My Stupid Leg Strikes Again
The Stupid leg is being, well, stupid. When it went to hell sans the handbasket four years ago, there were changes on my ankle bone that I didn't pay attention to. At first, it was this dry, flaky skin patch that covered the area the size of a quarter. Then a lemon, then it became orange sized. In rapid succession after that, the flaky skin became constantly scabbed-and well, long time readers know the rest.
One year of dealing with two ulcers that just didn't want to go away.
There really aren't any ways to prevent the venous stasis ulcers from happening-except that wearing compression stockings might slow their formation. It's not a definite cure, and for me, wearing the stocking now is like holding a branding iron to half my lower leg and electrocuting most of the other half. It's not pleasant.
My surgeon and I had a discussion about this once I was released from care. He was of the opinion that if I had to resume taking painkillers to exist daily, then it probably would be better for me to skip wearing the compression stockings and keep an eye on the leg for changes.
There are changes.
It started a few weeks ago. There are two white patches of scar tissue. Pearly white skin that makes my normally pale skin look well-weathered. Except that a couple of weeks ago, I looked at my ankle when I was sitting down on the floor, waiting for class to begin and some of that scar tissue wasn't white-it was pink. A closer look revealed little spots of red.
If you've ever looked closely at a skinned knee that isn't bleeding, this looked the same, little spots of red that looked like cells. I mentioned it on FB and added to my daily routine a check of that ankle. When I showered Saturday, I noticed a patchy, dry skin and I thought it was just from the heat that we've been experiencing in this part of the country.
I was wrong.
The skin is flaking the same way it did four years ago, back when I didn't realize that flaking skin wasn't just eczema, it was the precursor to a very difficult year.
The picture isn't the best (I need to charge the camera with the good macro lens), but this is the sign that if I don't get into the vascular surgeon's office tout de suite, I'll be in one of Dante's seven circles of Hell.