One Foot In The Grave?

Next Friday, in the early hours of the morning, I am having surgery to suture a human skin graft over my open foot ulcer. I have been trying to heal this thing for 5 months. I've kept it clean and infection free – it never got worse, but it never closed. This procedure, then, is a last straw attempt before more invasive (and dangerous) surgery takes pace.
But..it's caused me to wonder...

Although I could never tolerate being a trance medium or channeler (Hey, go get your own larynx!) I do have psychic/mediumistic skills. I have assisted local authorities, helped solve one murder, and frequently was yelled at by my dead mother. So now, a human skin graft is being added to my left ankle. Humm...
“Where is this patch coming from?” I asked my doctor.
“Right here in Jersey.”
“No, I mean the source of the skin.”
“Oh..a donor.”
“As in, 'take my skin, I won't be needing it' kind of donor?”
“Yep.”
A-Ha.
So here I am, a woman who has conversations with dead people, a psychic and sensitive, getting a piece of some deceased person grafted onto my foot. This is a new experience for me. I've had some of my own stuff taken out, but nobody else's anything added on, not even a blood transfusion. What fresh, paranormal hell could I be walking into now? (yes, I see the irony in that last statement. Duh.)

Well, there could be the mild, obvious phenomena, like flashes of memory, dreams involving folks I don't know but who feel familiar. Yet, there are other possible dimensions. Given infinity, there is a chance my left appendage could turn into (what my daughter calls) “zombie foot”.
If this graft “takes” and thrives, is it not like resurrecting a piece of the deceased? If blood cell tissue merges with my own circulatory system, is this not re-animation of “dead” tissue? Could my poor, wounded terminus become “Frankenfoot”? (Or, worse yet, Frankenfuter? Will I wake up one morning with my toe nails painted red, and a black corset bandage hugging my ankle?)

I mean – so many things are possible. What if the donor had an unsavory life and molested children. Would I find my left foot rubbing up and down the legs of my young niece and nephews, under the tables at restaurants? ( Bringing a duel meaning to the word “ped”ophile”)
What if the donor was artistic? Will I awake one morning to find my toes gripping a brush, painting window scenes and flower pots all over my new sheets?
What if he was a psychic himself? Will my leg become the new antenna for “radio free dead guy”? After all, some people get dental work and pick up radio broadcasts on their fillings. Who's to say that this graft won't become the skin head of a virtual message timpani for the dead – organic voice phenomena ? ( Picture Kat, pulling her foot to her ear and saying “I'm sorry, I missed that”.)

Talk to the hand? Huh. Not in my world.

Wish me luck.