The double Amputee model walking Tall on The RUNWAY

Stacy Paris had to get both her legs amputated after contracting a potentially fatal flesh-eating bug. but instead of hiding away, she became a fashion model with a head for heights. the 31-yearold gutsy woman from stirling, scotland, tells her story

packing my suitcase, I folded my dresses and skirts as small as possible. I needed the space for my shoes. I was an addict and had 60 pairs ranging from strappy sandals to skyscraper heels.

“That’s probably enough,” I thought, closing my case. I’d managed to fit 10 pairs for my upcoming holiday. I was off to Antibes, in France, to visit my boyfriend, who was at university over there. “Shall we go sightseeing?” I asked when I arrived, but he shook his head. “I have an essay to write,” he said. So, over the next week, I went to Monaco, Nice and Cannes. Alone.

To make matters worse, I came down with flu. Shivering, and aching all over, I refused to go to bed. I’d taken time off from my job for this trip. I wasn’t going to miss exploring the south of France.

I flew home, sure my relationship was over. I still felt unwell and was now limping. The big toe on my left foot was sore and red.

I forced myself to go for a night out with my friends. By the end of the evening, I couldn’t put any weight on that foot, and searing pains shot through it every time I tried to walk. I went to the A&E department at the local hospital in Stirling, Scotland. “We’ll need to operate,” a doctor said. “It’s infected.” I called my mum, and she arrived just as I was being taken to the theatre. When I woke up, she was looking worried. “The tissue and bone in your toe has completely disintegrated,” the doctor standing next to her said. “We need to amputate it.”

“No, you can’t!” I screamed. Then they explained I had Necrotising Fasciitis — a flesh-eating bug. “If we don’t remove your toe, the infection could spread.” I burst out crying. “You’ll be okay, love,” Mum said as they wheeled me away.

When I woke up after the procedure, the doctors warned the bug was aggressive. “It could return,” they said.

Over the next two weeks, mum, my brother Graeme and my nana were constantly by my side. A week later, I was allowed home.

Soon, I was up and about. I even went back to work. But two months later, the pain came back in the fourth toe of my left foot. It had to be amputated. I was disappointed, but not hysterical like last time. “There’ll be no more opentoe sandals for me,” I said.

Over the next three years, a horrible pattern emerged. I’d get back on my feet and then the searing pains would come back, and I’d need another operation.

Surgeons removed more bones and tissue and all the toes on my left foot. “No more flip-flops then,” I told mum. “I can flip, but I can’t flop.” It wasn’t funny really, but I couldn’t wallow in self pity.

Finally, the flesh on my left foot went black, and there was no other choice: it had to come off. But doctors weren’t sure that they would be able to stop the bug spreading unless they took the leg too.

I could cope without my toes, and maybe my foot. But how could I walk without a leg? “It’s the only way to make sure we get it all,” my consultant said. In July 2012, I went into hospital to have my left leg amputated just below the knee. I was scared. But I wanted to live: left untreated, this could spread and kill me. So I said a mental goodbye to my leg and steeled myself. “Maybe I can get a 50 per cent discount on shoes now,” I joked.

When I came round, I looked down and saw the sheet flat below my