Invalidism, Tea Gowns, and Productivity

 I have been long absent from these pages due to the advent of Hashimoto's autoimmune thyroiditis, at just about the time of my last post. Medication and diet changes helps the thyroid and inflammation problems, but not much can be done about fatigue, which is mind-numbing and bone deep and no amount of sleep corrects; I have become a 'spoonie'. According to Spoon theory as an explanation to normies of the autoimmune and chronic illness group, one has a certain amount of energy (spoons) on any given day. Everything takes energy, and when it's gone, it's gone, even when it's only 10 o'clock in the morning. And so one spends a great deal of time resting, sitting up in a chair or reclining (as it is easier not to have to hold oneself up.) This of course brings to mind Victorian invalids.

Naturally, being of a curious turn of mind, I investigated the possible maladies of such famous Victorian invalids as Florence Nightengale, Robert Louis Stevenson, Elizabeth Barret Browning, Emily Bronte, and Jane Morris (wife of William Morris.) Often, these suffering invalids were accused of mere malingering - pretending to be ill out of laziness or from a desire for attention. Some of them did have what has in mordern times been recognised as autoimmune disorders. Others have been found to have hereditary disorders of a different nature, which nonetheless manifest in similar ways. 

This rabbit hole has led to studies of Victorian invalid diet (thank you, Mrs. Beeton!), invalid creature comforts (Blankets, chairs and walking sticks), and invalid dress (corded corsets, soft shoes, tea gowns and wrappers.) All this has been very rich, and comforting on many levels. It has given me ideas that make my daily life more comfortable; it has given me a coterie of fellow sufferers; and it has given me a very specific direction for my own creations, of necessity. I have learned to do things from bed, like writing and sewing, that typically I would have been up and about for but now do not have the energy to expend upon.

It is a much more inward life, which has enabled reflection, and been relieved by the reading of old favourite novels and watching gentle British programmes on the telly. 

But I hope to be able to recommence work on these pages, as a gentle sort of chronicle, which may be of interest and use to those of you who value the ethics of the Arts & Crafts Movement,