Home Sweet Home

Shawn.

Living in the B&B above Professor Campisi's clinic is a real treat; its comfortable, and there are others who share the same leg/arm maladies. Each person gets a private bathroom and there is a kitchen where I can cook my lunch and dinner with the other guests. My breakfast is ready every morning at around 8:30 and Maria, the B&B boss, has a good sense of humor. Today for instance she performed an impromptu  sashay in front of the French doors. But more about that later...

We are located on the fourth floor of one office building. In another building, but conveniently directly across from our breakfast table, is an office which  takes up the fourth floor in that building. Melissa and I don't watch television because all the stations are in Italian; though come to think of it, I could probably watch Animal Planet. But I digress, back to the office across the street—our own personal live reality show. We tune in every morning about 9:00

Today 'L'ufficio' (The Office) was really interesting. Well, compared to other days when the employees just sit at their desks and look at computers. So today, the man from window 1 darted over to the man from window 2 where an animated discussion took place. I wish I could read lips or at least had a pair of binoculars because they chatted for a long time. This in itself was unusual. All of a sudden they both ran out of the room. Was there a fire? Perhaps someone left the espresso on the stove for too long? We are desperate to know what is going on. (Like I said, we don't have much action around the homestead...)

But hold on, a new cast member has joined 'L'ufficio.' I must have been looking down at the woman who has the lemon tree on her balcony because when I looked up again I only caught a glimpse of the back of the new cast member in shiny cowboy rain-boots. Intriguing. We guess she will become a key player in future episodes. Then Maria, the boss of the B&B, performs her own little show for 'The Office' on the fourth floor. Luckily the cast of 'L'ufficio' are absent so we are the only ones to witness her show and I must say it was very entertaining. Hip gyrations included. It doesn't take much to get a chuckle around here. 

Tune in tomorrow for another exciting show of 'L'ufficio'.

My only Italian shoes so far

As noted before, SENSIBLE people will bring suitable shoes to Italy. But then again,  I never claimed I was sensible!

Melissa

Well, I had thought that I had sunk to a new low when I acquired the beige compression stocking back home. I was all ready to sign myself up for a Zimmer frame and a life aka Bridget Jones where I would die alone and be eaten by Alsatians...but I was wrong…

Enter the giant bandaged foot and the impossibility to get shoes to fit comfortably. After wearing my running shoes with the laces undone for the past two days since arriving, I just could not bear to wear them any longer. I found myself coveting the crocs worn by the nursing staff at the pre-operative check yesterday. Crocs! You see how low I have sunk. Luckily, one other patient was recently wearing what looked like grandpa slippers and Shawn got the address off her for the orthopaedic shop.

This shop was quite the eye-opener. It sells everything from wheelchairs to braces to stockings to dental gear and blood pressure and portable fat monitors (I was quite intrigued by that one and wondered if you put it on you to measure your body fat or if you stuck it in your food. Unfortunately my Italian reading skills, while miles ahead on my ability to parley, did not stretch to gadget packaging). Nestled amongst this was a glass display of the most heinous slippers and clogs imaginable. No plain black shoes available; no, this season’s orthopaedic shoe is all about the colours; maroon or leopard print or pond-scum green with reindeer on them. I kid you not. We were momentarily buoyed by the sign on the top of the cabinet that showed crocs (Dr Scholl here) but alas, the shop assistant said they did not stock these. 

So, we picked the least hideous clog slipper in a charming off-white colour and asked for 2 sizes too big. Being mirror twins, our plan was to buy one fat-foot pair and one normal-foot pair and trade. To our embarrassment, the clog-shoe did not fit. Nor did the next size or the size above that. The lady kept shaking her head when we asked for bigger ones. No, no - that was the biggest she had and no, they did not stock men's shoes. Her look said, what were these crazy foreigners wanting with men's shoes?

We were about to give up and resign ourselves to living with cramped feet when she emerged from the back with the holy grail of orthopaedic slippers. Behold them in all of their elegance; black with a lovely crepe sole. The upper is made of the softest black felt and the shoe is lined with faux sheepskin. Over the toe is Velcro in a t-shape so that the entire front upper can lift away from the sole and fit in a swollen foot. On the heel, more Velcro allows adjustment for slim or corpulent heels. The whole thing is finished with a cheerful stripe of piping around the front. What more can you want? They are absolute bliss to wear - no burning heels or pain across the top of the foot where the running shoe cut in. I feel somehow like a naughty little kid wearing my slippers in public. Okay, so they may be classed as a public menace as some elderly Italian lady almost fell off her scooter ogling them at the traffic lights but who cares; it's like walking on air!

Treatment at the Clinic

Melissa.  Treatment starts each day when the clinic opens at three pm in the afternoon. Each treatment session runs for a minimum of three and a half hours. I had absolutely no idea what to expect for this bit, except that I had a vague idea it would involve squeezing stuff out of my leg but couldn’t imagine how it would work. What I’ve gathered so far is that it is a three-step process (four if you are lucky enough to have a massage session). I’ll explain each step in a bit of detail. You kind of move round the clinic in a circuit, always doing the therapy in the same order, and emerge again on the other side of the waiting room.

First up is a little device I refer to as an over-sized Christmas stocking but not as festive. You enter a little cubicle and sit on a bed. The stocking is placed over your bandaged limb and connected to a pneumatic pump. It squeezes tight (so tight my toes burned at first), holds it for about 20 seconds, and then releases the pressure. Repeat this another 180-270 times and your time in that cubicle will be up. There are about 15 people getting treatment at once (although some are staggered by an hour as there are only about 10 of some machines) and everything is run on timers. All you can hear (aside from mumblings in Italian – or conversations if you are a local) is “Simone”, “Simone” (The name of the lovely technician who gets people in and out of the equipment). “Simone, Simone”, we all cry plaintively until she comes to release us. You can't see out of the cubicle, so you have to cry out when your timer runs out, so that you can be released from the stocking.

Then you shuffle on to the next room. Prepared Italians will wear lovely little sarongs as they move about. Ill-prepared New Zealanders will walk around in their underwear. The second treatment consists of about 14 cuffs (I'm guessing they were blood pressure cuffs in another life) that are wrapped overlapping from toes to groin up your leg. They work sequentially from the toes upwards, giving the highest pressure at the toes, until all the cuffs are tight and then they all release. Repeat a million times.

For future patients: Are you getting the idea that the treatment takes a long time? If you have the attention span of a gnat, as I do, you will be bored after the first ten minutes and be ready to read War and Peace for some excitement after about half an hour. BE PREPARED; take books, music, your laptop (although no internet access), knitting (if you are more talented in a crafty way than I am), crossword puzzles, whatever. Just be prepared to be sitting there for hours at a time. And don’t worry, there are bathroom breaks!

The final machine is the weirdest, in my mind. It reportedly creates negative pressure in the abdomen (where the pressure is usually positive) forcing it to act as a suction for the veins and lymph system to suck stuff out your leg (Simone, I hope I’m doing your explanation justice here. All misinformation about this is entirely my fault). You lie down on a padded bed and place your legs in a metal tube that covers you to your waist, where material closes tightly around it. When the machine is turned on, this material tightens periodically creating a seal, and a vacuum occurs around your legs. I think this procedure is quite pleasant and I’ve actually fallen asleep during one session. This one only lasts half an hour.

Last up; the massage session. This doesn’t happen very often. In fact I’ve only had one so far but it was so relaxing! You enter a room that has an ordinary looking massage bed in it. Lily will un-wrap your leg – bliss! but also gross due to the total neglect of shaving for the past week, Ugh. Then she fires up a machine that would not look out of place in a Dr. Who episode. It also reminds me of that robot with all the arms that cries “danger Will Robinson!” Lily then proceeds to vacuum/lux/hoover (or whatever you call it) your leg. Honestly, that is what it feels like. Tiny little inch-squared vacuum-cleaner on the foot and ankle area, working up in steps to a 4-inch x 4-inch vacuum cleaner for the thigh. Whatever, it feels amazing!

And that’s it folks. Repeat for increasing lengths of time each day and you too should hopefully see some serious shrinkage going on. I was amazed at how much my leg shrunk in just two sessions. What a pity New Zealand has no lymphedema experts that I could find or I would have been onto this months ago!

Meeting the Professor

Shawn
Here's the thing about Genoa—it's hard to locate an address, especially if you walk from your hotel  for 'a bit of exercise and fresh air.' My advice is take a taxi unless you happen to be staying on Via Assarotti  where the Professor's office is located. 

My feet hurt because I have chosen to wear a pair of my new shoes. Not the wisest decision I’ve ever made. After asking 3 people, my sister, Shannon and I finally head in the correct direction. Fortuitously we stop at a sort of 7-11 and find the doctor’s office is just across the street. The street numbers are difficult to decipher. Some numbers are black and some are red. We are looking for Via Assarotti 46 black.  I’m telling you it was a miracle we found the office. After pressing the buzzer on Professor Campisi's name plate (why can’t you just walk in buildings?) we entered to find an iron cage elevator directly in front of us and a pharmacia on the right and an unmarked door on the left. So we just stood there and besides that we were tired. A women opened the door on the left.  'Dr. Campisi?' ‘Si.’   We thankfully followed her and waited no more than 15 minutes, which is a very enlightening 15 minutes. ‘Cured’ people come in with full-leg-bandages on and then the not so fortunate, people whose lymphatic disease has progressed. I’m glad I am taking control of my health.

Shan is my ‘health secretary’ and she takes her job very seriously. At first she said’ ‘I will just bring my knitting and sit outside in the waiting room. To which I replied, 'oh no you’re not, you are going to take notes with my computer and pay attention.’ It’s easy to say this when you are not only bossy but also the older sister. The doctor comes in and shakes hands. He speaks English fairly well, is fluent in French and of course Italian. It is good Shan is with me because I still have a few communication problems and she speaks both French and Italian.


Here the history of ‘fatty the leg’ unfolds as he reads the notes emailed from my vascular surgeon in the United States. ‘I will now visit you.’ I take this to mean the exam will begin and shed my boots (still uncomfortable) and my pants. I do this in front of everyone, as I don’t know where else to go. He leads me to a step stool,  and takes pictures of my legs with the macchina fotografica (camera) but not before he picks up all my clothes, and puts them into a previously unseen dressing room. Ok so that’s embarrassing. Next, I march over to your standard exam table where he does a lot of poking of my leg. ‘You have pitting, this is good, you are still at a stage where you will get the most benefit from surgery, you have IIa Lymphedema.' My previous doctor did not categorize my lymphedema and certainly did not recommend surgery. It's all rather daunting. Anyway, at some point, I started dithering which I'm liable to do, and that is when he became very emphatic and said 'surgery as soon as possible, ASAP.'


I left the office and promised I would call the following day. He has a very busy schedule and I realize he is making time for me because I happen to be in country and he is concerned. He is an easy man to like and I feel very comfortable with him.


 

 

Planning a Month long Stay in Genoa?

Shawn
I discovered Professor Campisi BEFORE I came to Italy and decided to contact him AFTER I arrived on the off chance he could see me. Why didn’t I contact him before? I too am stymied by that question, so I’m blaming it on Meno-fog. I blame most things on Meno-fog.

Professor Campisi returned my email within 24 hours and I saw him three days later. The trains may occasionally run late here in Italy but not Italian medical system—at least not Professor Campisi’s office. My sister accompanied me to the appointment where the Professor interviewed me extensively (fat leg history) and proceeded with the medical exam. End result being Type IIa Lymphedema.  He advised a treatment protocol to take place ASAP that included surgery. “I am at your disposal.” He said. I don’t know when, if ever, I’ve heard a doctor/professor say those words to me and in a very urgent yet sincere manner. Certainly enough to give one pause for thought. Right then I knew I would have surgery. Time to get my ducks in a row and tell my family.

Fortunately for me, I have a husband who is very organized. He changed my plane flight to leave a month later and started with the process of wire fund transfer for the hospital and Professor Campisi’s physician fees. The wire fund transfer for the hospital HAD to be done BEFORE I checked in. It was a signifigant chunk of change.  It was two days prior to the Thanksgiving holidays. And then there is the matter of insurance.

After only three (push the following button if you want to speak to . . .) I spoke to a real person at the insurance company. He took many notes and entered them in my file. I may have 75% coverage. This was good news except he said something about appropriate codes for tests, etc, for insurance company. Are you kidding? I’m in freaking Italy. Was there such a thing as transcontinental insurance codes and if so were they in English? This required a visit with Daniela, the head honcho in the clinic and the Professor’s wife and if I may say, a SAINT. Daniela—also a Type A personality, what luck! Two organized people on my team. She immediately called the hospital to get an estimate of the hospital charges—in English. Professor Campisi composed a letter for the insurance company describing my diagnosis. This was accomplished within one day. Like I said, I’m loving the Italian medical system. Daniela faxed all paperwork to another very sympathetic person at the insurance company. Now I just had to ready myself for the hospital and my month long stay.

As stated earlier, I didn’t plan this BEFORE I arrived in Italy. If I HAD planned this earlier, I would have brought.

1.   An adapter for my computer, which varies from country to country.

2.   Lots of movies to play on my computer.

3.   Italian phrase book.

4.   Stretchy pants. Leggings will do but buy leggings that are bigger than your usual size. Sweat pants are too hot and I don’t mean that in a sexy way.

5.   Long skirts. Think ‘boho chic’ or ‘60’s hippie’, whatever works for you. For you men out there, go kiltish!

6.   Long tops to go over your pants/skirts, unless you don’t mind walking around in your undies while traipsing from machine to machine in the clinic. BTW—no evidence of thong underwear thus far, it’s just not done.

7.   Melissa and I found an orthopedic store and bought two pair of orthopedic shoes. One size 9 or 10 (40’s Italian sizing) and one size 7. How fortunate we were the same size with opposite legs needing surgery. There is a nearby shop with all sorts of orthopedic stuff in it.

8.   Knitting—so I’m not a big knitter but I’ve lots of time to practice while in prison the hospital followed by therapy sessions in the doctor’s clinic.

9.   Headphone and iPod.

           A kindle or some sort of e-reader.

            Decent pajamas or at least a bathrobe to wear around the B&B.

Thanks to my sister, I’ve cobbled together about two days worth of stretchy clothes, but I must say, I’m no fashion plate, not that anyone cares. BTW—one of the thin bandages that the doctors use for wrapping the leg makes a great hairband!!