Tissue

A phenomenon of women of a certain age has been clear to me all my life. As a nurse, I've seen it more and more. For my granny's and mother's generation, handkerchiefs were the norm. Stuffed in a pocket or a sleeve, the only option. Kleenex were considered too expensive for all the time, a class issue. I was instructed to use any tissue more than once, so it went into a pocket for later. Women's clothing often does not have pockets, so sleeves were the more frequent option. Given no sleeves, as in hospital gowns, a tissue is clumped into the palm.

I don't think I have ever taken care of a woman over fifty that didn't have a wad of tissue in her hand coming into surgery. I expect it. Either to be given it apologetically, or remove it after anesthesia induction. As a nurse, I tend to discard my once used tissue. Less so at home when I have a cold, being the frugal child of a Depression child.

Today, we took a short walk, despite both feeling ill. On the way home, my nose started running again. No tissues in my pockets, so I sniffled and dealt. Almost to our door, I realized, I had a wad in my sleeve.

I have achieved middle age, no going back now.