By all counts, I shouldn't even be here.

God, however, had other plans.

I enjoyed good health until back in October.  I accidentally nicked my ankle when I struck it on a chair leg; didn't think too much of it, but that night, it started hurting.  Within a few hours, it was hurtins so bad it pulled me out of a deep sleep.

I got out of bed, so I could turn on the light, to look at my throbbing ankle.  Walking was extremely painful and the pain was so bad it would make me wince and/or cry out.  When I saw my ankle, I was shocked to see my entire foot (and the lower part of my leg) had swollen to twice its normal size and was an angry red in color, with blisters popping out around my ankle.

I got scared, so I called out for my husband.  When he saw what was going on, he took me immediately to the nearest hospital emergency room.

I was immediately rushed to the nearest treatment room where doctors looked at me.  They told me I needed surgery.  I couldn't understand.  I was totally confused (or was it from the fever?  I felt hot and cold, often shaking violently as another chill invaded my body).  I looked at my husband, begging him to explain what was going on with me.  He had no answers except to say that I was very sick.

That was the last thing I remember before waking up in the ICU, all sorts of wires and other medical paraphenalia hooked up to me.  I couldn't talk because I had a tube in my throat and it was very uncomfortable.  I was relieved to see my husband sitting beside me; he had his head on the bed, where he was sleeping softly.  A nurse shook him awake, telling him that his wife was awake and had opened her eyes.

My husband grabbed my hands in his, tears glistening on his cheeks, as he began to cry and tried to relate what had happened to me.  Apparently, some bacteria had gotten into the cut on my ankle and it spread throughout my leg at a very rapid rate.  I had developed a rare (and deadly) overwhelming bacterial infection known as necrotizing fasciitis, or "flesh-eating disease".  He said I nearly died; I was at death's door only hours after I had been brought in to the emergency room. 

Henry said that they took off the badly infected areas, in the hopes of sloughing off the infection; I lost the lower part of my leg in order to save my life.  They had no other choice. 

At the news, I cried.  I was an amputee.  I had most of my leg, thank God, but I didn't have a foot.  I would have to have rehab and physical therapy to teach me how to walk again.  I would have to walk with crutches and eventually, down the road, a prosthetic foot.  Hopefully, as I got more confident and gained more practice, I would eventually ditch the crutches and learn to walk under my own power.

I am glad to say that I have just about completely healed, but I will always have the scars and my missing foot as a reminder of what I had endured.  I was depressed for a while, but Henry, the kids, and God all got me through it.  We ended up having Christmas late and it was a huge celebration full of love, laughter, tears (of joy), and thanking God for bringing me through the valley and back onto the mountaintop.

I am still tooling around on crutches, but I am shooting for spring to get rid of them.  Still not quite confident on my prosthetic foot, but in time, I will get brave enough to walk on it and bearing full weight on it.  It will take time and I know I will have bad days, but I just have to trust in God completely and keep the faith going strong.

I don't know what the future will hold for me, but one thing IS for certain:  I hope never to get that sick again; once was more than enough!

~To be continued.~