Adams filled a syringe. “You know better than this, Mimi.” He prepared the antibiotic injection and came to my bedside. “Cora is downstairs worried sick. The Hendersons are blaming themselves, but this falls on you. Your feet are infected. If you don’t take care of them, you may lose them.” I swallowed and nodded. Dr. Adams had never been stern with me. I couldn’t see my feet because of the huge bandages, but I could assume they were not good. “I’m going to give you several shots, including tetanus. Then oral antibiotics. Also something for pain. Take your medicine and soak those feet. Stay off them. Are we clear?” My head moved up and down. He motioned for me to roll over and pull up my nightgown. I felt the jab of the needle in my hip. “Thank you for coming to the house.” Dr. Adams was one of the few doctors who still made house calls, but it was normally limited to the elderly and shut-ins—people who had trouble getting into town to the doctor’s office or the hospital.
