A friend recently asked me what happened to my leg, and,
without skipping a beat, I answered with the same explanation that I’ve used
for years whenever someone asked.
“That’s a scar where I was burned when a pot of boiling
water fell on my leg during a camping trip in middle school,” I said.
The scar is about the size of my hand on my right leg
below the knee. It’s smooth and
plastic-like, and the center lacks pigmentation. Usually a few follow-up questions come next,
asking how it happened or how much it hurt.
I have answers ready for those questions, as well. But this time was different.
“No, I mean your other leg,” he said, pointing.
My other leg? I wasn't immediately sure what he meant by that. Did
I burn my right leg, too, and not realize it?
Was it bleeding? I slowly looked
down.
“Oh, that,” I answered.
What he saw was a hump (about the diameter of a half dollar)
on my left shin, the largest of several on my leg, all of which are
mysteriously related to Graves’ Disease.
These leg issues started approximately five years ago when I lived in
Charlotte. My burn scar, which used to
be a depression in my leg, became raised.
That eventually went down, but then my lower shins became puffy and my ankles
swelled to the size of softballs. The
condition is called pretibial myxedema, and doctors said the best treatment
option was to get my thyroid hormone levels under control (and hope for the
best).
My levels stabilized during the next couple of years, and
the swelling went down, albeit much more slowly than it arrived. But like rocks that appear when a swollen
river recedes, so too did these humps.
The only difference is that these humps weren’t there before and
shouldn’t be there now. Worse yet, they themselves are
not receding.
Doctors told me that pretibial myxedema occurs in a very
small percentage of Graves’ patients, but they don’t know why. The condition is so uncommon that I was one
of only a handful of patients whom my dermatologist at the Mayo Clinic had ever
seen with it in approximately 40 years of practice. He asked for my permission in allowing the
interns, residents, and consultants to see it, too. I said yes, realizing that this may be one of
the few times they would ever see it outside of a textbook. The dermatologist then took a biopsy of one
of the humps, and the gooey mucous that he removed was eerily reminiscent of a
scene from the Gremlins.
Thankfully, the humps don’t hurt; they’re just
unsightly. Surgical removal is not an
option because the mucous becomes intertwined with tissue that could be
irreparably harmed by invasive digging and poking around (diggery pokery?). The humps are fairly hard but become soft
with massaging. The problem is that a
dull pain develops when I massage them too much. I figure that has to do with the intertwining
of sub-dermal tissue.
I hope the swelling eventually goes away completely. But I fear that, like my puffy and protruding
eyes, this is a condition that lasts a lifetime. Anyhow, that is the story of what happened to
my other leg. (Bonus points if you can
help me get this explanation to a one-sentence stock answer for whenever
someone says, “No, your other leg”!)
 |
| Swelling on my lower left shin. Brings a whole new meaning to leg humps. |
