You probably don’t want to know about my varicose vein surgery.
But oddly, enough people seem to have their own ropey calves or just an odd fascination with any medical procedure, that I’ve talked about little else the last few days.
My lumpy legs are a gift of genetics and too many babies. By the last three pregnancies only my support hose held me together and my doctor suggested that I both sleep and shower in my lovely taupe 40mm compression hose. But shortly after delivery my legs improved enough that I gleefully burned those hated hose (I did this after every pregnancy and then really regretted it when I had to shell out $60 for a new pair).
So for the past four years (almost 5– could Mary be almost 5?) my legs have itched and ached and looked really ugly but I’ve ignored them. It wasn’t until my running doc suggested, “Your injuries might be tied to those varicose veins.” that I sprang into action. You can be hideous, little veins, but don’t mess with my running!
So off to the vein doctor— he tutted and tsked and advised that I should have never taken off my support hose, that I should wear it waking, sleeping and especially running. Can you imagine running in support hose? Yeah, me either. His analysis during the ultrasound, “Oh no. Uh oh. This is not good.” was enough to make me feel like my death by blod clot was imminent. But really, are my veins all that bad or was he just trying to convince me of the need for this very elective process? Either way, he wrote up a good enough report that my insurance company practically begged me to go under the knife, or the laser or whatever.
I’ll spare you the details of the surgery, cause it was really gross. Two valium and local anesthetic weren’t enough to keep me from wanting to scream at the doc, “Are you kidding me?” He said that occasionally someone will freak out and hit him. I’m not surprised.
But here’s the kicker. I have to go back every 3-4 weeks for a total of 7 procedures. And I have to wear my support hose ALL. THE. TIME. And I can’t run for 4 months.
I can walk. He wants me to walk. But no running, cycling, swimming, weights or boot camp class until March. I could cry. Even when I’m running every day and going to boot camp 3 days a week I struggle to maintain my weight.
You know how people say they are a thin person stuck in a fat person’s body? I’m a fat person in a relatively thin body. My true 300+ lb. persona is just waiting for me to turn my back so she can burst out and take over. She’s also a depressed person– one who doesn’t have the benefit of exercise endorphins and a daily hour of free therapy from her running buddies. I’m afraid she thinks this is her big chance to finally win.
So (I’ve used So a LOT in this post) if you see me wearing nothing but pajama pants all day long and silently crying into my egg whites, please make me get some help. Ooh, I’m slipping. I’d better go on a walk now.
The bright side:
I have a stash of Valium now.
These support hose truly do feel good.
And all those babies were really, really worth it.