It occurred to me that I've never posted pictures of my bad foot. This is going to be a little disgusting, so if feet gross you out, you might want to skip this one. My feet are exceptionally gross.
I'm sure you can tell which of my feet is the bad one even though my good one has fewer toes. You will also be able to surmise that I will never be the object of affection for a foot fetishist. I show that for comparison. Let's remove the bandage.
Look at that horrible lump I've been walking on for years. Now you see why I get around on a leg brace, which is designed to make the heel of my foot take the brunt of my weight when walking. None of the weight goes on the first half of my foot, which is possibly how I got by so long without losing said foot.
We're about to get really gross now, because here's that hole in my foot.
Yeeeeeeeeeikes. You can see why it's so reluctant to close itself. That patch of dead skin it's on is really difficult to heal. I can see new skin through the hole, but it might never reach the surface because of this patch, which can't be removed without a full amputation.
OK, one more picture, and then I'm done.
In case you were wondering, my dead toe is the second from the bottom. It doesn't look too bad for a dead digit, but you can tell it's a little different from the other toes if you look closely. If, for some insane reason, you wish to do so.
Now that you're more familiar with my feet than you ever cared to be, nighty-night. Or, as Gramps used to say, "Good night, sleep tight, pleasant dreams and all that kinda gas." Except he pronounced it "gazz."
Here's something I've never told anyone before. At least, I don't think I have. There's a great big patch of my thirties that can't be accounted for. But my mom used to say the same thing to me every night while tucking me in as a child: "Bonsoir, mon ami. Je'taime, John Paul Bruni." She was a rabid Francofile.
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