My severed femoral head sits in the garden, while the microbes pick it clean before it bleaches in the sun. It's grown lighter while it's been in the ground. The original worn-away patch of cartilage, about the size of a 50-cent piece, is now bigger - about half of the surface. The worn-away area reminded me of my elbows - as a child my sharp elbows were always carving out similar sized holes in jerseys and cardigans. But they were easier to patch. My femoral head also sports osteophytes - extra bone growing around the bottom, in a vain attempt to repair itself. The body tries so hard to cope and compensate. And on its underneath, where the saw separated it from the femur, the honeycomb interior of the bone is revealed.
So, there's a piece of my skeleton in the garden, a piece of an untold story. What is its story? I invite you to contribute your version, for publication on my plog. For inspiration, here are photos of my femoral head - fresh from the freezer and after 10 weeks in the garden.
Contributions:
I have had to disable the form due to boring spammers.
I'm thinking about starting a new call for stories, with the title, "the spammer's severed head"
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