It is time to talk about my leg

Last week, I went to see my vein specialist and, again, I feel emotional and out of kilter. I need to ask myself what is going on here.

But first I need to tell you a story..

In April, this year, my husband and I flew to Europe for a 3 month trip of a lifetime. We had carefully planned a journey from Turkey through Croatia and Greece to Spain and Morocco with detours to Paris, London, New York and San Fransisco. It was a wonderful mix of visiting the places that we had talked about, dreamed about and hoped to experience for years.

Two weeks before we left, my husband developed bursitis in the hip; an extremely painful condition for which he received steroid injections right up to the day we got on the plane. He was still in pain when we departed and managed our holiday by choosing how much he could do each day, leaving me to explore on my own when he felt he needed to rest. 

Three weeks into our holiday on the beautiful picturesque island of Santorini, he ruptured his meniscus and developed a swollen and painful knee. Medical advice was more rest, avoid stairs and don't overdo it. He continued with some walking & some resting. We modified our travel modes so that he could be supported. To balance this, I supported him and adjusted so that we could continue the experience.

Just when he was feeling more capable, we arrived in Morocco and I started to get pains in my right leg.

It was 14th June, exactly 2 months after we had left Australia and the day I was due to start "Painting for the Petrified" in Marrakesh. First, let me say, that our whole holiday was planned around this course. I had read about it in a newspaper in Sydney 3 years before. I was so keen to do a painting course in a foreign country. Bruce enrolled in a photography course which was being run concurrently in Marrakesh.

The morning of the course, I complained to Bruce that I seemed to be getting pains in my calf. I did lots of stretches and said that I was hoped to have a massage soon as I seemed to be getting pains in places that I hadn't had pains before. We met our tutors and started learning what we would see and do in the course.

That evening as we showered for dinner, I decided that I would take the time to massage my leg myself. When I exposed my leg I shocked to find that my right calf was severely swollen and hard. I immediately knew that I had clot. Don't ask me how I knew or why I drew that conclusion but I was 100% sure. I did know that being on the contraceptive pill was a major risk plus travelling and periods of immobility. (I decided to go on the pill for this holiday because my peri-menopausal symptoms were quite debilitating and a likely cause for embarrassment while we were travelling)

My experience at the hospital was mixed. First the emergency physician was quite sure that it wasn't a clot and I had to convince him to scan my leg. .

When the DVT was finally diagnosed by the cardiologist, he was very explicit about the potentially life threatening situation into which I had been placed. He said I was so lucky as I could have had a pulmonary embolism and died. he continued to say you must sit still and then he would trace the line from the clot in my leg to my heart / lung and say "kaboom".

I spent 5 days in hospital with the (mostly) delightful staff with whom I could only communicate with my school-girl French and they with their school level English. Funny & delightful but at times, extraordinarily frustrating.

In hospital I decided to surrender to their care. There was nothing I could do but submit to tests, investigations and treatment and trust that in all of this, they would keep me safe.

On the other side of the world, my elderly parents were very stressed and anxious. Each day was punctuated by a phone call to Australia with an up-beat update from me, reassuring them that I was still alive and very much on the mend.

I learned to give myself injections of synthetic heparin into my stomach twice a day. In 40 degree heat, I wore the bandages and compression garments to keep my leg from swelling.

The most stressful experience happened after I left hospital. Each day, I would relay information to the travel insurance company who were footing the bill for my experience. Phone reception was difficult and many of these phone calls were unbelievably stress-making. The cardiologist was very conservative in his treatment and recommendations; the travel insurance people were less so. They cited evidence that I could reduce the cost to them by going against the express recommendation of my doctor and resuming our trip sooner.

Back home a month later, my Australian doctor has said the travel insurance people were right. I was not in any danger but in a foreign country where I was constantly speaking through an interpreter, I was scared. I was helpless. I felt I had no control.

We arrived home in Australia on 18 July having completed most of our planned adventure, safely and without further incident. Yet the time to recover from my traumas has taken as long as our holiday. Tomorrow will be the 18th October , exactly 3 months since we arrived home and I can confidently say, I am recovering well.

I look at my leg and it looks normal. But underneath that pale skin lie several veins which have been permanently scarred by the DVT. The consequences are long lasting. The veins are forever compromised and will fare better if I wear a compression stocking on my affected leg.

To all intents and purposes no-one would ever know that I have this damage lurking beneath my skin. I feel emotional and shattered when I complete my appointment with my specialist. His information is clear, my body is damaged, beyond repair but if I treat it properly and do as I am told, I can continue to have a leg that looks normal albeit always encased in a compression stocking as a precaution against oedema, ulceration and something called post thrombotic syndrome.

Bloody hell. I am one of Brene Brown's micro-managers. For months I planned for and rehearsed every imaginable thing that could go wrong on this trip, at home and away. The one thing that I didn't plan for actually happened.

Now I am learning to live with vulnerability 101.

With 2 normal legs January 2012