Eight Stone Down, Still Living With Lymphoedema. And Yes, I Finally Bought the Boots! 🥾

There's something slightly ridiculous about being a 52-year-old woman who has lost more than eight stone and finding herself ridiculously excited about a pair of boots.

Not designer boots. Not some fabulous, outrageously expensive pair that I've been lusting after for years.

Just ordinary knee-high boots.

With a zip.

That actually does up.

Honestly, the things that make you happy as you get older. 😂

But if you've ever lived with lymphoedema, particularly in your legs, you'll probably understand why this is rather more exciting than it sounds.

For years, knee-high boots simply weren't an option for me. It didn't matter how much I liked them, how lovely they looked or whether they were in the sale (and we all know how persuasive a good sale can be). My feet would fit perfectly well, but there was absolutely no chance of getting the zip past my calves.

And now, after losing more than eight stone on Mounjaro, I have a pair.

Actually, the most extraordinary thing isn't even that they fit. It's that they're not particularly tight.

Who knew a pair of boots could feel like such an achievement?

The bit about losing weight that nobody quite prepares you for

When I started Mounjaro in October 2024, I weighed 19 stone 13.8 pounds. Almost 20 stone, although I was clinging rather desperately to that tiny difference at the time.

I'd been living with lymphoedema in my legs for years, and naturally, I hoped losing weight might make a difference.

I don't think I had particularly unrealistic expectations. I knew lymphoedema wasn't something that would simply disappear because I lost a few pounds. But I did wonder whether my legs might become smaller, whether the swelling might improve and, perhaps most importantly, whether I'd be able to move around more comfortably.

What I hadn't really considered was how I'd feel if I lost an enormous amount of weight and my legs still didn't look the way I wanted them to.

Because that's rather where I've found myself.

I've lost over eight stone. More than 40% of my original body weight. An absolutely astonishing amount of weight when I stop and think about it.

And yet I still have lymphoedema.

My ankles are still swollen, my legs are still disproportionately large, and there are days when I look at them and feel rather disappointed.

Which seems terribly ungrateful, doesn't it?

Here I am, having achieved something I once thought was completely beyond me, and I'm still occasionally looking in the mirror wishing bits of me were different.

Apparently, losing eight stone doesn't automatically make you stop being critical of yourself.

Who'd have thought? 🙄

The numbers are actually quite extraordinary

I recently found myself with a tape measure, attempting to establish whether I could realistically buy knee-high boots.

This involved measuring my calves, checking size guides and doing rather more research than I imagine most people undertake when purchasing footwear.

But it also prompted me to look back at the measurements I'd taken when I started Mounjaro.

In October 2024, one ankle measured 44cm and the other measured 47cm.

Recently, they measured approximately 37cm and 38cm.

That's a reduction of seven centimetres on one ankle and nine on the other.

NINE CENTIMETRES!

When I look at those numbers, it's difficult not to be impressed. My calves are still around 49cm at their widest point, so we're certainly not talking about dainty little legs here, but the difference is substantial.

And I can see it.

I can see that my legs are smaller, that the shape has changed and that the swelling isn't quite what it was.

But I think I'd secretly imagined that losing this much weight might somehow reveal a completely different pair of legs underneath.

It turns out they're still mine.

Lymphoedema and all.

And perhaps that's something I'm still learning to accept.

The unexpected change that happened before the weight came off

Something happened when I first started Mounjaro that I still find difficult to explain.

Within about two weeks of taking my first injection, I noticed I was moving more easily.

Two weeks.

I'd barely started losing weight, and I was only taking the introductory 2.5mg dose, so it certainly wasn't because I'd suddenly become significantly lighter.

But the pain I'd been living with began to improve.

Before starting Mounjaro, my knees hurt so much that walking downstairs was genuinely difficult. I'd have to hold onto the banister, put one foot down onto a step and then bring the other foot down to join it.

Every single step.

I felt about 90 years old.

Getting off the sofa was uncomfortable, walking was painful and I was constantly conscious of what my legs could and couldn't manage.

Then, quite unexpectedly, I realised I was walking downstairs normally.

I hadn't planned to do it. There was no grand moment of achievement or dramatic announcement to the household.

I just walked downstairs.

And it didn't hurt.

It sounds such a tiny thing, doesn't it? Walking down your own stairs.

But when you've spent years struggling with something most people do without thinking, suddenly being able to do it again feels rather miraculous.

I have absolutely no idea why the improvement happened so quickly. I can't tell you whether it was related to Mounjaro itself or something else that was changing in my body. And I certainly wouldn't suggest that everyone with lymphoedema would experience the same thing.

I can only tell you what happened to me.

And whatever the explanation, I was extremely grateful.

Apparently, I can walk 10 kilometres now

One of the things I've noticed about losing weight is that some of the biggest changes happen so gradually that you almost forget what life used to be like.

You get used to being able to do things.

And then occasionally something happens that reminds you just how different your life has become.

For me, one of those moments was taking part in the London Legal Walk through work this summer.

It's a 10K charity walk, and I completed it with my colleagues.

Now, I appreciate that there are people who run marathons, climb mountains and think nothing of walking 10 kilometres before breakfast.

I am not one of those people.

But I walked the entire distance, kept up with everyone and actually enjoyed myself.

I wasn't constantly worrying about my knees, looking for somewhere to sit down or wondering how on earth I was going to get back.

I just enjoyed the afternoon.

And afterwards, when I thought about what I'd done, I realised how extraordinary it was.

Less than two years earlier, I'd been struggling to walk downstairs.

Now I'd voluntarily signed up to walk 10 kilometres for charity.

VOLUNTARILY.

There's a sentence I never expected to write. 😂

I can now have days when I manage 10,000 steps. I swim, I walk, and I can spend a weekend exploring somewhere without the whole experience revolving around whether my legs will cope.

I remember visiting Edinburgh shortly after starting Mounjaro and being surprised by how much easier I found walking around.

And if you've visited Edinburgh, you'll know that it's not exactly short of hills.

Beautiful city. Rather enthusiastic about making you walk uphill.

I'm not claiming to have suddenly become super-fit. I'm still very much a work in progress.

But I can do things now that I genuinely worried I might never be able to do again.

And that matters far more than the number on the scales.

Can we talk about socks for a minute?

There is, of course, one particularly glamorous aspect of living with lymphoedema that I feel deserves some attention.

Socks.

Honestly, SOCKS.

You'd think that in a world where we can send people into space, someone might have invented a comfortable pair of socks that doesn't leave an enormous indentation around swollen ankles.

Apparently not.

Finding socks that don't dig in is an ongoing challenge, and although my legs have become considerably smaller, it's still something I struggle with.

My ankles can be tender, the swelling hasn't disappeared, and ordinary socks don't always seem designed with legs like mine in mind.

So if anyone reading this has lymphoedema and has discovered some magical socks that are comfortable, stay up and don't attempt to cut off the circulation to your feet, please let me know.

I would be eternally grateful.

And while we're discussing the less glamorous realities, I'm still self-conscious about my legs.

I don't particularly like how they look in a swimming costume.

But I go swimming anyway.

Which is something I wouldn't necessarily have had the confidence or mobility to do before.

I'm beginning to think that perhaps accepting my body doesn't have to mean loving every single bit of it.

Maybe it just means not allowing the bits I don't love to stop me enjoying my life.

So, has Mounjaro helped my lymphoedema?

This is the question I would have loved someone to answer when I first started my weight-loss journey.

And I wish I could give you a lovely, straightforward answer.

But bodies are complicated things, aren't they?

What I can say is that my ankles are considerably smaller, my mobility has improved enormously and I'm no longer living with the constant knee pain that used to affect almost everything I did.

Those improvements have been genuinely life-changing.

What I can't say is that Mounjaro has cured my lymphoedema.

It hasn't.

I still have swelling. I still have disproportionately large legs. I still have to think about things like socks, boots and how comfortable my legs feel.

And I don't know what will happen in the future.

I'm hoping that maintaining my weight loss and continuing to be active will help me keep the improvements I've experienced, but that's something only time will tell.

I think it's important to be realistic about that, particularly when sharing experiences online.

I'm delighted with the changes I've experienced, but I wouldn't want anyone to think that losing weight or taking Mounjaro guarantees the same outcome for everyone living with lymphoedema.

This is my experience, not a promise of what might happen to somebody else.

Learning to be a little kinder to my legs ❤️

I suppose what I've been thinking about recently is how easy it is to focus on the things that haven't changed.

I've lost eight stone, but I still have lymphoedema.

My ankles are smaller, but they're still swollen.

I've gone down several dress sizes, but I still can't buy absolutely any pair of boots I fancy.

And yes, occasionally that frustrates me.

But then I think about the woman who used to cling to the banister every morning because she was frightened her knees might give way.

The woman who worried about how far she'd have to walk when she went somewhere new.

The woman who couldn't imagine voluntarily walking 10 kilometres.

And I realise that perhaps I've been giving my legs rather a hard time.

They might not look the way I'd like them to.

But they've carried me through an extraordinary couple of years.

They've taken me around Edinburgh, through the streets of London, into the swimming pool and down the stairs without pain.

And now, apparently, they can even fit into a pair of knee-high boots.

I'm not going to pretend I've suddenly stopped caring about how my legs look. I haven't. I'm still human, and I'd still quite like them to be a different shape.

But I'm trying to appreciate them a little more for what they can do, rather than constantly focusing on what they look like.

Because after years of struggling with pain and mobility, being able to get up in the morning and simply get on with my day is something I never want to take for granted.

And if I happen to do that wearing my new boots?

Well, that's just a bonus. 🥾❤️

I'd love to hear from you.

If you're living with lymphoedema and have lost weight, whether through Mounjaro, another GLP-1 medication or a completely different approach, have you noticed any changes?

Has your swelling improved? Are you finding it easier to move around? Or have you had a completely different experience?

And, of course, I'm still taking recommendations for comfortable socks. Some problems apparently require the collective wisdom of the internet. 😂

Please remember that I'm sharing my own experience, not offering medical advice. Lymphoedema affects people differently, and any questions about treatment or managing your condition are best discussed with your healthcare professional.