No, not a business suit. A bathing suit.
I’ve been cleared by both physical therapists to do light swimming and easy exercise in a POOL.
I’ve been advised to go to the deep end of the pool and just hang. Supposedly that would be as good as being in traction.
In a twenty-five minute driving range I have access to two YMCA’s and the URI pool. My friend Barb offered to go to URI with me and swim along. She offered to drive, which was another issue for me. I could certainly drive myself and then do the whole pool thing, but would I have the energy to drive myself home? Maybe, maybe not.
I even thought of going to the Hampton Inn, where I have a free night, and spend an afternoon, evening and the following morning “hanging” in the pool for my hip and stretching my arms. I could nap in between swimming sessions and would most likely have the place to myself as I did on our many road trips.
But that wasn’t going to be necessary now that I had found a pool and a driver/companion. Now I needed the “swimming prosthesis” (aka water boob), which was easy enough to order online.
Which left the swimsuit. Not any suit would do. It has to be a mastectomy suit with special pockets to hold water boobs so they don’t pop out and float beside you when you are jumping around during water aerobics. I don’t have a bathing suit here–they are in Texas and at the lake–so modifying something wasn’t an option.
I–of course–ordered a suit on Amazon. Because I was optimistic–or desperate? The suit arrived in 3 days. It fit, but the style was odd and the neck was definitely not high enough. When you have no cleavage and a jellyfish water boob, you need a high neck.
Trust me on this.
Yesterday Banjo Man drove me to physical therapy and then up to the city to the specialty lingerie store where I’ve bought all sorts of mastectomy stuff. He waited in the car while I went inside and tried on eight swimsuits. You ladies out there know how stressful it is to buy a bathing suit. I found styles I liked but they didn’t have my size. Or something fit but the neck was too low. I limped back out of the store and told Banjo Man that I was done. I would return to the internet…or else we would need to go to Providence to the Providence Place Mall where there is a store that has a mastectomy department.
(Unfortunately no one in their right mind wants to go to that mall because of the Central American drug gangs–there have been several shootings in front of Nordstrom’s, which prompted the store to leave RI–and roving bands of scary-looking teenagers. It’s a gorgeous mall and I used to take my mother up there once a year for her birthday, but the parking garage is dangerous and the fear of being mugged takes the fun out of shopping.)
We went from “Ruth’s Lingerie” to the Big Cheese & Pub for an early dinner of pizza. I resisted ordering tequila because Banjo Man had some errands to run after dinner but, believe me, alcohol would have eased the pain of trying on bathing suits.
So last night I ordered two high-necked bathing suits from Amazon and am hoping that at least one of them will work. It doesn’t have to be beautiful or even flattering, but it does have to fit.
Wish me luck, because if bouncing in a swimming pool is the only exercise I’m allowed to do then–dammit!–I’m going to get in a pool!