Lymphedema? Yay! I mean yea

It turns out that yes, I do have lymphedema, aka swelling caused when you have lymph nodes removed. I am now regularly sporting this ravishing compression garment, known in the biz as a sleeve, or as I will refer to it from now on, The Sleeve:

Office selfie. Homemade timesheeet in the background; important numbers to remember business card in the background.

On Monday I went to the physical therapist, Genny, and sat down with her to prove to both of us that I was not swelling, I was just stiff and in recovery from my surgery, because I only lost 4 nodes in my surgery and my friend Dayan lost like 17 and she never had lymphedema, so there.

Five minutes with a tape measure proved that the circumference of my right arm, from wrist to shoulder, is significantly bigger than my left. And, as she pointed out, I am left-handed.

In a way it was a relief to find out that I had lymphedema because it meant that I needed to stop favoring my right arm--no more  injunctions against lifting"nothing heavier than a dinner plate." The best thing I can do, apparently, is to live my life, complete with The Sleeve ($75) and The Gauntlet ($35). I haven't broken out the gauntlet yet because I am afraid Jamie will co-opt it as he tends to do with any of my possessions he finds attractive or useful, and I mean, GAUNTLETS, come on.

Anyway, please note prices. After I purchased them (at a locally-owned pharmacy, of course), I received a very polite text from Andrew:

I'm sure we should try to get reimbursed for these via our so-far excellent insurance, but I'm so stressed out I'm not going to try to do that anytime soon. Which is another reason I'm going to start wearing the gauntlet. Will add a picture of that at another time.

I have noticed, as I walk through the Information Commons in Ellis Library, a few startled looks when students take in the long, "nude" colored elastic band on my bare arm. I thought it was because I was cute or something, but then I realized--it's The Sleeve. It's a sick-person accessory, or it just looks strange, or whatever. I'm not sure. Lymphedema can be (is?) permanent, so it might be something I'm adjusting to for good, along with foobs and a repeated realization of my own mortality. But I've been stretching "to the point of pain, not through it," per Genny, and it seems to be working.

Besides, I start chemo next Thursday and I am too busy being terrified about puking, being sick in front of my kid, losing my hair, and being poor to care too, too much about swelling right now.