Speaking of Ice

In mid-March of 1968, I was walking to the bus stop on my way to Detroit General Hospital and managed to find the very last piece of ice in the entire City of Detroit.  I not only found it, I slipped on it. 

In a 'never say die' moment, I got up and continued my walk to the bus stop.  I got on the bus and rode from Eight Mile and Gratiot to St. Antoine and Gratiot.  When I went to stand up, I could barely balance.  I struggled off the bus and realized there was no way I was going to make my way to the hospital, two blocks away.  Something was definitely wrong.

I hailed a cab, got in and told the driver where I was going.  He turned around and looked at me and said 'Lady, you're two blocks away'.  I told him I knew where I was, but could not walk there.  I then told him to drive me to the ER entrance. 

Once we got there, like two seconds later, I told him to go into the building, make a right into the blood bank and tell one of my co-workers to get a wheelchair.  Next thing I knew they were all streaming out of the building to get me into the ER.

Well, it was a busy morning and no one could get around to taking care of me.  So, I stayed in the chair, pushed my way around the lab, and busied myself typing and cross-matching blood. 

Eventually a doctor showed up, had me get an x-ray, and later informed me that I had indeed broken my tibia, about two inches above the ankle.  More waiting for someone to have time to set the leg.  Well, I was in a walking cast for the next four weeks.

I don't know if you have ever taken a bad fall on ice, but to this day, almost 43 years later, I am still terrified of being out on icy walks.  When there was ice on the drive on trash day a few weeks ago, I loaded up the trunk of my car and drove down the driveway.  Just call me a sissy.  I can take it.  I've been called worse.