(Picture of my leg a week after it was broken. NO, I am not wearing nylons. That's the real color of my leg after surgery, due to the internal bruising of shoving a titanium rod inside the bone. Believe it or not, it was way more yellow a few days before. Note the contrast of the pink leg next to it.)
Hebrew Bible Theories class today: I hadn't made it into my chair before my teacher Jared Ludlow asked me, "how's your leg?" It always strikes me as odd that people who should have no clue that my leg was broken at all (Dr. Ludlow found out from my parents at church) still remember that it was busted when I often forget it myself.
I had to laugh. I'd just finished an hour and a half of Advanced Irish Dance (phew! what a workout!) and had run across campus from the RB to the kennedy center so I'd be on time to class. How's my leg? he asks. "Oh, it's just fine. I'm on a dance team, " I said with a smile.
Really, I do forget. Trust me, this is a fact I am VERY grateful for. I can't believe how blessed I've been. Sure, I feel a twinge every so often (like in Irish when I'm constantly leaping and bouncing and I can feel the bone-screw near my knee) but generally I'll forget my leg was broken. I fly up the stairs at the speed of roadrunner, oblivious to the memory of having to hop one-footed up each stair individually while grabbing onto the bannister bars to hoist myself up. MAN AM I LUCKY.