Lymph is Good
chronicles the journey of an active 30-something Dallas-ite trying to keep her head up while grappling with primary lymphedema.


I made it! Surgery is officially behind me! Woohoo! Hurray! 

And now... recovery. The doctors don't really tell you about recovery. In fact recovery didn't get real until I was lying on the hospital bed waiting to get wheeled into surgery. The love of my life and I had about 3 minutes to speak with the surgeon. Rather he spoke to us and we asked a question or two. It was during this very quick conversation that the doctor told me that I would not be able to be on my feet for more than 80 minutes a day, that I would not be able to wear compression for two weeks, and that I won't be able to schedule a follow-up appointment for three months! My eyes had welled up with tears during this conversation. I was instantly nervous about the lack of compression (I could potentially crush the surgical connections!). Within 20-seconds of my conversation with the surgeon, the anaesthesiologist came in and stuck a “cocktail” in my arm. I was confused, teary-eyed, and making every attempt to process what was going on. 

It was at that point that the love of my life was told that I was ready for surgery. The curtains to the makeshift room opened and I remember being curious about what was to come, anxious about recovery, and … and that was the end of my memory. 

Surgery was fine. The delay in my discharge (which was still that day but later in the afternoon than expected) was because I couldn’t open my eyes without pain. Apparently air is blown on your face while you are under the knife and though my eyes were taped shut (what?!) my eyes dried out. My theory is that tears were stuck in my eyes from the pre-surgery chat and that the salt from my tears dried out my eyelids. The anaesthesiologist said that it was a really rare “complication,” prescribed some eye drops, let me rest the afternoon with my eyes closed, and then sent me home.

But, I digress… when I could open my eyes I saw that my leg looked like a construction zone and I hated the sight of it immediately. Blue splotches showed up in various spots below my knee, X’s marked the spot of the incisions, glue patches held the stitches in place, numbers appeared to have been wiped away, and there was a faint glow of orange. Let’s just say… it wasn’t all that pretty. 

But, I’m on the “other side” now… so… now… I wait.

Maxi Skirt