The price of beauty (Part 2: emergency room edition)

I have always had big feet. By the time I was through puberty, I was basically wearing a size 10 (though I still claimed a 9). In hindsight, this is a completely respectable shoe size for a girl nearly 6 feet tall. It is not as freakish as I thought then. 10 is perfect, right? 10 is tiny. And, most importantly, 10 is available at every major retailer in the country.

Then I had babies. Thankfully, I did not grow a shoe size with every pregnancy. Just every 2. So, there you have it. I now wear a delicate size 12. And I have a 36 inch inseam (which most stores don't even stock for men). So shopping is a nightmare for me. I've always hated it. I remember the nightmare that shopping for my first communion dress was. We went to every department store and every bridal shop in a 100 mile radius and spent a half dozen weekends to finally find a white dress speckled with purple flowers that both my mom and I agreed was perfectly acceptable. You know, as opposed to the alternative which would have probably been my school uniform skirt. When I shopped for my wedding dress one clerk helpfully informed me that wedding dresses were designed for women who were 5'9. This was very useful for me, though as I didn't get married in 6th grade I wasn't quite sure what to do with the information. I ended up having to add trim to the bottom of my dress so it would reach the floor as it was supposed to. Lucky for me, in that instance, it turned out okay as my mom's brilliant seamstress friend added fur for my February wedding, and people still talk about it (in a good way).

So finding cute, stylish clothes that fit is my constant Waterloo. I am infinitely grateful for the internet as it has opened the option of women's clothes to me for the first time in my life. I admit that I wore men's pants until I was about 30. What choice did I have? Many have suggested plus sizes as an option, but they really aren't. I'm certainly not fit nor especially skinny, but I have a tiny bust and long, skinny arms and (in the distant past) legs. I'm not plus size, I'm freakishly long. I'm not claiming it is any more attractive, just that they are different fit challenges (ask me sometime about my adventure in shopping in Madrid when my luggage had been lost).

So, imagine my utter delight to discover Zappos. They don't just have cute shoes for us ski feet. They offer free overnight shipping--BOTH WAYS! Finally, finally, a retailer that doesn't grudgingly offer a few styles in the giant sizes (most of them looking best suited for nurses or nuns), but instead features a dazzling array of styles, colors, shapes. It is a dream. I think I missed the opportunity to be counted among the true shoe fanatics--what a life of frustration and misery that would have been for me--but it is nice to not have to settle for the one style that meets the color and occasion and size in every shoe buying opportunity.

So I bought these. I felt so fabulous in them. I love red. They are a bit pricey, especially for someone who has been marooned at Payless for the last 3 decades, but I didn't care. I wore them with a black and white outfit on Wednesday.

They were a little snug in the heel--I ended up with blisters on both heels. But it was nothing a couple of bandaids couldn't fix. So I thought.

On Thursday the blister on my left leg still hurt. A lot. I wore sandals to work and didn't worry too much about it. Ditto Friday. I briefly considered canceling my scheduled pedicure for that afternoon, but it was long overdue and nearly impossible to schedule (due to my availability, not the nail shop's). I hated to give up my time, so I went through with it.

I was delighted with the result. See? Big feet can be beautiful. (When I tell my girls the story of Cinderella, I tell them that the glass slipper was too BIG for everyone in the kingdom EXCEPT Cinderella. Take that, you big feet bigots!).

By Friday night, however, I realized there was a problem. My whole ankle around the blister was sore and turning hot and red. I was starting to feel achy and shivery. I called my mom who said I should probably get checked out. I called Ask-A-Nurse and she said it could wait until regular doctor's office hours. I asked my husband and he looked at me like I was utterly insane. I decided not to go. After supper Friday night, my Mom and Dad stopped by to check on me. Mom looked concerned, and she is not the overprotective-get-your-butt-to-the-doctor-every-time-you-sniffle type mom. To the contrary. When I needed emergency surgery in college, she made me wait to go to the hospital until she had picked the boys up from karate. I mean, she's no overprotective wimp.

So I went to the emergency room. And now I am on antibiotics and trapped in my house with my leg elevated. They diagnosed me with cellulitis and gave me a prescription for tylenol with codeine. The ER doctor gave me a note excusing me from work for the next two days (which, my luck, happen to be Saturday and Sunday--she couldn't give me an excuse to give up cooking, cleaning, and taking care of my kids).

This is what it looks like. The black ink is where they drew around the red, inflamed area, and by this morning, you can see that it had overrun those boundaries. I'm 3 doses into my antibiotics and hopeful that by tomorrow it will look better. I'm supposed to go back to my regular doctor on Monday. (But aren't my toes pretty?)

See what happens when we of the giant feet try to be cool? It puts us in the hospital.

I'm going back to my nun shoes.