The transition from Blog Pals to Oh My GAHHHHHH Make Her STOP takes a little longer, but not too much. Roll your eyes silently if you've heard this one already sixteen times.
cankle: An obese or otherwise swollen ankle that blends into the calf without clear demarcation
After the birth of my first baby, Smedley, I was resting quietly on top
on my blankets in the hot stuffy hospital room, watching "The Today
Show." In walked a short plump blond nurse, brisk and friendly and
efficient. "Good morning," she sang. "I need to check you out."
No, this is not one of those stories, so guys, don't run away.
Before any examination began, the nurse looked at my ankles, which had been swollen before the baby was born but which looked like my everyday ankles at this point.
"Oh, look how swollen your ankles are," she said, and noted it on her chart. I blinked. Really? They looked fine to me. Better than fine, actually, considering they had been elevated for 12 hours, and considering I have tree trunks for ankles in the first place. I didn't say anything.
That evening a different nurse -- the physical opposite of my breakfast nurse in every way -- breezed in to check me out. One look at her tall, slender frame, and I figured she would be horrified by my elephantine swollen ankles, and possibly leave a nasty note on my chart. I looked at the offending ankles. They hadn't changed a bit from my vantage point. Was I a failure as a patient? Would I lose favor with the nursing staff? Would they let me keep my baby? I was doomed.
"Oh, would you look at that," she cooed as she checked out my enormous hooves. "Not a bit of swelling!" And she scratched something onto my chart.
I looked at my feet. I hadn't noticed how lovely they were -- I should be a foot model, really. Such graceful curves up to those perfect, swelling-free ankles. I was proud.
I spent a second night at the hospital. The next morning during "The Today Show," in marched the little round blond nurse again to check me over. I was eager to show off my svelte ankles. She glanced at them.
"Ankles still swollen, I see," she said, scribbling a note on my chart.
The moral of this story is
a) you cannot judge a book by its cover. Short fat nurses are more body-critical than tall thin nurses.
b) beauty is in the eye of the beholder. If we could just control people's eyesight we could rule the world.
c) hospital food is somehow to blame. Mine was delicious and I ate it all.
d) people who watch "The Today Show" get what they deserve.