No it’s not my birthday, I’m talking about my massively swollen, inflated bloody feet.

Apparently it is lymphoedema and I’m told the ONLY treatment is to wear compression socks. FOREVER. No more sandals, dresses, cute little shorts for me. A lifetime of ugly, uncomfortable knee-high socks. Suppose I could try and pass myself off as some sort of sexy St. Trinians type thing but a chubby version?! Anyway I was kindly supplied with 4 pairs of said socks after dragging my shoe-less self to the Drs to “get measured”… something I’m pretty sure I could have done myself at home. Anyway, getting them on was like attempting to squeeze a watermelon into a condom, especially with one pretty useless fucking hand. My mum and sister both gave it a go and both had to have a lay down after, it was that exhausting!

So I spoke to the nurse who kindly invited me back to the surgery to measure me for compression wraps. Please tell me how those measurements are likely to differ from the first measurements she took? Ffs does everything have to be an ordeal? I just want to be able to put shoes on so I can take my disabled arse out of the house occasionally without being stared at for wearing only socks on my, what appear to be, trotters. So yet again I was forced down the private route. I know our NHS is fucked but it’s a small thing that shouldn’t require multiple shoe-less visits to see a damn nurse welding no more than a tape measure.

A private appointment meant I had an absolutely wonderful lymph nurse come to MY HOUSE who spent an hour and a half with me, inspected my feet, measured them and then emailed my doctor with a list of items to be provided on prescription (which was just as well as to purchase those items would have cost an eye watering £481!!!) All within a couple of days. She also got them to refer me to the lymphoedema service at my local hospital and I’d already had my appointment though for end of the month. Money talks, hey.

What I didn’t anticipate was that the standard NHS treatment for lymphoedema is bandaging. Three full weeks spent wrapped in tight, two-layer bandages that I can’t even shuffle around in so I had to wear socks over the top. I can’t tell you how glad I am that this has taken place during the winter because they were fucking HOT 🥵

What they also don’t mention, but you realise fairly quickly, is that showering/bathing is a big fat NO as you can’t get these monstrosities wet. So I’ve had to purchase some plastic covers that are designed for use over plaster casts so that I can actually shower. Getting those bad boys on when you can’t independently move your fucking legs is quite interesting to say the least… getting ready to get in the shower takes as long as the shower itself! Anyhooo… a month later and I’m in compression hosiery. Less hideous it’s true, more comfortable and I can remove them to bath or shower. My feet are significantly smaller! They do however give notions of aqua man as my feet now appear webbed…

The goal of putting on shoes has been achieved though so that’s amazing, although I’m not looking forward to wearing these during the hot summer months it has to be said. The issue of getting these beauties on and off independently also remains, the lovely lymph nurses have supplied me with an “aid” to assist me with this task. Something that can only be described as a gigantic dildo that my dog barks incessantly at, it’s quite hilarious!

Why do I still have a mild, enduring feeling of disappointment? Because this is not a “fix”. As with my MS, nothing can fix this problem, I just have to keep on keeping on.