Well, the squeamish dermatologist did me a big favor. I mentioned in my previous post (“The indignities we endure,” June 13) that she didn’t seem interested in looking at, touching, or pronouncing on the state of my lower legs, i.e., the lymphorrhea about which I visited her on my doctor’s recommendation…but then she mentioned a doctor who might be able to help me, and gave me his name and phone number. I followed up, making an appointment with Dr. Brian Evans for Wednesday at the Wound Care Clinic at West Hills Medical Center.

The receptionist was welcoming and kind, and had my paperwork done and me into a room in record time. Then I received attention from two different nurses, who listened carefully, took down all of my history, asked pertinent questions, and paid attention to my theories. They did a full examination of my legs, including removing the bandaging, measuring the existing wounds and taking note of the healed-over areas, and photographing everything.

Then the doctor came in to look everything over, and we all had a discussion about the best way to proceed. I noted my lack of success with wearing compression stockings and with wrapping, and talked about the welcome but ultimately limited benefit of the Manual Lymphatic Drainage massage, which cleared out the swelling in the legs only for it to be back within 24 hours.

Dr. Evans said that the only treatment that had consistently been successful for them with lymphedema was the full-length pneumatic compression pump leg massagers or, as I call them, “squeezie pants.” I expressed concern at the cost of buying them, and also wondered whether I would be able to find any to fit me, as I had been looking at ads for these online already.

They told me that Medicare would completely cover the cost of a custom set of these, made to my specific measurements, provided I came to the Wound Care Center for treatment for a month first (just once a week, so only four visits total). But the nurse noted that since I had seen others about my lymphedema, we might be able to get this time period cut short by providing case notes from the other doctors to prove I had been seeking treatment. They advised me what to tell the other doctors, and gave me their fax number to receive the information, so that I could start using the pants at home as soon as it’s possible for them to be made and shipped to me.

At this point I started to cry. No one, in the past four years, including so-called specialists, has given me any of this information, or held out any hope that things could be different. The typical doctor’s office visit has been: Stand on the scale, get yelled at for weighing too much, a cursory lymphatic massage of my calves and ankles, perhaps a 15-minute session with pneumatic sleeves on my lower legs, and sent home with another appointment in two weeks. Period. The last time I went to the so-called Lymphedema Center, the doctor told me I was too heavy and too large to either sit on their tables or receive pneumatic treatment—their pants wouldn’t fit me. This is a center specifically created to treat this problem, and the doctor there is supposedly an authority on both lipedema and lymphedema diagnosis and treatment. And I have seen other women my size and larger in the waiting room. Excuse my language, but what the fuck?!

Dr. Evans assured me that he has seen a reduction of 50 pounds of fluid or more from the legs by using the pneumatic pump twice daily, and that they would do all they could to expedite my receiving the proper tools and care. Then the nurse inquired if I would be interested in home health care in the meantime. What? No one ever talked to me about this. Yes, they said, I could receive a visit at home from a health care service up to four times per week, to help me with things like changing bandages, and Medicare would pay for it. I cried some more, and said Yes, sign me up.

The nurse cleaned and bandaged my legs, showing me in the process a couple of different alternatives to what I had been doing, with some products specifically designed for the fragile skin surface that results from lymphorrhea. Then the receptionist scheduled me for my next week’s appointment and gave me a brochure from the home health care people (who called me today to set up services). I haven’t felt this seen, heard, and respected by anyone in health care (except my primary doctor, who encouraged me to keep looking for solutions) in the past decade. Well, maybe ever. I finally feel like a true turning point may be about to present itself.