Why this is called Ankle Rolls

That line between the expression of melodrama and trauma is miniscule, it's nearly impossible not to step over. So before I write any more, I want to admit I'm likely to cross it as I struggle to find a way to convey what happened. Haven't I already, with oceans of tears on my pillow? All I can do is ask for your patience and understanding that I will always be my own biggest critic.

About a week before Oct. 21, 2007, I was nearly six and a half months pregnant and aside from a gag reflex on hyperdrive, had had no negative symptoms. (Unless you count utter denial about the pregnancy a negative symptom.) The baby had just begun to seriously make herself known through movement and kicks (though I felt her from at least before the third month.) And then I looked down and realized my ankles had become so fat, they actually had rolls.

I was pissed.

The only flippin' thing on my body that wasn't fat and now it had rolls. The injustice.

So I pondered and came up with this clever title. I thought maybe it'd help cement the reality of this pregnancy, to write clever ditties about it. To draw in admiring women who nodded in understanding. But I didn't have a chance to come back to this blog until now.

For about three nights, I started to have trouble breathing and thus I got very little sleep. I simply could not catch my breath. On that third morning, the 21st, I called my consulting nurse line, sure I was coming down with the flu. But there were no other symptoms. And nothing wrong with me aside from fat ankles.

The nurse told me to go in to urgent care. I was frustrated. Urgent care took effort and energy I didn't have, meant uprooting my family and dragging them with me for something I was sure would self-resolve. But I went.

The admitting triage nurse was going off shift, was in fact overdue as she had no problem complaining to me, so rushed me through and didn't indicate any problems when assessing me, taking my blood pressure, etc. When I was called back into a room, though, another nurse and the doctor rushed in.

"You need to relax," the nurse kept repeating. "You need to relax."

I yawned as I told her it didn't get any more relaxed.

But she kept telling me. "You need to relax."

Beginning to worry, I asked why. And though I didn't know it at the time, would not fully take it in until I was on the hospital bed with the oceans of tears at the sides of my head, that's when this all began.

"You need to relax."