This Was My Foot

This was my foot.

​It might have only been one single bacterium, poised for the chance to colonise. He might have waited his whole life, limited as it might be, waiting for the moment that I stood on broken glass in my own kitchen. His chance to breed, colonise, invade my skin, muscles, tendons, blood, body. Sepsis.​

​Having spent its first 20 years of life growing up, running, jumping, hiking and climbing, my foot spent its next 8 years at the centre of an internal struggle, unbeknown to many. Savagely painful and deformed by infection, it remained hidden behind a smile and a laugh. It was this cloak of joy perhaps, which made it so hard for some people to understand my decision.

'It's time to bin it off.'

I was surprised to find such peace and familiarity in my decision, once made. The restless nights and tears and grief-filled chats with friends now suddenly felt resolved. The decision which once felt insurmountable, now felt as easy as any other - Should I leave the house today? Should I wear pants today? Should I eat Nutella out of the jar today? 

And so it began.