I'm slowly doing better. I can breathe without oxygen, and climb a flight of stairs without gasping for air. My voice sounds normal. I'm still gaining weight, and am now either a size 0 or 2, not a 0 petite--being a size less than zero always made me feel uncomfortably like a character in a Brett Easton Ellis novel.
The wound on my foot is still in the process of closing, 14 months after the botched surgery: the wound is about two inches long and is closing at a rate of about a millimeter every two weeks. The doctors had originally thought I would lose about a third of my foot, so I'll take what I can get. (Note to Dr. Karwowski: not only did I not lose "a chunk" of my little toe, the nail is even growing back!)
We even went on vacation last week. It was a little too cold to read Harry Potter on the beach, the way I'd planned, so I spent a lot of time just watching Kylie building sand castles and jumping in the waves. It doesn't get much better than that, bad foot and oxygen machine or not.
Of course, I could have done without her asking whether we could go to the pool instead of the beach 87 times every day (before breakfast), but you can't have everything.