Flowers Are Not Safe

By Krista RasporSeptember 12, 2026

“I hope you don’t mind,” she says. “I went ahead and added this floral embellishment.” Ellen runs her fingers, nails painted pale pink, over the silicone-studded band that will keep my custom compression garment snug around my right thigh. Ellen is my new garment fitter. She parts her hair and color-coordinates her outfits the way professional, confident women do. Her shoes match her belt. Her belt matches the silk scarf loosely knotted around her neck. She looks at me. I look at her. “Try it on,” she says, flashing her beautiful veneers. She closes the door behind her. I bend over to take off my beat up Adidas, staring past my misshapen socks hiding my misshapen feet. I’ve been wearing a compression garment since I could crawl. I was born with a rare vascular disorder. It’s genetic, a random mutation. 1 in 100,000. That statistic has never made me feel special. I take off my socks, careful to avoid touching my feet. Whenever I have to, I touch them the same way I hold a dead mouse when I carry it from the trap to the garbage. I hate my compression garment. I hate the sound of the word garment. […]

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