Several people have asked me how successful my new compression tights have been. I have to tell you – they are flippin marvellous!
I have no nails left from dragging the tights on every day and a huge dinner is out of the question whilst wearing them, but as you can see from the photo, my ankle has pretty much returned to the original size. A couple of my toes are a little bit swollen and the top of my foot is a little bit podgier than the other one, but I am delighted. I can get my boots back on and, more importantly, back off again without OH having to prise them off like a tug of war every day in the kitchen.
These are such huge leaps for me. I can’t tell you how depressing it is not to be able to get a particular shoe on. Equally the corresponding constant dull ache that accompanies the lymphodema. My foot no longer hurts.
Obviously the lymphatic fluid has to go somewhere and while my trampoline is still to arrive to assist this, my thigh seems to be the host for the fluid. This can feel really heavy – generally you will find me watching the telly on an evening with my leg up in the air or at least hanging off the back of the sofa. It’s very attractive.
I’m hoping to get in touch with a lady who specialises in lymphatic drainage massage in the next few weeks, so I’ll let you know how that goes.
Years ago, we were on holiday in Turkey with my sister and her family and went to a Hamman. That’s a Turkish bath to any of you that haven’t been there.
We were instructed to get up onto these marble slabs and lie down. Two huge guys arrived in with buckets and goat hair flannels. They scrubbed us from head to toe – don’t go if you’ve had a spray tan for your hols, gone instantly. We were then told to stand up at the end of the room where they lashed ice cold buckets of water over us. They probably laugh their heads off at stupid tourists afterwards. We then went off to have massages.
We lay down on our beds in a line, me and my sis with the boys further down the room. Beautiful Turkish men then came in to massage us. Well, dear reader, I can only tell you that the men who massaged us were probably more familiar with my every nook and cranny than my beautician or any surgeon! The boys were finished way before us and drifted off to get shaved. When the massagers had finally finished with us they disappeared and the two of us stood up to discover our bikinis were half hanging off. We didn’t know if we’d had a fabulous time or been taken advantage of! My skin was glowing though.
I suspect lymphatic drainage massage won’t be quite so much fun.
There’s also a slight improvement in the teenage spot situation. A witch hazel face mask and some Swedish soap given to me by a fabulous friend in America seems to have helped enormously.