I’m up on Saturday morning. Legs are aching. Feet are so cold they no longer ache or have any other feeling. When I touch my legs, they too are cold – like a dead person’s skin feels. (I always touch the dead at the funeral home to be certain they are truly gone.)
I walk on my cold feet to the chest of drawers and after rummaging around, I find a pair of long underwear. I find some thick socks in the sock drawer. Looking in the pants drawer, I see a large pair of what we called “pedal pushers”. Now they are referred to as capris. They are too large for me, but will fit nicely over the long underwear. I want an equally comfortable shirt, so I plow through the folded ones in the drawer and select one that is faded, but soft to the touch and which I knew feels good against my skin.
As I sit down to type this blog, I notice my reflection in the full length mirror in my room. Attractive? No, but I am surely comfortable and warming up in this outfit. I’d also added a pair of older tennis shoes and they blend in with the image I’m projecting.
I have diabetes and know loss of limbs due to poor circulation is a complication of this condition. I want my limbs warm. I care more about that than about style. I’ll change clothes, if I venture out today. Well, if I venture farther than my own yard. If the neighbors glimpse me, I assume they’re used to my “funny” style of dress when I’m home.
Comfortable in my own skin and in my old warm clothes. I love being this age.