As much as I'm trying to put on a happy face about this whole lymphedema thing, I'm still wallowing in my own Spanx-covered poopy pants. I've spent the past few months altering my wardrobe, and dreaming of winter, where I can completely hide all signs of a compression garment under big coats and knee high boots. I'm also looking forward to the colder weather, as nothing makes the uncompressed portions of my left foot swell like a nice, hot day.
My physical therapist mentioned the Flexitouch at my first appointment, but at that time I was still trying to absorb the fact that I was now the proud owner of another chronic condition that would include further damage to my vanity. I went to see her last month, because my returned-to-previous-size-as-long-as-compressed leg was not cooperating. It was "flaring," and no amount of self-giving manual lymphatic drainage, doing up the Mummy Leg, or wearing a daily compression garment was getting it back down to a size worthy of my vast collection of skinny jeans. She mentioned this magical machine that simulated the manual lymphatic drainage she was doing in office, and told me it could be mine in the comfort of my own home.
The orders were signed, my insurance would pay for it, and I got a little taste when a Product Specialist came by the house to give me a demo. Poor thing arrived about 30 minutes after my home care nurse came to disconnect my pump, so she didn't realize she was dealing with Chemo Drunk me who hadn't bathed or brushed my teeth in 3 days.
My boyfriend is now here, so enjoy this photo montage of our new relationship, and bask in the chronic glory they call lymphedema.
|Sorry kids, you're going to have to meet your own needs for the next 60 minutes.|
|A Kenny Powers-endorsed evening of fun.|
|Post-Flexitouch lumpiness. Push on it and it feels like a Tempurpedic leg|