Anatomy of a Dresser

by Bob Buddemeier

No, not a piece of furniture with drawers; a person who hopes to wear more than drawers.

Advisory:  Some readers may find that this article contains information they consider too personal.  Tough.  Just quit reading.

Stimulated by recent posts concerning resident attire, I have given some thought to the factors controlling how I dress.  I found that in addition to my natural slovenly tendencies, my physical condition and abilities play a significant role.  Consider (if you have the slightest interest) the following examples.

Peripheral neuropathy (an informal nickname for numb hands and feet) is one of the outcomes of diabetes, which is chronic and potentially degenerative.  It makes it impossible for me to button things one-handed (e.g., shirt cuffs) and very difficult to button small buttons/holes even with two hands.  Almost all dress shirts fall in this category.

I have a torn rotator cuff (internal shoulder part).  Although potentially remediable, I am putting off the invasive repair as long as possible because, frankly, I have enough damn physical problems without adding another recuperation from a difficult surgery.  The result is that there are various positions or actions involving my right arm that result in anything from discomfort and awkwardness to serious pain and disability.

The above two conditions combined make it extremely desirable and practical to cover my upper body with loose-fitting (a.k.a. baggy) pullover garments.  Fortunately, I have a collection of pretty nice sweat- and tee-shirts, some attractively decorated with animals or cartoon characters.  (Since you asked, my sweaters are mostly too well-fitting to put on without effort.)

Moving nimbly to the other end of the body, I have an uncontrollable tendency to drag my left foot.  It’s a result of post-polio syndrome (chronic and degenerative), and a proven tripping hazard.  It is controlled with orthotics – the kind that start under your foot and extend up your leg to grasp you mid-calf.  Wearing them requires, if you want to put on footgear, very flexible and capacious shoes – i.e., tennie-sneakers. I think leather shoes are out of my life forever.

In the middle part of the body we find spinal stenosis, which for some time resulted in sciatica until alleviated by a spinal injection (probable effective duration unknown).  In addition to that, a seriously arthritic hip resulted in pain and malfunction until it was repaired (fingers crossed) by joint replacement surgery.  The result of those (temporary, I hope) conditions was inability to get my hands anywhere near my feet.  As you might imagine, this complicates the putting on and taking off of socks, shoes, drawers, and trousers.

After considerable practice I was able to dress myself with the aid of a grabber, a peculiar sock accessory, and a short pole with different kinds of hooks on its two ends.  However, reliance on these accessories required even looser (pre-orthotic) shoes, and shorts or baggy pants.

Why do I tell you these things?  It is because, on behalf of myself and my fellow derelicts, I hope that when you see someone who doesn’t come up to your standards of fashion or sartorial elegance, you will be tolerant – don’t judge another person until you have lived for a few days in his or her body.