Seeking support in all the wrong places
Among all of the things that are wrong with me, and, believe me, numerically they are approaching what might be called an imaginary number, I have something called venous insufficiency, which basically means that the valves in the veins in my legs don’t work very well. They don’t close as tightly as they should and thus fluids, namely blood and other such liquids, pool in my legs. Talk about piano legs –these are grand piano legs!
Beyond the appearance, and that is bad enough, there is the problem with shoes that no longer fit. Some of my favorites, my version of Cinderella’s slippers, are in a box labeled “donate.” I am left with orthopedic nightmares. If I left one of these shoes on the stairs at midnight, no prince would come looking for me.
At least some of this is heredity and all of it is basically irremediable by the tools of modern medicine. Believe me, I’ve tried it all. I’ve had veins zapped with lasers, attacked with salt solutions and just plain removed. It didn’t help. All of the vein valves are faulty. This particular malady affected only my left leg for years, but, as one of the doctors so rightly pointed out, the other leg will catch up. It did. Other than standing on my head, the only solution to this problem is to wear support stockings. Now I am not talking about the kind that you can buy packed in a faux plastic egg. I am talking industrial strength stockings, made of a Kevlar-type material, that require exacting measurements and are available in “skin” colors not found on this planet.
These stockings come as knee highs, thigh highs (shades of your favorite saloon gal) or pantyhose. Can’t you just see some saloon cutie showing her thigh high support hose? That’s a ghastly picture.
So, over the years I have been fitted, and I use that verb very loosely since none of them have ever really fit me, many times. I have a collection of these panty hose that could be used to hold the roof down during a tornado. They are that strong.
If any of you have had the good fortune (or misfortune) to put some of these babies on, you know that you must not only have a plan, but must also have been buffing up your biceps. The instructions read, “Put on before you stand up in the morning.” As a substitute for the bad valves, the fabric of the stockings has to be strong, sometimes stronger than the person who is trying to put them on. This is not an alternative fact. Some come with instructions that begin by suggesting that you have someone help you … yeah, sure. I am going to ask for help putting on pantyhose?
So, having given up on the pantyhose, I was then seduced by photos of glamourous women wearing “revolutionary” knee highs that came with certificates of effectiveness. I bought several pairs based on the promise that the tops would not bind. Promises, promises.
They were definitely easier to get on, but the promise that the top didn’t bind was a lie. After about 15 minutes, as I was on my way to the supermarket, I could feel the circulation being attenuated somewhere below my knees. This was not good. I made it to the parking lot, thinking that I may have permanently cut off blood flow to my feet. These are seriously strong socks. I had visions of having to call the fire department, but, through persistence, a lot of bargaining with God and a pair of scissors, circulation, such as it is, was restored. One can only imagine what passers-by in that parking lot thought was going on in my car.
One’s bad veins do not get better with age or additional weight. I have explained my additional weight as my coping mechanism for having a permanently unhinged greater trochanter (part of my femur that never made it back home.) It’s an excuse, a poor one, and it doesn’t help in my search for better circulation.
A physical therapist showed me that you can actually massage the lymph and other fluids lolling around in your lower limbs back to where they should be. The only problem is that you have to remain lying down or remain in a lounge chair with your feet elevated above your heart to have the effect last for more than 10 minutes.
There are a special kind of support hose that cost about as much as my first car that are measured with precision so that they will only fit you. This, however, means you can’t lose or gain any weight for these $500-plus panty hose to work. And, of course, I have every intent on losing the excess weight. So….
What’s left? Long dresses, jeans and trousers. What can I say?
Ann Ferro is a mother, a grandmother and a retired social studies teacher. While still figuring out what she wants to be when she grows up, she lives in Marcellus with lots of books, a spouse and a large orange cat.
