That?s what the doctor told me as I lay in a hospital bed.
The blinding, florescent lights buzzed overhead, and my nostrils filled with that bleach hospital smell, overpowering me in the cramped, chilly room.
My wife squeezed my hand, tears streaming down her cheeks.
?No,? she cried. ?He can?t live the rest of his life in a wheelchair.?
?Without the amputation,? the doctor told me, ?you?ll be dead within a year.?