Finding new and exciting ways of torturing myself (and paying a lot of money to do so)...

Now that STAGE I (i.e. the vein surgery I had back in January) is complete, it is time for STAGE II.

For this I had two options:

1. The way COVERED by insurance


2. The way NOT COVERED by insurance

I know what you are thinking: go with the option covered by insurance, right? Well, what if I told you that the “insured way” involved the doctor slicing into your leg, grabbing at your veins with nothing more than glorified tweezers and RIPPING the little suckers out of your body? Yeah, no thank you. Especially since the so-called “insured method” carries with it a high risk of both infection and permanent scarring. I don’t wear shorts or skirts very often, but that doesn’t mean I don’t like having the choice!

The way NOT covered by insurance seemed much more humane. They inject something into your veins that closes them slowly over the course of several sessions. The risk of infection is almost zero, as is the risk of permanent scarring. Once the vein is closed off, it is absorbed by the body. Bye-bye problem vein. The end.

Of course, insurance doesn’t cover anything “humane”. Especially, when the process of injecting veins is considered to be a “cosmetic procedure”. And I guess it is if you think being scarred for life is a problem (which I do).

Needless to say, I’m not doing all this because I have a few surface varicose or spider veins. My problem veins are six to eight times larger than "normal" veins, and are located deep below the skin – complete with incompetent valves and a lot of pain and discomfort. All this puts me at high risk for *fun* things like blood clots and stroke. A few spider veins at the surface are the least of my worries.

Be that as it may, I’d still prefer NOT to have to risk both infection and scarring to fix the problem (call me crazy). So, I opted to pay for STAGE II out of my own pocket. Money I would have preferred to spend on something else, but whatever. Stupid old lady veins!

So, last Monday, I went in for STAGE II, ROUND I of my treatment. And, whereas the uninsured STAGE II procedure previously sounded 100 times better than the alternative, it was still a form of systemized torture. I'm lucky that way.

Here’s what happened:

I was lead to a back room where a doctor proceeded to stick my left leg no less than 120 times (no, I am NOT exaggerating) with looooooong, thick needles filled with a fluid that looked suspiciously like Elmer’s glue. As if that wasn’t bad enough, my leg both looked and FELT like it had been attacked by a swarm of blood-thirsty mosquitoes. The itching was unbelievable. Dogs have been known to gnaw off entire limbs under similar circumstances in the wild.

Then, they brought in (and had me pay for) a brand new pair of support hose. I’m convinced it is some sort of conspiracy between the vein doctor and the people over at Jobst to get me to buy yet another pair of the damn things. Seriously, why not just tell me to bring a pair with me from home before the procedure? Just because I don’t currently own a pair of compression hose described as "thigh highs" does NOT mean I’m looking to fill that particular void. And I can put them on myself, thankyouverymuch! Grrrrrrr…

But the BEST part was that I had worn three-quarter length sweat pants to the doctor (since I was not expecting to be back in the hose following the procedure), so the support hose were not completely hidden under my clothing. At the bottom of my right leg: nothing. The bottom of my left leg, however: support hose. I looked like a one-legged-support-hose-wearing freak. And, thanks to a very hectic errand-running afternoon schedule, I didn’t have a chance to run home and change. That’s right: I’m bringing sexy back. Granny style. Take that Justin Timberlake!

Even better? I get to go back next Monday and do it all over again on my right leg. Awe-some! I’d be lying if I said I couldn’t wait.

Did I mention this is only ROUND I? Yeah, I get to look forward to AT LEAST three more rounds of this fun. The anticipation is killing me.

Ug.