Six Pairs of Thick Gray Socks Saved My White House on Elm Street

years ago.

“Sit right up here, Martha, and let us have a look at those feet,” Dr. Albert said, his voice quiet and steady.

I climbed onto the examination table, my joints cracking in the quiet room as I pulled off my boots and my thin cotton socks. My heels were white, dry, and cracked like old river mud in a drought.

Dr. Albert leaned continue reading …