A Leg to Stand On

So, how is your day going? My day is proof that what one expects when the alarm rings is not always what comes to pass.

When I went to bed last night I had a right leg that looked approximately like the leg at right, only without the trim ankles and good tan. Oh, and with significantly more spider veins, but this is an artist's rendition.

I'm using an artist's rendition because as it turns out, photographing one's own leg is not an easy process. Go ahead and try it. I'll wait.

See? It's difficult, right? I tried to get pictures of my leg, because I simply do not overshare enough on this site, and I ended up with pictures of my skirt, of the hand that then held the skirt out of the way, of the side of my desk, and of half of my right sandal.

But back to our story: The first graphic is the artist rendition of my leg when I went to bed last night. This is the artist rendition of my leg when I woke up this morning:

What the heck? I woke up with a ginormous bruise that covers much of my calf. Because the artist rendering this life form is mostly inept, you don't see the nuance of shading and hue in the browns and greens and purples included in the bruise, or the horrified look on my face when I realized my right leg had spontaneously imploded. And before you ask, no, Husband had not kicked me in the middle of the night.

I went through my mental checklist: Pain? No. Swelling? No. Fever? No. Inability to walk? No.

This obviously was a serious injury, what with so many non-presenting symptoms that probably could kill me, so I called the doctor. Good Dr. D. was properly impressed by the size and coloration of the bruise, and with the help of an ultrasound diagnosed superficial phlebitis probably brought on by the puddle-jumping last week. He quite literally said, "Take some aspirin, and call me in the morning if it's not better."

I do trust Good Dr. D., but I'm afraid a couple of aspirin won't cure this leg.

As bad as it looks, I think we might have to call in a pedicure.