Because of the circumstances, I had no say on what was packed for the months I spent at an out-of-state rehab. Thinking it was practical, my mom packed me every roomy, deep V-neck T-shirt I owned. She said, “These will be easy for us to put on and get over your neck brace.”
Being suspicious, I commented, “OK, but I would usually wear a tank top under most of these,” and followed up with, “What bras did you bring?”
“Oh honey, bras are a pain, you don’t need to wear one!” I knew better but had yet to start any therapy out of bed at that point and had done all of that immodestly in my hospital gown and things seemed to go OK (or the drugs lessened my concern about it).
It didn’t take long to test her theory. Once I got out of bed, started getting transferred, then stretched and pulled back and forth every which way in the therapy gym, it was clear that I needed more coverage. More than once, my female therapists added an extra maneuver to covertly re-cover the boob peeking out from my top. I made sure my very first outing was to the mall to purchase some need