Right Between the Toes

Thanks to the power of social media, I've met another "lymphie" (as we call ourselves) who lives in the Twin Cities. It's one thing to connect with so many other young women dealing with lower limb lymphedema all over the world, but it goes to the next level when one of them is sitting across from you having coffee.

This person happened to be far more proactive than I've been about my leg, and instantly set me on the path to doing what needed to be done to not only get the best care around, but start the ball rolling on the surgery to potentially get it fixed. She has not only had the surgery, but has fought the insurance battle I have ahead of me to get it paid for. This was just the friendship I needed on so many levels.

Today was one of the first steps in Fat Lefty's mission to return to normal, or as close to normal as he may ever be.

Per the doctor's orders (because there happens to be an MD in town who specializes in lymphedema), I had a lymphoscintigraphy and standing Doppler.

Dr. McHottie didn't stick around for a photo,
nor comment of the mud under my toe nails from
3 straight days of muddy trails this weekend.
In my best non-technical description, the lymphoscintigraphy involved me laying on a table, having extremely painful injections between my toes, and a series of x-rays to see how these radioactive tracers moved up both legs. When Dr. McHottie said the injections would hurt, he wasn't kidding. Rarely am I vocal during a shot, but I think I channeled Ricky Bobby and called out to the Lord Baby Jesus for each round. Let's just say that if I ever become an IV drug user, shooting up between my toes will not be an option. And should I ever decide that tattoos are for me, getting one anywhere near my toes ain't gonna happen either.

After the first series of x-rays on my legs, I walked around for 45 minutes and then had the same process repeated from head to toe.

The afternoon was far less painful, but far more entertaining. I walked over to the heart hospital for a "standing Doppler" of my legs to check on my veins. My medical tech for the procedure was Russian, so I will expect you to read her part with your best Russian accent.

Tech: "You are to remove everything from the waist down but your undergarments."
Sarah: "Um, undergarments?"
Tech: "Um, you're not wearing undergarments?"
Sarah: "Ummmmm, nope!"
Tech: "Uhhhh, no?"
Sarah: "You know, going commando."

I should have known that would have been lost in translation by the lack of amusement on her face.

Tech: "I will be moving your legs all around, up, back, to the side."
Sarah: "So like a Brazilian bikini wax?"

I should have known she would not get that joke either.

Tech: "Um."
Sarah: "I'm cool. I'll just wrap the blanket around me and go with it."
Tech: "Um."
Sarah: "Or I'll wear a diaper, or those gauze panties they give you up on the maternity floor."
Tech: "Just use the blanket."

I don't think she was very pleased with me by the time we started.

She then proceed to wedge her ultrasonic tool so far up my groin, undergarments would have clearly been in the way anyway.
Glow little lymphatic system, glow!
The white dots are the radioactive tracer  remaining in Fat Lefty, clearly not
present in my boring right leg because that fluid is long gone.


David DeBord said...

So glad you found a friend/encourager. You are the encourager fro so many it is nice that you now have an encourager who "has gone on before you to lead the way." Good thing Dr. McHottie didn't hang around. And good to see the painful between the toe shots didn't effect your sense of humor. Will be praying for good success with a hottie doctor who knows what he is doing. You have suffered long enough with this fat friend.

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