When Laurie and I drove up to the store we joked that the name sounded similar to "rectal." That should have been our first clue. Nothing good can come from a store that sounds similar to anything having to do with your butt.
I was referred to Vienna Rexall Drug to be fitted for a sleeve that I have to wear when I fly. There was some urgency to get it soon because my trip to Los Angeles was quickly approaching. The sleeve comes in different compressions in order to keep your arm from swelling due to lymphedema. My compression is 20 percent and it is TIGHT! Sleeves are cotton, but are made with a thick microfiber. I don't have lymphedema, but as a preventative measure I will have to wear one on my left arm any time I fly on an airplane for the rest of my life.
After checking in, Laurie and I waited for the woman who would be fitting me for my sleeve. This means that we proceeded to find the most ridiculous and inappropriate items and make fun of them while giggling like ten-year-olds. What else can you do when you are dealing with cancer? … Hold up a hernia belt and make gestures that our mothers would frown upon. A woman approached us wearing jeans and a denim button-front shirt. Holy double denim! This was clue number two.
She ushered me back into a small area that looked like their storage room. Laurie stood outside the curtain with her eyebrows raised waiting for me to give her the okay to join me. I ushered her in referring to her as "my lady." The woman reviewed my prescription and looked at me in confusion. She said, "What are you, like 12?" "Um, no. I'm 26," I responded annoyed. Just like everyone else, she was shocked at the severity of my cancer at such a young age. With that came a series of questions, such as "Did you find it yourself?" "How big was the tumor?" "How were the lymph nodes involved?" Then out of nowhere she asked, "Do you have any children?" "No," I replied. "Well, I hope you have a good support system then," she said next. I looked over at Laurie and her expression encompassed my frustration and annoyance.
After a call to my plastic surgeon to verify the necessary compression, the denim clad lady returned to take my measurements. I slipped my arm out of my sweater and with a small measuring tape; the woman carefully measured my wrist, forearm, bicep (which I flexed for her amusement) and the length of my arm. I fell into the tiny end of the small sleeve bracket on the back of the package. Surprise! Surprise! I was given two sleeve options: one with a silicon grip at the top and one without. I tried on both with the denim clad lady's assistance. The sleeve is extremely difficult to get on without help. Once I made my decision (which was the sleeve with the silicone grip at the top) I was then instructed to try to put the sleeve on myself. She explained how you can use a trash bag to help roll the sleeve on. It was ridiculous. I just looked at Laurie and tried not to giggle as this woman demonstrated putting a bag on her arm. This should have been clue number three.
You have to put sleeves on a certain way because all of the compression can't be in one place at once because it can cause trauma to the arm. Of course putting on the sleeve for the first time was a challenge, but I managed to do it without the silly trash bag. The visit to the butt store was successful, but let's just say Laurie and I were happy to finally leave and return to normalcy.
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