In my previous post I mentioned that I have been receiving treatments for varicose veins. Yes, I have diseased veins that were causing me physical distress. For over twenty years I have avoided going swimming in public places. I didn't wear skirts shorter than two inches below my knee. Never would you see me wearing shorts. That mental anguish lasted decades because the road map bumpy veins began erupting in my twenties.
Awful to see. The discomfort whether sitting or standing or walking was unbearable some days.
"Virtually pain free."
Meh. Kind of an understatement.
Since November 2012 I've received laser treatments in both legs. Then, they attacked my left leg with multiple, ultrasound guided, deep vein injections. The technician informed me that I received FORTY TWO such injections in two sessions. That doesn't include the nearly thirty topical injections for the spider veins.
Today treatment on the deeper veins began on the right leg. There were fewer injections this time than in the left leg (that still looks like I was rapid fired shot with golf balls) ... probably fifteen instead of twenty-five.
I babbled the entire time to keep my mind occupied AND to keep my breathing as normal as possible. Plus, I laughed at the stories we (the physicians assistant, ultrasound tech and I) shared. Laughter is the best medicine, right? Well, not exactly. I still felt each needle being inserted. One particular vein near my inner knee was deep. Like, going down into a coal mine deep given the amount of discomfort I felt.
I have never been a whimpy doodle when it comes to needles. When blood is drawn I watch the whole thing. During the laser treatment I asked why there aren't video screens allowing the patient to watch. Yes, I wanted to see each thing they were doing. Fascinating.
However, now that there've been close to 100 jabs in my legs and more to come, needles and I aren't so buddy-buddy. There's not a fear of them. Let's just say that when all of this is done, it'll be a cold day in hell before this girl voluntarily gets poked. With anything hypodermic.
The pièce de résistance? The ooh-la-la thigh high compression stockings I must wear. Keep the drooling in check, guys.