u/Trick_Estimate_7029

When I say that something has changed in the way I dance since becoming a mother, since I returned to dancing after years of enforced absence, since I only have a few hours to myself each week, and sometimes none at all; since going to class has become a heroic race starting at 4 p.m., picking up my children from one activity to take them to another; since I've been putting on eyeliner while the potatoes are frying... well, this is what has changed. I'm not afraid of being seen, and I'm not afraid of anything. My technique hasn't improved, but it's the only place where I feel safe, where I know mistakes don't matter. And when I place my foot, without being 100% sure if that's the signal the leader has given, I place it with confidence. I go there; I know there's a 95% chance I've understood the signal correctly. But if I haven't, well, then the leader can come up with something! I came here to shine!

Después de un día súper estresante en el trabajo, haciendo 50 tareas diferentes, después de una carrera contrarreloj toda la tarde para dejar a los niños en sus actividades extraescolares, hacer la compra mientras están allí, volver corriendo a recogerla sudando, y llegar a casa para darme cuenta de que el trabajo restante es interminable porque no hay una sola habitación que no necesite ordenarse, mi pecho dolía al final de la tarde por la maldita ansiedad. Realmente odio sentirme tan impotente. ¡Pero por fin, me voy a mi tratamiento de salsa! Me maquillé en 8 minutos, mirando el reloj para asegurarme de que la tortilla no se quemara. Mi pelo huele a tortilla española. ¡Espero que a ningún jefe le importe!

Here with a little inspiration preparing myself to eat. Finally I decided to arrive ten minutes late but with the right mood!

I don't know why I'm writing this here because probably no one will be able to help me. It's really nothing serious, it's silly. But I needed to vent.

As I've mentioned before, I've had lymphedema since I was 20. I'm 45 now and I've only recently gained access to compression garments. The path to diagnosis, like for many people here, was arduous. However, lately I've realized the value of having taken care of myself for so long, and I've felt very proud.

Aside from the lymphedema, I have trouble setting boundaries, unpleasant situations where I feel very powerless, I've suffered workplace harassment, and frequent anxiety attacks. This has been much more limiting for me than the lymphedema.

Well, recently I had a problem with my compression garments. Nothing serious, just the adjustment that I thought would be better, but it wasn't working. Someone here gave me some advice, thank you so much for your kindness, by the way. So I contacted my orthopedist. She's a lovely woman, and I'd left her some wonderful reviews on Google. Because I'm only ever grateful when people are kind.

And suddenly, when I went to tell her about the problems with the new compression stockings, she told me she had to call the regional manager. I didn't really understand why; I didn't even know there was a regional manager for orthopedists, but whatever.

Well, this woman spoke to me with a poorly disguised condescension and superiority. She told me she was going to remeasure me, and to the questions I asked, she said, "Don't worry, if we say this solution is possible, it's because it is possible because we are experts." To which I replied, "Of course, I just want to understand. I don't doubt your professionalism, but I am an expert on my own body." The woman who came had little experience taking measurements, and it was obvious. Out of the corner of my eye, I observed the expression my usual orthopedist made as he wrote down the measurements; it was clear he wasn't entirely convinced, but he didn't dare contradict his superior.

Her attitude—disinfecting repeatedly—I suppose she's not used to touching other people, and her phrases telling me I was wrong, that the stocking was perfectly made, that they had found a softer and more comfortable fabric but that it had the same compression.And I told her that if it had the same degree of compression, then what was the need for different types of tissue? If a softer, more flexible tissue can provide the same compression as a stiffer one, then what was the need for a stiffer tissue? The woman remained silent for a while. Then she replied that there were different tissues for different types of lipedema and lymphedema, to which I finally managed to respond, after an hour-long interrogation, that "well, it seems this tissue isn't suitable for my type of lymphedema."

I don't know what toes I stepped on that I wasn't even aware of, I don't know who I'm bothering so terribly by asking for the stocking adjustment I'm entitled to. It all felt like an interrogation, trying to find fault with my testimony as if I had committed a crime. I don't know what fault there could possibly be in my version of events when I'm talking about my own body. And the final phrase that stuck with me was, "Let me make this perfectly clear: we're going to change your stockings, but it's a favor we're doing you because this fabric works perfectly; it's just your perception."

I suppose that woman thinks she's a good person and sleeps well at night, but she's not. I know she's not a good Christian, but I hope that when she goes to get treatment for a chronic condition, she encounters someone just as unpleasant. I think there's a very special place in hell reserved for doctors who have called us fat, who have told us we're making up the problem, and for all those people who, instead of doing their job properly, dedicate themselves to gaslighting those who are simply seeking better health.

I don't know why I'm crying now while having breakfast. I think this interaction has simply unlocked many other moments where people have treated me badly and I haven't confronted them properly. I'd like to file a complaint somewhere, but I don't even know this woman's name. I really hate feeling so powerless. I suppose all of us with lymphedema have felt this way many times. If you've read this far, thank you so much.

Sometime ago I posted about the joy of receiving news of an old friend a salsa friend. I didn't knew if he was still alive and kicking. The last time I saw him was in 2011. And boy he really was! He is still alive and dancing and personally managing his ,I think it's new, Instagram account. So I had the pleasure of talking with him online! I'm looking forward to seeing him in the dancing floor the next time I go to Salamanca