The Story is in the Details

On Monday, I had a rather harrowing mommy experience where I spent a few days in the PICU at Georgetown.

By a few days I mean, a little over twenty-four hours that felt like a lifetime.

I'm not going to go into it, because it's kind of boring and in the end, he's fine and that's not what I'm posting about. I'm posting about these bad boys:

When I left the house, I was in a rush, trying to sip some last minute coffee and add enough blankets to my kid's car seat to keep him warm. I stepped outside, coffee mug in one hand, car seat in the crook of my arm and I looked at the shoes on the floor.

Oh, I'm just going to the ER, I'll be home in a couple hours. It's still wet outside and the boots are easy to slip on.

So, I shoved my feet into my muck boots and off I went.

A day later, I'm clomping around Georgetown's PICU with my rubber boots. I'm riding in the ambulance, with my rubber boots. I'm discussing options with pediatric specialists and GI doctors in-- you guessed it-- my rubber boots.

The nurses laughed. Most asked me what I was doing before I came, or why I had chosen the boots. I live on an old tobacco farm and it was raining. 

In the ER I had to actually say, quite possible the most redneck thing in my life--- uhh, I have a dollar in my boot, can you get me a soda?

I clomped through the hospital, with all the young and pretty PICU nurses daintily stepping around me (they are all young and pretty in pediatrics).

When I told this story to my best friend, she told me about the time she rushed to the ER with her oldest, while on a beach vacation...in her swimsuit.

I think I prefer the boots.

Are the details telling a story in your writing? My boots told people an awful lot about me and my situation-- a powerful detail requiring minimal space.