Of all the post-surgery gripes I was expecting, this wasn’t on the list.
My left foot, which has been suspended from duty whilst my graft settles, has rebelled by turning purple. It’s just an accessory to the hard-working right foot, but it’s drawing more attention to itself than my poor knee.
It’s not down to negligence – I’ve been elevating my entire leg and keeping it swathed in a plastic refrigerator sleeve that constricts my leg as a python would, and numbs the skin with biting icy water. Now my nerves are flicking back to life, strapping this on feels like a punishment.
The podgy foot seems to be shrinking in length, while the other is pale and flattened by the sole burden of carrying me. It’s so alien in colour and size. It makes me feel queasy.
I had planned on giving my nails a dollop of varnish to cheer them up, but I don’t dare in case they turn a warning shade of blue. My foot could audition for a zombie movie.
Luckily, I’m not obliged to squeeze it into any footwear as I’m not leaving the house. If I did, I’d probably have to settle for something unseemly like Crocs.
Sharing is caring, so I sent this picture to some close friends. There wasn’t much sympathy. Some silently recoiled in disgust and changed the subject, while others blurted out ‘gross’ and sent emoticons I can’t view properly as I haven’t upgraded my IoS yet. What I see instead is an alien skull, which doesn’t do much for my confidence.
Tom suggested that my operation was a ruse, and that my ankle tag revealed I was actually under house arrest. Love you all.