C'mon And Squeeze Me Like You Do
While I was going in and out of the hospital with my leg issues earlier this year, I was told by my doctor and his nurses that I should look into "compression socks", since my leg was a little swollen. That and, during all the time I've had people examining me with my legs in the air, I've had it pointed out to me that I am now the proud owner of a couple monster-assed vericose veins in that leg. Not those little, purple-colored, broken capillaries. Oh no, not that pussy shit! I'm talkin' chunks of rigid veiny-veins that would be pure pornography if they were somewhere on my cock.
But, they're not. They are bulging on my freaking shin.
Still, I was all in denial about it.
See, I was certain that the swelling was all due to the trauma the leg was going through. Hell, it was a big ol' hole they cut into that leg! I had never had a problem with my legs swelling before. Give me a chance to heal, damnit! Besides, me in SuppHose? ME? Seriously, fuck that!
So, I ignored the advice and focused on the healing part. And, thank God, I healed.
Well, the swelling hasn't gone down and I can NOT believe it! What the FUCK, people? And the protruding veins that belong on my cock, are still defiantly camped out in Shin-City. There is no denying it.
If I'm really trying to do the right thing by my body, and get healthy and take care of myself, I need to deal with this, yes? Of course I do.
So, last week I marched to "The Comfort Store", a little boutique located, coincidentally enough, right across the street from a major hospital complex during my lunch hour at work. Wall-to-wall stockings and hosiery and sock thangs. I sat in a chair while a very sweet woman measured my swollen leg, then measured the not-so swollen leg. She took the paper with my prescription on it from me and disappeared into the back to find some "socks" in my size, and at the right compression.
As I sat there, I wondered what this was going to cost me. See, it was explained that my insurance would not be covering these things. Okay. I squinted across the room at a display of woman hose stuff. The price tag said $9.99. I groaned, but shrugged. I'll drop some money on a half-dozen of these things, and I'll feel better about the fact that I'm just doing one more thing that was healthy and smart for myself.
When the woman came back, she was carrying two boxes: a pair in black, and a pair in white. She explained how to put them on; it was quite a process. She explained how to launder them: no bleach, no hot water, no dryer.
I needed to be careful not to damage them, she said, so be careful. I shrugged and told her I would. She pointed out that, even under the best of circumstances, they would only last about 6 months. Then, she asked how many pair I wanted to purchase. I shrugged again and said that I guess about six, if they were 10 bucks a pair.
She looked at me like I had lost my mind.
"Ten dollars? What, do you think these are gym socks?"
"Well, okay, how much are they?" I asked.
She turned the bottom of one box up so I could see the price tag. Forty dollars.
Now, there was a vein bulging in my forehead as well!
I think I might have blurted out something really inappropriate like "Are you fucking KIDDING me!?!" - but I'm not sure.
What I'm sure of is the internal dialogue that was going on inside my head.
[-I didn't want to wear these fucking things to BEGIN with, and now they expect me to shell out 40 goddamned dollars for the priviledge of joining the legion of Grandpas who wear them with Bermuda shorts pulled up to just under their tits, and with sandals to boot? I AM A YOUNG(ish), VITAL, DETERMINED, (and SEXY) FAT MAN WHO DOES NOT DESERVE THIS INSULT! Are you fucking KIDDING me!?!
-Wait, wait, wait! No one got you into this situation but YOU. Do you want to continue popping pythons all over your legs? Do you really want your calves to look like watermelons? Are you going to do the right thing or not?]
So, I bought the bitches. Two pair. Eighty unbelievable dollars. What? SIX pair? I don't care what I said. Fuck you.
I moaned and groaned when I got back to work. Told my boss and co-workers how I got ripped off. Forty dollars for a pair of socks! This is what is wrong with the healthcare system, I preached. I wondered aloud how much these things cost in Canada and if I should buy them over the internet instead. I swore that if they didn't make a significant impact with me right away, that I would just grow old with purply-red Geezer legs. I didn't care. Circulation? I don't need no stinking circulation!
I pulled a pair out of the box and put on a sock puppet re-enactment of the carnage at "The Comfort Store". The sock that was me swore like a sailor right on cue. It screamed aloud all the ugly things I held in at the time.
I was venting, okay?
Next morning as I'm dressing for work, I sit down to apply the socks. Man, these fuckers can cling, huh? Took me ten minutes to get them on and adjusted. Pulled 'em right up to just under my knees. Then, I stood up and walked.
Hmmm. They feel good. Not bad at all, actually. I finished dressing and got to work, where I was up and down from my desk all day and up stairs, and down stairs. Sitting and standing and walking. Wow. They don't feel bad at all.
I went to the gym and they looked very much like the other athletic socks around me. Well, maybe worn a bit higher, all right. But I pedalled my ass off and the socks stayed right in place. In fact, my legs felt damned great all through my work out! When I took them off in the locker room, my legs were considerably less swollen and looked pretty fantastic.
You know, when you see an old man walking and he kinda does a little stutter-step, jig-kinda move? I used to think he was just trying to re-arrange his underwear, or trying to shake a testicle back into position. Now, I'm thinking that he's thinking "by golly! these socks make me feel like a stud again!"
I've worn them for a couple of weeks now. I swear to GOD, they've given me a spring in my step. My legs don't ache like they used to.
Holy shit! They work!
I love my new socks.