The Journey to a Compression Sleeve

Back in June my radiation oncologist diagnosed me with lymphedema of the left arm.

Yes, the fact that I have a radiation oncologist kind of freaks me out. Let’s move on.

His nurse measured my arms (as she does at every visit) and found that my left arm was 3cm bigger than my right arm. In Lefty’s defense, I am left-handed, which means there’s probably more muscle over there as compared to Righty, which is just the support arm.

But whatever. I walked away with the diagnosis of lymphedema.

I was given orders to see a physical therapist.

After several phone calls and a bit of a tantrum I finally got scheduled for some appointments in July to see Kim, a lovely physical therapist who specializes in lymphedema. Apparently it’s a highly specialized field and not many PTs care to learn it.

After four sessions with Kim (my insurance would only approved four sessions, yay American healthcare!) I left with an order for a compression sleeve and gauntlet for my left arm/hand.

I went home and put that order…somewhere.

I did the exercises assigned to me by Kim and I half-assed the self-massage that Kim taught me.

Kim had mentioned that when I went to get the compression sleeve/gauntlet, I’d need to go to a medical supply store.

Guess which town does not have a medical supply store? That’s right, Angola, Indiana does not have a medical supply store. Big surprise.

Damn it.

There are a couple of medical supply stores in Coldwater, Michigan, though. There’s also one in the hospital in Auburn, Indiana.

And of course, let’s not forget Fort Wayne, which obviously would have medical supply stores on every freaking corner. Fort Wayne has about a bazillion hospitals, OF COURSE they’d also have a plethora of medical supply stores.

About a month after my last visit with Kim, after googling medical supply stores and not being able to figure out which ones would actually have compression sleeves (I mean, really, stores with names like Hudson Aquatic? Please.) I went back to the rehab department where I’d gone for physical therapy and asked if they had a list of stores where I could get a stupid sleeve.

Okay. So yes, I waited awhile. Give me a break. My stupid arm does not look swollen. I was doing the exercises daily. My daily life was not being affected by the mild lymphedema in my arm.

But…I am going on a bus trip in March and Kim told me from the start that when I traveled, especially by plane but also by car or, yes, bus, I should most definitely wear a sleeve to keep swelling to a minimum.

So fine, I’d get a sleeve.

The hospital rehab facility had a list right there at the front desk. Why Kim hadn’t given me that at my last session, I have no idea.

I took the list and waited another week or three and finally started calling around. I hate making phone calls.

I found that one of the stores in Coldwater could measure my arm and order a sleeve for me if I had a prescription.

Huh. I wonder where I’d put that order from the PT/doctor.

Okay, then.

I half-hearted looked through the several piles of paper we have laying around our house and then decided that if I had to, I could call Kim and ask for a new order.

But before I did that, I gave myself one more evening to find the paper. Guess what? I found it! It was right where I’d left it on top of the entertainment center in the living room. It was under the red and yellow bands Kim had given me for my resistance exercises.

So I worked extra hours all week long so I could leave at 4 on a Friday to go to Coldwater (about a half hour from Angola) and get that damned sleeve ordered. Because, see, these stores were all only open until 5 and only one of them had Saturday (9am to Noon) hours, and that one was in, you guessed it, Fort freaking Wayne.

I googled the address and it was right there off interstate 69. Yay!

I left work, drove to Coldwater, drove to the storefront…and it was empty.

I drove around the building thinking maybe they’d move next door?

No.

I parked my car and called the number I’d called earlier in the week. I asked the woman who answered if they’d moved.

She said, “No, we’re still in Hillsdale.”

Hillsdale!?! What the actual hell? I said, “Uh, the address I was given is in Coldwater.”

“Oh,” she said cheerfully. “We haven’t been in Coldwater for about three years.”

Well. I thanked her and hung up. What else could I do?

I then Googled and then called the place in Fort Wayne that has Saturday hours to make sure they even sell that damned sleeves because, yeah, I’m NOT driving all the way to freaking Fort Wayne if they don’t.

The dude who answered said that they do sell them, they have them in stock unless the patient needs an extreme size (am I extraordinarily sized? Who even knows these days?) and hey, they’re open on Saturday.

So the next morning, I got up at 7:30 (on a Saturday! L) and drove to the SOUTH side of Fort Wayne (because why would they have a medical supply store on the north side, where there are TWO hospitals?) and bought my sleeve.

Hey, guess what? My arm is not extraordinarily sized. It’s just large. Like, for real, the size sleeve I got was ‘large/regular’. Hey, go you, large/regular Lefty.

They did not sell the gauntlets at this store so I need to order one online.

One last thing…as I was paying for my $90 compression sleeve, I said something about driving from the Angola area. The dude looked at me and said, “You came from Angola?”

I nodded, taking my HAS card back.

“We have a store on Coldwater Road,” he said.

Huh? Why the hell didn’t Google tell me that? That would have saved me about 20 minutes on my drive.

But whatever. At that point. I was just glad to have the stupid sleeve. But wait. Now that I have it, that means I should wear it, right?