After a Fashion

BEDTIME STORIES I used to dream of being able to stay in bed all the time -- like Barbara Stanwyck in Sorry Wrong Number where everything she needed was within arm's reach and she got to wear all kinds of fabulous bed jackets. Bed jackets. Now that's an interesting concept. You see those things all over the vintage stores: short little dainty affairs with lots of ribbons and ruffles, designed to look nice when you're sitting up in bed receiving company. But they seem to be one of those items whose time has passed, since formal entertaining from bed is probably a Hollywood creation anyway. It's hard to imagine the need for an array of bed jackets ... unless you're bedridden, of course. And so, in a case of "be careful what you wish for," what was formerly my most ardent wish has come true. I am in bed all the time, with a job-related back injury. I wish it were a more glamorous story, but it's not; it's just one of those twist-and-turn things that went terribly awry. So for two months now, in what has been an increasingly degenerative condition, I have been confined to bed. Although it's hard to call it a bed. It more closely resembles a life-sized magazine rack with a big cot sticking out from under it. I live in constant threat of the pile of books, newspapers, and magazines cascading down on my already crippled body, suffocating me under the pages of W, Vanity Fair, and The Austin Chronicle. No one would find me for days.

It doesn't seem like it would be hard to entertain yourself for long periods in bed, but a back injury rules out many of the obvious choices. Being confined to bed isn't nearly as glamorous as I once thought it would be.

It happened right before Halloween, right before my birthday, actually, which typically starts off my holiday revels. I still had a certain amount of mobility for a while after that, but I was sore, and thought I was just getting arthritic in my old age. Later, I managed to survive a couple hours at Club DeVille's Halloween party, with my friends Joan and Melissa Rivers. Dressed as Dawn Davenport from John Waters' Female Trouble, I was truly Divine, but missed two art openings that week (sorry, Levi). It was all downhill from there. I spent Thanksgiving trussed up on my sister's couch watching one video after another. Now it's Christmas and New Year's and I have missed virtually every fun party, opening, and event so far this season. I did manage to sufficiently dope myself up on pain pills to attend the Chronicle's Christmas party, and after several glasses of wine, decided that my outfit was too good to waste, and attended another party on swank Castle Hill. That's when I really began to realize how much I was missing. The house was fabulous, the decorations gorgeous, the company warm, and the catering lovely. I worked my way from one chair to another, trying to imagine how much fun I would have if I could stand and walk around. But, as Joan Crawford said in Whatever Happened to Baby Jane?, "If only I weren't in this chair ... " and, of course, Bette Davis spits out, "But ya are, Blanche! Ya are in that chair!"

DRESSING FOR THE OCCASION I've had many opportunities to wear hospital gowns lately ... Who are these things made for? Surely they weren't actually designed with hospital patients in mind. I could no more reach behind myself to tie the gown closed than I could do jumping jacks. And I'll tell you another thing -- long gone are the days when you were handed a crisp, freshly starched and ironed gown to wear. Now you get handed this shapeless wadded-up affair-- you can really hardly call it a gown at all. Come on. Think gowns. Evening gowns, ball gowns, wedding gowns, and ... hospital gowns? I'd certainly be expecting something a bit more formal than something that fits like a large bib with armholes. And why do they always have to make them out of material that looks like men's underwear? And speaking of underwear, make sure yours looks attractive and clean from behind -- the "gowns" don't cover much. Of course, that's nothing compared to the outfits the radiologists wear -- lead-lined wrap-skirts and vests covered in blue nylon. Very flattering, especially on the men -- it makes then look like great big Girl Scouts. On the other hand, how am I going to look in all those bed jackets I ordered?