The Good, The Bad and the REALLY REALLY Ugly

One of the unique things about having multiple deep-vein clots is the significant damage it wreaks on one's vein. That, coupled with the lingering dull ache (a result of the blood coursing through the weakened vein) and the continuing risk of clots, made my doctor issue the dreaded order: compression stockings.

So it is that every morning before I get out of bed (note: must remember to shower at night - I forgot last night, got my stockings on this morning only to remember I had yet to shower - having to repeat the whole nightmarish process), I flop around like a dying fish in order to get the opaque, "nude" ("nude" if your skin is about 15 shades darker than mine is) stockings up to my upper thighs.

On the mornings I get up earlier than Himself, Himself does not seem to appreciate it so much, but they go on oh-so-much-easier before I get out of bed than after. (If there is such thing as "easier" and "compression stockings" in one breath).

There are, however, some good (if you squint your eyes, cock your head and hop up and down while thinking of them) things ... along with the bad and the really, really ugly.

The Good

• They keep my legs roasty-toasty warm in the frigid outdoor weather of The Frontier.
• My legs look skinnier - they're like really ugly spanx
• They are toeless and thigh-high, so my toes won't suffocate (I loathe wearing socks and only do so during the winter unless given no other choice). Additionally, I will not have to hoist them over my belly in later stages or deal with additional fabric on my stomach (another thing that drives me to the brink of insanity)
• They are, as I mentioned previously, "nude" v. the hospital white ones my grandmother wore a decade ago.

The Bad

• As much as they keep my legs roasty, toasty warm in the winter, wearing thick compression hose in the summer - especially while 9 months pregnant in the truly miserable month of August - makes me want to run far, far away.
• They are EXPENSIVE - at a price tag more than every other pair of socks Himself, myself, Woodstock and half the neighborhood own combined
• I have to wear the prescription
variety - the highest compression they make. This is equivalent to wrapping one's legs in thick rubber bands and smiling about it.
• They add an extra 10 minutes, per leg, to my morning routine, just to get the darn things on (all while envisioning thoughts of cutting off all circulation to my feet prior to successfully getting them all the way up my leg)
• Because they are trying to minimize further vein damage, as well as correct the damage that has already been done and prevent further clots, I have to wear them a minimum of eight months

The REALLY REALLY UGLY

• While they hide rather nicely (the "rather" is because what leftover fat/tissue they displace on my leg gets pushed up into my rear, giving me an odd-shaped behind) under trousers, I can only imagine the beauty-queen contestant I'm going to look like this summer with them screaming out from under my summer-weight, summer-length clothing.
  
  I'm not much for one to worry about fashion, but I have a sneaky suspicion that the granny socks, my fat, pregnant belly (that is already dotted with pencil-, dime- and quarter-sized injection bruises), and maternity clothes that are never cute, regardless of how hard one tries, are going to combine to make me one hot mama this summer (in more ways than one). The fashion world will never quite be the same again.

Be afraid, be very, very afraid.