Digging Out For Homeowner Hell

Thursday, now 4 days and at last the vehicles are free from the ice and a path has been partially cut to the door with a ten pound sledge hammer.  I am none the worse for wear for the effort, although it probably took twice as long as it would in a healthier day.  The workouts the past 3 days in the ice seem to help with the lymphedema and certainly help my overall attitude.  Friday and I am back on the road, at last able to make it to the main road.  One disadvantage is there is only one way out in this weather.  There is a ford going the other way that is closed when it is inclement.

I find driving uncomfortable and it is fortunate my territory to cover is not more than a 2 hour drive any direction.  Much of the time this week I have suffered mild nausea, although things move along ok and my diet has not changed.  The abdominal pain is the same every day and at times during the day seems worse than others, so I move when it feels better and don’t when it feels worse.  With the weather and the animal I have found it a little tough at times to keep my spirits up but Vanessa has nothing of it.  Today she got out of the house for the first time in a week.  We went to breakfast and did some errands in town.  A blinding snow storm set in and we felt our way home in the Pontiac, what a snow horse.  We spent some time outside after getting home, which was neat.  The tool of choice for the ice is a pick axe which I just happen to have, don’t ask me why, along with a big scoop shovel which I also have.  Together we cleared a path on the front from walkway to doorway.  As a reward we cuddled on the couch and watched a movie we had seen before.  This storm ranks as one of the worst I have seen in my lifetime, and certainly tops the weirdometer big time.  Snow but no tracks, the glistening frozen surface for as far as one could see, the night lights reflecting, even a couple of miles away on the alabaster surface are visions I will never forget.  Tomorrow a hired gun will come in and move the snow off the drive, sparing us the labor. 

Monday morning arrives with a functional albeit uncomfortable me.  I am struggling to keep my spirits up.  It is February 7 and a gloomy day indeed with a dark gray sky over a white landscape.  So I went out and took a pick axe to the ice on the deck and walkway first thing, then set up the workmate and did some handyman wood work for Vanessa and topped it off with a session with Inger to correct my shitty attitude, if you will.  It worked, although given how much pain I have through the middle I may have to give up the pick axe, at least for a while.  Nothing like busting your ass first thing to get it right the rest of the day.  Yesterday at 6 am I was greeted with a water softener overflow.  It took me until 11 am to clean it up, do the research, teardown and clean and reassemble the brine valve, which seemed to be the culprit.  And yes, I had a great day yesterday. 

Inger made no comment on my condition, but my left leg was left beat red from ankle to knee if left vertical for any length of time so today is a full press compression garment day.  I broke some ice, made some calls and fought to keep at it today.  I have a general queasiness about me that I attribute to pills for lack of anything else I care to blame.  Today I grew tired easily through the day and napped through lunch.  

Inger My Swedish Massage Therapist

My Swedish masseuse without fail orders me onto the table that has now become a permanent fixture in my office. This daily regimen I think is the reason I have my mobility back. With a firm discipline and loving touch only my Inger has she works selected spots, pump points, to jump start my lymph system and flow from lower to upper half. She now has it moving predictably and last week I passed another milestone in wardrobe, getting back into my loafers which I almost retired thinking that would never happen just the week before. Without this care my condition would likely force me into disability and have me in a motorize chair terrorizing neighborhood dogs. Rex asked me a strange question, ‘Do you know who Inger really is?’ ‘Of course,’ came my reply, ‘she’s my Swedish masseuse.’

The Day I First Started Sharing My Journal July 28

July 28, 2010 and I have started a blog and am putting this humble record on it. Having met a few folks and spoken with friends who express such an intense fear of the C word I hope my story can shed a little light on the experience and alleviate some of the unknown. If I can survive daily anyone can. My summer honeymoon continues with overall good health and reasonable mobility. The lymphedema is stable. I must wear my compression garments daily and take care. The left leg weakens quickly, often feels like it is asleep under the skin, swells quickly and as quickly drains with stockings or Inger’s magic fingers. My head hair has thinned on the top so I am using product left over from the past decade. The business world is typical July. It is 7 AM and I am going on the clock for another day of guerilla sales and talking with a lot of nice folks. What a job.

Inger My Swedish Massage Therapist

Sunday again and a new week ahead. I have a head cold I am trying to accelerate through the process. In addition I have some severe chafing on my inner upper thighs, further exasperating my attempts to walk and move about. My office now sports a massage table. This is another permanent addition to my remaining life on earth, living with lymphedema. Looking at it that way can be somewhat discouraging. Vanessa now has the role of Inger, my Swedish massage therapist. The sessions can be torturous but I understand they are necessary. We have a daily routine of an hour or two devoted to me and Inger rubbing me to accomplish MLD, or manual lymph drainage. Inger has to truly love me, for my old blubbery carcass is not something to look at on a good day, and with the distortions of the edema it is horrific. She has learned quickly and well. I have noted that any person who does lymphedema therapy has extremely cold hands to start. Inger gets an odd look in her eye and I swear a little smile when she says ‘this is gonna’ be cold’ just prior to laying her delicate hands on me. I am not sure I have mentioned it, but cold hands seem to be a trademark of my MLD therapists. Perhaps the shock of cold digits is considered important in moving the lymph or blasting the fibrosis that results. In any event I have accepted it at all levels. Only Inger at least makes a real effort to pre-warm, even though such exertions are frequently futile.