As I was dressing this morning I pondered my old undies (from the days of yore) and the idea of purchasing new underwear (aka car covers) since losing nearly 100 lbs. My old underwear still fit my much smaller butt except for some sag in the cheek area - something one might expect to see on a woman my age who had lost 100 lbs. Don't worry, you'll never have to see the sag. Even if we decide we're game to snuggle, I'll be fully dressed as if I were doing Hugh.
I discussed this underwear issue with an old friend, Tricia. She told me I needed to celebrate my weight loss by buying myself nice lingerie, to throw out my car covers; that my self-esteem was at stake.
Do you really think my self-esteem is at stake about my underwear? Are there bigger issues than baggy pants? Is this a battle I want to fight? I don't care about lingerie because I'd rather have money for my house payment, food and gas, or vice versa. I only have to see my baggy panties for a second and then if they look that bad, I can look out the window and think about the birds singing or check under the bed for dust rhinos and add to my to-do list.
People with lymphedema aren't supposed to wear tight clothing, anything that interferes with the flow of lymph if there is any flow at all (at least not mid-leg). I had an MLD therapist who would (slightly) holler at me with my too small underwear though I never bought bigger undies because she hollered. I really seriously thought that I was THAT size. When I was a size 28, it didn't matter that my jeans were skin tight either, I didn't buy larger pants because I didn't know if anyone made larger pants. A fat person wears what they can find that fits. Either that or they visit Omar and have tents made.
The way I see it, I can give up my anti-depressant and my corgi in order to have money to spend on new lingerie so that my self-esteem doesn't plummet. But the thought of living in a cardboard-box home with fancy lingerie doesn't seem like it will assuage my esteem. While money is tight -- for the first time in my life, my underwear aren't. That in itself is a celebration.