My heredity has finally caught up with me. Mom, Dad, Grandma, Grandpa: thanks, but no thanks anyway.
The varicose veins have not just arrived, they are making my legs look like a Rand McNally road map with construction issues.
It’s a family thing, with the previous two generations not only suffering from the condition, but going through the only treatment available back in the medical Stone Age: vein stripping, which was a rather brutal means of dispensing with the problem. It required hospitalization, general anesthesia, a month of down time and offered a host of complications, though the surgery did work.
Methods have gotten kinder now, with chemical injections done in a specialist’s office over a period of weeks or months. I’m grateful for the newer treatments, as they have little or no down time, no surgical issues, no anesthesia (other than local) and no hospitalization. The drawback is that the treatments will be for life, as there is no guarantee that once injected into oblivion, the veins will not return.
Ugly legs suck, even when you are as lucky as I am to be in the good end of the gene pool for most everything else. I cannot complain about much of what I inherited. I still have my hair and teeth and the basic body parts I was born with and still require for survival. My failing vision has been replaced with brand-new technology (thirteen months, and 20/20 vision has yet to get old!), my hearing is perfect and I can smell and taste without issues. Still, I look at the newspaper and magazine ads with the leggy models advertising the vein clinics, promising “the youthful, beautiful legs you once enjoyed.” Thing is, I never enjoyed them youthfully, either. I’m built like a cross between a cube fridge and a tree stump, so the concept of great gams never applied in the first place.
A cousin of mine, who passed away a few months ago, had legs so beautiful she was a leg and foot model for a famous New York department store . I always liked her, although I’m convinced she got every atom of good lower limb genes the family had and left the rest of us with nothing. I’ll think of her when the first of many needles destroys the first of many bad veins, beginning next month. I’ll get my good-looking legs; I just won’t come by them as naturally as she did.