read about HERE).

In case I were to attend the event with Sue and her sister, I needed something dressy, Well not dressy as such, but a step or two up from jeans, which is pretty well all that I wear in retirement. Nice jeans, of course. Did I mention that already?

So ... we went shopping, and I bought these two pairs of pants, sort of chino types of slacks.

I still have no memory of this.

When Sue described our hunt, I did have a vague niggling because she told me how we had great difficulty finding what I was looking for and eventually a helpful sales person found something suitable. I do have a murky impression of this, even though I draw a blank at the pants themselves.

The pants went into the closet as soon as I got home, and since I didn't end up accompanying Sue to the presentation (good thing because the venue was small and crowded), in the closet they remained. Forgotten. Completely forgotten. Utterly forgotten.

I still, more than week after the rediscovery when I write this, don't remember actually purchasing them. Meanwhile, Sue had thought that I simply decided that I didn't like them when I wore jeans to our New Years function and so on and so forth.

Occasionally, I have surprised myself somewhat (somewhat I say) by rediscovering in the depths of my cupboard some item of clothing that I had forgotten about. I mean if it's summer clothing, it lies dormant for about 8 months a year, so I think I can be forgiven. At any rate, when I see such a piece apparel, I do remember about it. But not these pants! Nope! Still a blank.

You may gather by now, that unlike my dear wife, clothing doesn't mean a whole lot to me. Don't get me wrong; I don't dress like a slob, and I do like to look presentable. But beyond those requirements, I am not particularly moved by apparel. Except for caps to some degree. I do like a jaunty cap. I mean everybody wears shirts and pants, but most blokes don't wear nice caps, choosing, if they wear caps at all, to don those banal and ubiquitous ballcaps.

What remains to be seen is if this memory blank is an indication of galloping brain atrophy. On one hand, I am pretty darn sure that it ain't getting better in me 'ead, but on the other hand, I have always been something of a forgetful daydreamer. And that brings me some modicum of comfort.

Footnote: I am doing fine really. I am in my fourth week post-surgery, and, while I am still tender, I have been able to discard the braces. I even used my tripod for a photo last evening.