SWOLLEN, STIFF & PAINFUL JOINTS
Circulation or joint problems? Dr Rob Hicks suggests putting your feet up*
When you stand or sit for lengthy periods of time, pressure is placed on the veins. It can be hard work for blood to travel against gravity and get from your feet back to your heart. Putting your feet up takes some pressure off your veins and is a way to reduce swelling and improve blood f low.
Who should put their feet up?
People are advised to elevate their legs for all sorts of reasons, from f luid retention, poor circulation and varicose veins to leg ulcers, cellulitis and recovery from surgery.
How to elevate the legs
When elevating the legs, make ■ sure they are fully supported so that their weight is evenly spread. As well as being more comfortable this helps relieve pressure on the knee joint and prevents build-up of pressure in calves or heels. Use a pillow, cushion, stool, rise and recline chair or adjustable bed. Feet should ideally be above ■ the level of the heart. Make sure the neck and back ■ are properly supported. While the legs are elevated, ■ remember to rotate the ankles and feet to help with circulation.
Key benefits of elevating the legs
Elevating the legs leads to less swelling, which can ease stiff, painful and swollen joints. Enhanced healing results, as injuries and wounds such as ulcers heal faster when f luid does not collect around them. Rest and relaxation is facilitated as inflammation reduces and healing begins. As lower limb conditions get better, people can start moving around more, become more mobile and take more exercise, which is essential for all aspects of health. The final result? Better quality of life and more independence.
She’d ordered him black coffee with an extra shot.
He sat there, his hands clasped around it, gazing unseeingly somewhere over her shoulder.
How long had she known him? Too many years to count.
She’d seen him in countless moods. He could be furious, impatient and exasperating. He could be full of bluster, yet unbelievably kind.
But she’d never seen him like this.
“Basil! What’s wrong?” Her voice was sharp.
He blinked and it broke the trance.
“I’ve been made redundant,” he mumbled. “Just like that.”
Lydia nodded. It was what she had suspected.
“I see.” What else could she say?
She let the silence lengthen, and finally he began to talk.
“HR asked me to pop in just before you arrived.
“I thought it was going to be an update on the situation, a review of figures – you know the kind of thing.”
He shook his head.
“I don’t know why it’s such a shock. I knew this was coming.” He met her eyes. “I told you that it would be my turn soon.”
His gaze slid down to the table.
“I just wasn’t ready for it to be now.”
Around them customers came and went. Lydia was grateful for the hubbub – silence would have been overwhelming.
She reached out a hand and cupped his, and was struck by the unusual intimacy of the gesture. She couldn’t remember if they’d ever touched before.
He looked up at her, his expression bleak.
“What am I going to do, Lydia?” he asked. “I’ve no family, no wife and kids.
“It never mattered before. My work has been my life. Without that . . .”
Her thoughts were in turmoil. Should she point out that she’d just been through this? That she was in the same situation?
It wouldn’t be what he wanted to hear right now.
“You just said it, Basil,” she told him firmly. “Your work has been your life. Not your job – that was simply earning a living.
“Writing, though – that’s always been your passion,” she went on.
“Yet think how often you’ve complained to me that you never have time for it these days.
“Now you can devote as much time to it as you want. You can finally write your great novel.
“Write three!” she finished with a laugh.
She was relieved to see his face lighten, and he almost smiled. “Maybe.”
She became aware that the noises around them had changed in character.
The staff were beginning to clean up. It seemed like they might be closing soon.
Basil hadn’t touched his coffee, so she nudged it towards him.
“Drink up before it goes cold.”
She raised her own, grimacing slightly.
“Too late.”
He threw his back in one gulp, then tossed the cup into a bin across the aisle.
“That’s us, Lydia. We’re on the trash heap.”
“Speak for yourself,” she retorted indignantly, which made him smile again.
She seized on the glimmer of his old spirit.
“It’s time for plain speaking,” she began. “You and I have come to the end of our careers as we knew them, but so what?
“We’re in a better situation than lots of people. We’ve good pensions, for a start, and a decent redundancy package.
“You live in your smart house, but I know it’s all bought and paid for. So you have financial security.
“We have our health and, speaking personally, I have all my marbles.” Lydia grinned. “I can’t speak for you, of course . . .”
His uncertain smile became a chuckle.
“We can let this current set of circumstances overwhelm us or fight back,”
Lydia continued. “I’ve never been one to back down from a fight, have you?”
“Are you saying I should fight to get my job back?” She shook her head. “I’m saying we should see this as an opportunity for a fresh start,” she explained. “A chance to try something different.”
An image of Cyrus popped into her head.
She could almost hear his voice saying the same words. She had learned so much from him already.
“Like writing my novel,” Basil said, taking up the idea.
“There is one I started to write years ago, but I just never seemed to find the time to finish it.”
“That’s exactly what I’m talking about,” she agreed, leaning over to pick up her bag from the floor.
Outside, they halted on the pavement, and the crowds of pedestrians washed around them.
“Now what?” Basil asked, that uncertainty returning. “I know I said we should have dinner, but . . .”
“But you’ve just had the rug pulled out from under you and don’t feel like it?” Lydia finished his thought.
“Go home and catch your breath. We can do dinner another time.”
A grateful smile creased his face.
“You’re quite a woman, do you know that, Lydia?”
She flapped a hand at him.
“Oh, now, stop that. You’re making me blush.”
He raised his hands to rest them on her shoulders, his gaze intent.
“Seriously, you’re quite a woman. And quite a friend. I’m more grateful than you know to have you in my life.”
He kissed her cheek, then lifted his hands, and that was how she left him.
It had been nothing like the day she had been expecting. Yet she had the feeling something had just shifted in their friendship all the same.
How did you dress for a date that might not be a date?
As she eased another blouse over her head, Danielle giggled to herself.
She’d teased Lydia mercilessly that morning as she had gone through the same process. Now look at her!
“Talk about the pot calling the kettle black,” she scolded herself.
All afternoon, as she walked Rex, Tallulah and lovely Ronald, she’d been mentally running through the contents of her wardrobe.
Now she appraised her reflection. She’d never been a fashionable dresser. Her clothes were simple, plain and practical, with the exception of this one top.
In a filmy midnight-blue georgette, the long-sleeved outer layer floated over the modesty-preserving camisole beneath.
A scattering of sequins and beads around the neckline sparkled.
She’d had it for years, and whenever she caught sight of it in her wardrobe, it gave her pleasure.
She’d worn it only once, years ago, for a work function, but she had tried it on countless times. It always made her smile and feel good.
And that was exactly what she needed for this “date” with Stu.
“Is it too much?” she asked herself, twirling.
Not if she paired it with her good jeans, ankle boots and her leather jacket, she reasoned.
She tried it all together, then nodded.
“You’ve made an effort, but not tried too hard.” She could almost hear Lydia saying the words.
If only she were here. She could do with her support.
Not that she had time to change her mind, because a vehicle had just stopped outside.
She glanced at the clock. Stu was early.
“Don’t go reading anything into that,” Danielle warned herself as she gave her hair a final brush and dabbed on some lipstick.
He’d just raised his hand to knock when she opened
the door, still zipping up her jacket.
“Sorry. I think I’m early. Please don’t rush,” he told her.
“It’s no problem. I’m ready!” she assured him.
He held open the van door for her, and she was touched to notice that he’d made some attempt to clean it up inside.
She smiled her gratitude as she settled into the passenger seat, where a sofa throw now replaced the dustsheet of earlier.
Both were quiet as they drove along the country lanes to the pub, but it was an easy silence.
He had reserved a table and they were shown straight to it.
“Good,” he commented. “I asked for one by the window.”
Danielle could see why. The view outside the big picture window was stunning.
Rolling hills, glowing myriad shades of green in the evening sunlight, were the perfect backdrop to a semi-circular lake that a family of ducks had evidently made their home.
She unzipped her jacket and the young waiter was immediately on hand.
“Would you like me to hang that up for you?” he offered. “And I’ll leave you the menus . . .”
Stu was smiling at her. “You look nice.” “Thanks.” Her cheeks grew warm. Flustered, she ducked behind the menu. “I hear they do a good sea bass here.”
Their choices made and placed with the waiter – fish for her and pasta for Stu – they faced each other.
Danielle tried to think of something to say.
“About Lydia,” Stu began. “Do you think she might fancy getting more involved with the hall?”
Danielle was relieved that he’d taken conversational control, but were they really here to talk about Lydia and the hall?
She bit back the disappointment and considered his questions.
“Will she stay? I really don’t know,” she admitted.
“But even if she doesn’t, I think she’d enjoy running the hall short term.
“She’d certainly get more people involved. It’s what she’s good at. Folk are drawn to her.”
They talked on as their food arrived, sometimes chatting about Lydia and the hall, or about their meals, which were both delicious.
They talked about books they were reading and box sets they were watching.
Stu touched on Padding A-round.
“I’ve heard a couple of gripes about him from my clients. Nothing really bad – just odd bits about his attitude.”
They debated having pudding, and both gave in to temptation as the waiter delivered a luscious-looking cheesecake to a nearby table.
The evening ambled on, friendly, relaxed and easy.
But even when Stu dropped her back at her house, Danielle still wasn’t sure if it had been a date.
He peered through the windscreen at the bungalow, quiet and in darkness.
“No signs of life. Has Lydia gone to bed, or is she not home yet?”
Danielle glanced at the dashboard clock. It was 10.30.
She checked her phone. No messages.
“She might not be back yet. The last train isn’t till after eleven.”
She turned to him, her hand on the door release.
“Thanks, Stu. That was really nice.”
“You’re welcome,” he replied with a smile. “I enjoyed it, too. Maybe we could do it again some time?”
“I’d like that,” Danielle said, and Stu nodded.
He settled back in his seat, hands on the steering wheel, getting ready to go.
“OK, then, I’ll see you later,” she said, opening the door.
As she stood at the gate, watching him drive off, she shook her head.
Was that a date?
To be continued.