Lymphedema treatment in the therapy Pool

Lymphedema Treatment in the Therapy Pool

For a number of weeks now, I’ve been going twice a week to a “therapy pool” at a local rehabilitation center. The pool is 5 feet deep at the deep end, heated to over ninety degrees, and use is restricted to patients who are being taught how to do exercises in the pool for whatever ails them, or members who have completed their “lessons” and are continuing the exercises on their own. No one swims; they just do these invisible exercises underwater.

When I began going to the pool, I had lymphedema in my right arm, hand, and shoulder and also in both feet and legs. Since I’ve completed pool lessons and also manual massage treatments by the therapists, I’ve been coming to the therapy pool on my own for an hour twice a week. Although my hand and arm require a lot more than pool therapy, my feel and legs have returned to normal size with no swelling. So it has been a great thing for me.

There are several “regulars” who come at the same times that I do. One is a very nice woman who was a teacher of nurses and medical students before she retired and before she developed lymphedema. Unlike me, whose lymphedema was triggered first by surgery, and then aggravated by radiation treatments, she knows of no obvious cause for her swelling.

And what swelling she has. Her legs look like she has elephantiasis, which if you haven’t heard of before, you can figure out what it looks like just from the name. Her arms look like bat wings when she raises them up. Her skin slides down over her ankles and knees and her wrists and elbows. And she says that so far she’s lost 85 POUNDS of fluid. So imagine what it was like before. Plus her skin, being so stretched, is red and raw in spots. Altogether it makes me want to cry for her.

But she’s such a positive soul. She loves the pool therapy because it feels so good to her—takes the weight off her legs and feet. She brings a tiny music player and does a version of tai chi in the water in addition to other exercises. I look at her in amazement and wonder how I could ever feel sorry for myself for having to deal with this condition. No one stares at my legs because they are so gigantic. Usually no one even notices my arm and hand, and if they do, it’s not the size, it’s the compression garments I wear that get their attention. And my skin doesn’t have any problems.
Yes, there’s always someone in worse shape than I am. And that helps to put my life into a better perspective.