The Blue Slippers

We are coming up on the two year anniversary of Doc. B.’s broken ankle. Most of you have heard the story of “the blue slippers” but for posterity’s sake, I’m recording it here. Plus, it kind of goes with "the blue mailbox" don't you think?

So just about 2 years ago, I was in Michigan for a long weekend to help celebrate the birthdays of my baby sister and one of my nieces. The day before I was to return to Atlanta, my cell phone rang. It was Doc. B. calling me from the emergency room at Piedmont Hospital. She said “I’m okay, but my ankle is not”. She reported that it had been drizzling that morning and that she had slipped on the front porch when she went out to get the newspaper. The first thing out of my mouth, after “are you are okay” of course, was: “did you have on the blue slippers”?

You see, I knew those slippers were a hazard. I too had worn them out on the porch one morning and while I slipped, I was able to catch myself and stop myself from falling. But this was not before a significant hydroplaning event. Heck, you might as well call it ice skating.

When I took off for Michigan, I left my blue slippers near the front door but did not think anything about it. Doc. B. has her own slippers, why would she wear mine? Well, I’m sure she wore mine for convenience. She had just made a fresh pot of coffee and all she wanted was to quickly go outside, bring in the newspaper and enjoy her Sunday morning. Hindsight is 20/20; I should have told her about the slippers.

Thankfully our neighbor’s home was in view as Doc. B. lay on the porch, in pain, contemplating what to do next. She saw that cars were in the driveway. Somehow she got herself back into the house and called our friends across the street. Within minutes, the "Mercedes ambulance” pulled up and, after a cup of coffee, the neighbors and Doc. B. were on their way to the ER. Doc. B.’s sister and nephew came later in the morning to take over and transport her back home. She would have to have surgery and would need to see an orthopaedist to correct the ankle – it was broken in three places and would require an ORIF (open reduction internal fixation). In other words, she now has screws and a metal plate as well as a pretty scar.

Well, it’s now been two years since that fateful day. The slippers were thrown away shortly after I arrived home from Michigan – I’m surprised Doc. B. didn’t burn them before I showed up at the doorstep…