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A sewing project
Dec. 3rd, 2006 09:30 pmToday I finished a sewing project for my friend Q. You probably don't know Q; she's not part of the science fiction community, nor is she someone I went to school with.
Late last summer, I noticed that Q's shirt fit her oddly. Tactfully, I suggested that she adjust her bra, which had obviously gotten twisted somehow. She turned away for a moment, then told me that the problem wasn't her bra -- she wasn't wearing a bra -- it was her breast. It was the large tumor in her breast, which had made her bras too uncomfortable to wear and which had finally grown to a noticeable size. I was the first person who had commented on it, she said.
Oh, I said. Probably other people hadn't noticed yet; since I am, in theory, a clothing professional, I look at how people's clothes fit more closely than most people do. I am uncertain whether that's true, but at that moment, I wanted Q to feel less embarrassed.
Q may be the staunchest believer in alternative medicine I know, to the point of rejecting most of the hard-won body of knowledge of western medicine in favor of naturopathy, homeopathy, acupuncture, nutritional supplements, and exercise. Me, I have nothing against naturopathy, homeopathy, acupuncture, nutritional supplements, and exercise, but I want them used as adjuncts to western medicine. If I were to move over to having alternative medicine as my primary treatment method, I'd still want the lessons of western medicine working in my favor. Q wouldn't have a broken leg treated by sticking needles into it; she'd get it set and braced, and then she'd stick needles in the appropriate spot to, oh, I don't know, improve blood flow and energize the body's healing forces. I wish she'd gone for surgery and then turned down chemotherapy in favor of alternative practice.
When she developed the tumor in her breast several years ago, she decided to treat it by improving her nutritional practices, drinking more water, and getting more exercise (and other stuff; I don't know what all she tried, and I don't need to know). Her overall health improved. She was strong, energetic, and really healthy, but she had that lump in her breast. Sometimes it got smaller, she said, and sometimes it got larger.
By the time I noticed it, the tumor was as big as my fist. I don't have a big fist, but that's still pretty damn big for something that doesn't belong in the healthy body.
I made Q an undershirt with an inside pocket over her healthy breast to hold padding to make it look as large as the tumor-swelled breast. I used organic cotton for the shirt and for the padding, because she wants to avoid unnecessary chemical exposure. I made her a set of pads in graduated sizes to put in the pocket, to reflect the changes in size as the tumor (occasionally) shrinks and (mostly) grows.
Q likes the undershirt. It evens out the lopsidedness and keeps people from staring at her. I got two more and fitted them with pockets, which I delivered to her today. I gave her some extra pads for the pockets; she needs them, because the tumor's bigger.
It's a thing I could do; it's all I could do. I cannot make her make different medical decisions; she's not stupid, she's not misinformed or uninformed or crazy. She's researched all her options, and she's chosen a course I'd never choose, knowing the likely outcome.
Late last summer, I noticed that Q's shirt fit her oddly. Tactfully, I suggested that she adjust her bra, which had obviously gotten twisted somehow. She turned away for a moment, then told me that the problem wasn't her bra -- she wasn't wearing a bra -- it was her breast. It was the large tumor in her breast, which had made her bras too uncomfortable to wear and which had finally grown to a noticeable size. I was the first person who had commented on it, she said.
Oh, I said. Probably other people hadn't noticed yet; since I am, in theory, a clothing professional, I look at how people's clothes fit more closely than most people do. I am uncertain whether that's true, but at that moment, I wanted Q to feel less embarrassed.
Q may be the staunchest believer in alternative medicine I know, to the point of rejecting most of the hard-won body of knowledge of western medicine in favor of naturopathy, homeopathy, acupuncture, nutritional supplements, and exercise. Me, I have nothing against naturopathy, homeopathy, acupuncture, nutritional supplements, and exercise, but I want them used as adjuncts to western medicine. If I were to move over to having alternative medicine as my primary treatment method, I'd still want the lessons of western medicine working in my favor. Q wouldn't have a broken leg treated by sticking needles into it; she'd get it set and braced, and then she'd stick needles in the appropriate spot to, oh, I don't know, improve blood flow and energize the body's healing forces. I wish she'd gone for surgery and then turned down chemotherapy in favor of alternative practice.
When she developed the tumor in her breast several years ago, she decided to treat it by improving her nutritional practices, drinking more water, and getting more exercise (and other stuff; I don't know what all she tried, and I don't need to know). Her overall health improved. She was strong, energetic, and really healthy, but she had that lump in her breast. Sometimes it got smaller, she said, and sometimes it got larger.
By the time I noticed it, the tumor was as big as my fist. I don't have a big fist, but that's still pretty damn big for something that doesn't belong in the healthy body.
I made Q an undershirt with an inside pocket over her healthy breast to hold padding to make it look as large as the tumor-swelled breast. I used organic cotton for the shirt and for the padding, because she wants to avoid unnecessary chemical exposure. I made her a set of pads in graduated sizes to put in the pocket, to reflect the changes in size as the tumor (occasionally) shrinks and (mostly) grows.
Q likes the undershirt. It evens out the lopsidedness and keeps people from staring at her. I got two more and fitted them with pockets, which I delivered to her today. I gave her some extra pads for the pockets; she needs them, because the tumor's bigger.
It's a thing I could do; it's all I could do. I cannot make her make different medical decisions; she's not stupid, she's not misinformed or uninformed or crazy. She's researched all her options, and she's chosen a course I'd never choose, knowing the likely outcome.
