(cross posted from Coffee and Chemo)
A few months ago, I realized that I could further “take advantage” of my chemo day.
Most of the time, I am just sitting around. Even when I am receiving my treatments, my hands are free because of my port.
It occured to me that I could use that time for mending.
Now, lest you get the wrong impression, I an not the domestic type. Far from it.
The only reason our mending every gets done is that my mother, God bless her, is happy to do our mending when she comes to visit. Still, there is so much that collects, and my mom has other things to do besides sitting around mending all day, that the mending pile continues to grow. During her last visit, we were so busy, my mom did not get a chance to mend even one item.
Afterwards, I was struck by the thought that my parents’ next several visits might be very busy. What if my mother does not have time to do any mending?!?
Then I had my epiphany: bring my mending to chemo!
I put together a mini sewing kit, with all the necessities: basic thread (white, black, brown, and blue), needles, scissors (a small pair, with dull ends, like the kids used in first grade), and even pins (stored in a Tic Tac box). Everything fits into a small, zippered pouch.
My friend, LS, who is, thankfully, finished with her chemo, thought it was such a great idea that she brought her mending too! Another friend/patient saw us, and brought her chemo the next week as well. That week, we all sat next to each other and had what can only be described as a “sewing circle.”
Every week, I place my sewing kit and an item or two of clothing that needs to be mended in a tote bag. Now, I also bring my sewing bag to doctor’s appointments and other places where I can expect to sit around waiting.
During the first week or two that I brought my mending to chemo, I mended a skirt that my eldest gave me several years ago — it now fits my youngest!
For years, the kids were despondent when they showed me something that needed a stich or two, knowing that giving me their mending was practically equivalent to throwing it into a black hole. Now they come to me, with hopeful looks on their face, and the innocent plea, “Ima, can you fix this?”
Even Moshe, who probably suffers most from my domestic shortcomings, has benefitted from my newfound sewing proficiency.
The thing is, even though I do not enjoy these domestic chores, I have a deep sense of satisfaction when I return my children’s items, almost as good as new.
Occasionally they come to me, distressed, showing me a tear or hole in their favorite clothes (0ften made from delicate materials).
I am proud to say that I have done truly wonderful fixes.
Most recently, I returned a skirt to my eldest daughter, who is probable the most sensitive about how her clothes appear. She took it and spent several seconds searching for the fix. “Where was the tear?” she called to me. When she found it, she was really impressed.
My non-domestic heart swelled with motherly pride.