I just wrote about my Chicago friend’s inference that my goal of keeping fit is about vanity, not well-being, as if vanity, all by itself is inherently immoral. Maybe that is what Grumpy was suggesting when he commented “sometimes” friends could be right. He didn’t say what part of the post he was referring to. But let me respond, in case it was “vanity”. This is a sore point with me, so forgive me if I run on.

In my own case, taking care of myself is what I do when my life permits. When my late husband was in major distress, in hospital for months, I lived with him, sleeping on two chairs held together by a cork bulletin board filched from my office on top of which I put pillows. My knees hung over the chair back and I tucked my feet into a clear space in his ventilator. I faced him rather than being side by side, so I could see his face. Through the bars on his bed I held his hand. When he awoke, he could see me. When our eyes met, I could see his anxiety recede. That is what it was all about. (Incidentally, I was able to endure these conditions because my body was familiar with rigor from ballet class.)

I wore jeans and T shirts and clogs. I washed the shirts in the basin in the room, a fully-occupied, 4-bed ward. I hung the shirts to dry behind the ventilator where they couldn’t be seen. I was awakened every morning at 4 a.m. when the new shift came in to do morning care. In what, I believe, was a spiteful choice because they didn’t want me there, the aides always came to Jay’s bed first. I would get up and monitor what they did. When they turned him, I held his head -- otherwise it just hung down like he was some kind of meat on a hook -- and spoke to him so that he would have some emotional comfort.. During this time, they discussed personal matters with each other – their hair, their boyfriends, their TV choices..

When they were done, my sleep ruined, I would talk with Jay, then go to the shower in the hall and get ready for work. I did make-up at bedside. I tucked my “bedding” in a closet and went to work. I took one ballet class a week, just so I wouldn’t go to pieces. Without it, I would have been a basket case. One a week will not do much for you, but it is better than nothing. At night, I would pick up a salad on the way back to the hospital. This routine, in one hospitalization, went on for 9 months. There were other hospitalizations. I always stayed with him because he couldn’t manage his own care. Trust me, no aide, no nurse, is going to spend a great deal of time psyching out what someone needs when they can’t talk and also don’t quite know where they are.

My jeans and T shirts were hardly dress for success attire. It cost me, but I didn’t care. Looks, career -- dumped on the back burner. My husband was dying. I got down to the loft a couple of times a week to pet the cats being cared for on a daily basis by my neighbors. The little tykes were suffering, too.

Some of the nursing staff (not all) did their best to make me miserable, denying me at one point use of the shower, or microwave to heat my dinner. They just didn’t want me there. They had no idea what I was willing to endure to stay with Jay. Nothing short of bodily removal and imprisonment by law enforcement was going to get me away from him. I obeyed all the hospital rules and I was terrified that some “righteous” monster of a head nurse was going to sabotage me so as to get me kicked out.

I didn’t have time for vanity, nor did I much think about it. When Jay finally left me, all too soon, in my view, I started taking care of myself and I had some catch-up to do. I went back to class and cried through all of the work. If you don’t screw up your face and make noise, no one notices tears. Or they think it’s sweat. Should I have just given up? Hey, my life is done, where is the rocker, give me some fries and Big Macs. My friends, kind to a point, did not want to be the unremitting recipients of my grief, nor should any friends be put through this by someone in monumental need. I joined a support group and it held me together. (And that’s where I met Ed.)

So I am saying, if I have vanity, it isn’t there when truly important issues must be dealt with, so Grump, get off my case, if indeed, you are on it.

xx, Teal