O holy night

My orthopedic surgeon told me before surgery that my leg bone had shattered to the point that I needed a very minor bone graft. A small piece of donated bone would be sterilized and then inserted into the gap on my tibia, and my own bone tissue would fuse with it and then begin healing.

This caused me no end of worry. What if my bone donor was ... was ... a MURTHERER??! What if that killer was bad to the bone??! Ba-ba-bad! Ba-ba-bad! What if his evil lived on ... beyond the grave??! And ... resided in my leg! I could be standing on a MUNI platform, peacefully minding my own business, when my murderous limb could kick out savagely, shoving qbear onto the train tracks!

But when I thought about it, I realized:

1. Murderers, being criminals, are more than likely greedy and covetous, and would rarely give anything to strangers, much less donate their body parts.
2. Donating body parts to others is, in fact, a wonderful thing to do. It's a sign of a generous nature and a good soul.
3. It is, in fact ... saintly.

And what's the word for the bone of a saint? A relic.

Ergo ...

I have a holy relic in my leg.