Dressing Me

One of the more annoying things about dealing with Advanced ALS, as the doctors now call it, and the near full paralysis which encompasses me now, is accepting the reality that I can no longer dress myself. Someone else has to do it for me. That means someone else is putting on my underwear, socks, condom catheter, pants, shirt, and even my shoes. These days even a shirt is nearly too much for me to put on myself. I simply can't lift my arms above my shoulders, nor do I have the strength, particularly on my left side, to push or pull an arm through a sleeve.

If you have never had to do it, you should try it, dressing someone who is lying down and not moving, just dead wieght and meat on the bed. This is not like dressing an active child; it's much more difficult. In fact there is a whole branch of forensics based on the reality that it is almost impossible to dress someone properly if you are not experienced with it. My HCA's dress and undress people every day; they are experienced yet even they have problems on a regular basis.

The biggest problem for them is, of course, my compression socks, the most difficult part of my wardrobe. Even I have trouble with them, so it is no surprise that the Home Care Aides fight to get these socks on me, hurting me along the way whenever a sock snags a toe. I have, more than once, heard a curse word escape near silently from their lips as they tug and pull and peel these damned socks over my dead feet.

This, by no means negates the other difficulties. Putting on my catheter bag is simple enough, except when it comes to tightening the elastic straps. It's not their body, so they can't tell when the straps are too tight or too loss. I often have to adjust the straps myself as the day wears on. Getting pants and underwear on means flipping me from side to side several times, all the while trying to ensure my underwear are on in the right direction, and my zipper is at the front, not skewed off to the side.

Shirts are mostly difficult because I can do little to help. The HCA's must lift and pull my arms through these days. The are compelled to tug and tuck my shirts, ensuring they get all the way down in the back, and well over my belly in the front. It's really shoes which seem to be the easiest of things, almost always going on the right foot, sometimes after I point it out, rarely causing pain except when a foot gets dropped. Shoes are perhaps the easy reward for the struggle of the rest of the process.

It takes a fair bit of time to get me dressed. It takes patience on my part and on the part of anyone helping me. It takes an understanding of body mechanics, how things move and where clothing should sit or fit. It takes knowledge of how my body is failing, and what needs to happen to help me. Then, magically, it is all done and I am dressed for the day, usually. Sometimes things are less than perfect, but then again, so is much of my life.