I Am Bigfoot
Author: Sheri Denkensohn-Trott
You may think from reading the title that I am a big scary monster. Believe me, there are some days that my attitude can be characterized as monster like if you ask those around me. My “big foot” is caused by serious lymphedema in my left ankle and foot. I’ve always had 
trouble with that side of my body, likely as a result of the way I sit after 37 years in a wheelchair.
Towards the end of the summer the swelling in my left ankle and foot did not go down overnight. I became unable to wear any of my shoes, even the largest pair. And yes, my closet houses all shapes and sizes of shoes to fit the nature of my swelling and the season. My legs usually swell during the day but by putting them up on pillows at night they are all wrinkled in the morning, as if I had spent the evening and night swimming in a pool. And while putting my feet up during the day is an option, it is difficult to maneuver around the condo and fit under my desk. Besides, because of the degree of swelling, my left leg would not benefit from that easy treatment.
It is not a cliché to say aging is not for sissies. Especially when you are quadriplegic. My first visit to the lymphedema clinic at the local hospital was beneficial. I work with a great physical therapist and she explained the additional training needed to become a lymphedema specialist. She has been doing this work for over 15 years and brought out an anatomical picture of a leg and explained how the lymph glands work with the veins and other muscles in the leg and what happens when the lymph fluid no longer moves as a result of lack of push by the “next-door” vessels and the steep gravity from foot to heart. A variety of conditions can cause lymphedema. For me it is my tired veins in my left ankle and leg that are starting to wear out, creating a problem with moving the lymph fluid in the local area.
During my first visit Michelle told me not to worry. She wrapped my leg with cotton wrap and gauze from the foot almost to my knee and put foam cushioning underneath. She explained that she was using 
all soft low-pressure bandages because anything small and tight would push the fluid up and it would pool elsewhere instead of going away. That is why my leg is so big and why do so many people look at me and think I’m in a wheelchair because of my foot. Sorry, it cracks me up.
To complicate things, and I’m not sure whether it is the chicken or the egg, I have a wound on the front and back of my left big toe that was either caused by the lymphedema or was exacerbated by it. Either way, I’m dealing with two separate issues that are connected.
I am no stranger to the wound clinic and when I first arrived to deal with my toe, the fabulous staff was ready to use the lift to put me in bed assuming I was there for a pressure sore. The good news is no pressure sore, but the bad news is that they had to deal with the sore on my toe. Not a pretty sight. But Janice and her crew are amazing, and they are always fun to see. Although when I see them, I joke that I wish I didn’t have to.
I have a set routine like clockwork. Twice a week I go to the lymphedema clinic and every other week one of the visits is joint with the wound nurse practitioner and the lymphedema specialist. They are great about making sure that appointments are coordinated. That sounds simple, but in many cases coordination of two busy specialists is a nightmare.
I keep hoping that this will be over soon as the cold weather arrives. I am limited in what I can wear because I need the expandable legs of sweatpants (I own very few big legged pants) to fit over my big foot. Even though we are in a pandemic, my blue jeans are calling me. Additionally, it will be nice to wear shoes again. I spend most days inside and nobody sees my feet during a zoom call, still, I yearn for my sneakers.
I hardly recognized my slim looking left ankle and the toe healing that is taking place. I joke that while it is annoying to go for treatment for a huge foot full of fluid and a toe wound, it does give me a reason to go out twice a week. It has also helped me to finally conquer my masking issues. I wear two masks because one mask moves off of my nose and only covers my mouth. I’m Jewish; it doesn’t make sense that my nose isn’t big enough.
When I arrive at the hospital, I quickly answer the COVID questions before they are even asked, get my temperature taken, and roll away with my “beautiful” wristband that states my destination. Check-in for the appointment is done electronically beforehand and my co-pay keeps ratcheting up in total dollars. I try not to focus on that.
While I’m looking forward to getting rid of my big foot, it will stop two trips per week out of the house. I will miss my fun discussions with Michelle and Janice, and I realize 
that I’m lucky to have smart and caring specialists close to where I live. I wouldn’t mind another reason to safely go out and even though Michelle and Janice are great, I’m hoping for safe visits with them in another location.
I have been thinking more about what I am wearing each day. Those two sentences don’t seem to go together, but for me one of the major types of cancellations has been Comic-Cons which usually involve a lot of cosplay or dressing up as a character from movies, comics, anime, video games, or pretty much anything else. There is a difference between Halloween and Comic-Cons to be sure, but they both can involve wearing special costumes.
Rider (actually, to do that one, I’d need some serious additions to my wheelchair!) or would I just want to be Spiderman who is using a wheelchair after breaking his leg?
I’m just a person who is contemplating cosplay and thinking about Comic-Cons. And I realize there is nothing wrong with that. All of us have the opportunity and should take the time to relax and imagine what might not be reality but what could possibly be. It helps out every once in a while.
extended hospitalization, was incredibly weak, and barely functioning. I did not know if I would be able to return to work and I was adjusting to having a trach. Breast cancer was the last thing that I expected. But it did teach me an important lesson. Breast cancer, and cancer in general, doesn’t discriminate. I have my theories on how I got the cancer, likely from the abundance of radiation through x-rays and CT scans that I needed when I was hospitalized, but it is not worth spending energy to figure out why I got cancer. I chose to focus on the “what can I do.”
That has led to 10 years of busy Septembers and Octobers, and this year I started in June. I never expected to raise as much money as I have over the years and to be recognized as a keynote speaker, closing speaker, and ACS Ambassador. I have made many great friends, become much more knowledgeable about breast cancer and other types of cancer, and more aware of cutting-edge research and the unmet needs of the cancer community. My eyes have been opened to the disparate impact of breast cancer on women of color and other disadvantaged groups. Additionally, through the voice of a guest speaker at a support group meeting, I got an inside look at how men face a stigma if they are diagnosed with breast cancer. While I can’t say that I am overjoyed that I got breast cancer, but it certainly has made my life different in a positive way; I’m more knowledgeable about breast cancer, more compassionate towards those facing a breast cancer diagnosis, and most importantly for me, I have become a forceful advocate for accessible mammography for those with disabilities.
I am so pleased that I decided to move forward. In fact, I have exceeded my goal of $10,000 already. So, I set a new goal, $12,000. I know it can be done. It is a matter of life or death. Patients, caregivers, survivors, and the future generations all depend on it.