My legs obviously aren't this wide- but you get my drift.
Yes, it's that time of the year again. This morning I slogged up to the Big Smoke for my annual pilgrimage to the lymphodema clinic. Since reluctantly leaving 23 lymph nodes from my groin at the hospital 12 years ago due to that nasty bugger, cancer (See memoir – Scream Silently) I have to be checked out to make sure that my leg is performing as it should and not trying to resemble an elephant's.
My trip to the hospital is treated like an adventure. Packed lunch is duly prepared, newspaper saved from breakfast time to savour on the train and if I get a good report from the lymphodema nurses I treat myself to one of my favourite bone china coffee cups from the hospice shop. This girl knows how to live it up -let me assure you!
To check that my leg is still ok, after I get weighed and my height measured ( I hadn’t grown since last year) I get seated on a couch. Both legs are marked with a black (or sometimes red) marker pen every 4 cms from heel to groin. The nurse then proceeds to measure their girths at every mark while I scribble away recording it. By the time she has finished you could plant me at the side of the river and read off the water level.
Today I happened to meet a friend on the way up and we chatted away the train delay. The tube journey was short and the sun was shining. The return journey was not so pleasant. After having to wait an age for the train connections the man sitting opposite reclined, head back and mouth open and slept until he snored himself awake. Could have been worse –at least he wasn’t dribbling as well.
But you would be proud of me. I got an A* for my leg maintenance - the skin was well moisturised, (important to prevent skin breakdown and infection) my leg no bigger than last year (first sign of lymphodema taking hold – once contracted there’s no going back) and toes nails painted beautifully (just threw that in for good measure – she didn’t even notice, too busy checking between my toes for infection).
My prize? Two more passion- killer support stockings. This time I opted for one black and one beige – not that you see them under my trousers but I like to live on the edge. Not content with this I awarded myself a short burst of retail therapy (seemed rude not to pop into the shop and make sure there weren’t any clothes with my name on). Just a shame I’ve got to wait till next year to do it all again!
Teresa x
My trip to the hospital is treated like an adventure. Packed lunch is duly prepared, newspaper saved from breakfast time to savour on the train and if I get a good report from the lymphodema nurses I treat myself to one of my favourite bone china coffee cups from the hospice shop. This girl knows how to live it up -let me assure you!
To check that my leg is still ok, after I get weighed and my height measured ( I hadn’t grown since last year) I get seated on a couch. Both legs are marked with a black (or sometimes red) marker pen every 4 cms from heel to groin. The nurse then proceeds to measure their girths at every mark while I scribble away recording it. By the time she has finished you could plant me at the side of the river and read off the water level.
Today I happened to meet a friend on the way up and we chatted away the train delay. The tube journey was short and the sun was shining. The return journey was not so pleasant. After having to wait an age for the train connections the man sitting opposite reclined, head back and mouth open and slept until he snored himself awake. Could have been worse –at least he wasn’t dribbling as well.
But you would be proud of me. I got an A* for my leg maintenance - the skin was well moisturised, (important to prevent skin breakdown and infection) my leg no bigger than last year (first sign of lymphodema taking hold – once contracted there’s no going back) and toes nails painted beautifully (just threw that in for good measure – she didn’t even notice, too busy checking between my toes for infection).
My prize? Two more passion- killer support stockings. This time I opted for one black and one beige – not that you see them under my trousers but I like to live on the edge. Not content with this I awarded myself a short burst of retail therapy (seemed rude not to pop into the shop and make sure there weren’t any clothes with my name on). Just a shame I’ve got to wait till next year to do it all again!
Teresa x
