There! Now Isn't That Better?

These pix are from Sunday night.

What a difference, huh?

Much less red. Much less swollen.

Taking pix from this angle makes my legs look like hams.

And I realize my boo-boos and bruises and 48-year-old skin and muscles and veins are no longer in that *Gorgeousness Of Youth* phase most of us get to have.

It's not that part of me doesn't care, at least a little, about the change in my physical appearance. Sure. For a minute, here and there. Especially when people avert their eyes from me in horror. And yes, that happens.

But I really, really mean this: I always knew that appearance mattered NOTHING up against things like character. And that I'd rather have all my parts - even beat-up and funky-looking - than perfectly pretty everywhere but missing a leg.


I'm very good at compartmentalizing. So maybe next week I'll open up this box that says, *The 10/20/06 MRSA That Almost Lost the Leg.* When I'm ready, I will. This was a very, very close call. Closer than I ever want to come again.