On Fat Pants and Caftans

I was fortunate enough to grab an appointment with my awesome rheumatologist this week. When she saw me she was both amazed and concerned about the intensity of my swelling and general puffiness. She acknowledged how miserable I am and we decided to increase the prednisone drastically for 15 days, in order to break my hideous flare. Once we get confirmation of a negative tuberculosis test, I can start Benlysta . She also agreed to fill out whatever paperwork I need to start disability proceedings. That’s a relief, since I can no longer work.

As I sat in her office, stuffed like a bratwurst into my stretchiest clean jeans, I realized what all this meant: time for an upsize on the clothes.

I’ve put on a solid 15 lbs of fluid and inflammation over the last week. Things are tight. And 15 days of ALL THE PREDNISONE, well, that just means more fluff. Seriously, screw this. I need Indiana Jones to unearth my cheekbones, I’m so puffy.

I’ve decided to just roll with it.

The first stop after art class was my favorite boutique, aka the “good” Goodwill. I found three great pairs of larger jeans, but no funky dresses. In a month (God willing and the doctors agree) I will be on a beach in the islands. And my shorts are not going to fit, y’all.

Instead of freaking out about the shorts, I’ve decided to go caftan. I might as well summon my inner goddess/diva, be comfortable and have some fun, right?

If it’s good enough for Elizabeth Taylor, it will work for me.

Over the last few decades, my weight has jitterbugged from 145 to 245 and back. I’ve learned to keep the good pieces in various sizes, since my weight can fluctuate wildly over several months’ time. That way I only have to pick up a few things if I have a big change.

Hopefully I can get some of this fluid off soon, but if I can’t, I’m not going to make myself miserable fretting about the fat and fluid. I’m going to flaunt the caftans.

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