Today I had two medical appointments scheduled back-to-back.
The first was with the lymphedema therapist, who agreed that there was something we could try to reduce the swelling in my hand and wrist. I've had increased edema there since Labor Day and was willing to try again with another therapist. For months my left hand has been so swollen with fluid that I can barely close it, much less make a fist. Today's evaluation appointment led to one recommendation. I am going to try bandaging my hand and wrist only at night. If I see softening in the tissue (the step before reduction in edema volume), then we will know it works. If nothing happens, all I've wasted is a few nights of good sleep. And if it seems to increase the edema, I will stop. I have three more appointments scheduled with this therapist.
After a ten minute break between appointments (at least the two places were close enough to walk to) I saw Dr. F for the first post-op checkup. She was adorable, calling her work on my tummy so perfect that I could wear a bikini on the French Riviera and no one would know I'd had surgery. (I should have asked her to pay for the trip or at least the bikini.)
Dr. F also did a pelvic exam. I had mentioned that I have some pain after urinating, and she thought it might be due to stitches rubbing against my bladder. The stitches will dissolve. I see Dr. F again in mid-March, six weeks after the original surgery date.
I drove home, felt so ooghy from the exam that I laid down on the sofa, took some vicodin and then some lorazepam to keep me from feeling like I was crawling out of my skin, slept a bit and now am feeling better. (Of course, I also got in my jammies at 6 PM.)