“David,” I whispered, shaking his shoulder. “Wake up. We’re going to the hospital.”
He blinked sleepily and laughed. “Honey, it’s just a rash.”
Ezoic
But I couldn’t stop shaking. “No,” I said, my voice trembling. “I’ve never seen anything like this. Please, let’s go now.”
He sighed but finally agreed. Within thirty minutes, we were in the car, speeding toward Memphis General Hospital.
Panic in the Emergency Room
At first, everything felt routine. The nurse took David’s temperature and blood pressure while I tried to steady my breathing. But when the doctor entered, examined his back, and froze mid-sentence, the air in the room changed.
He turned pale and shouted to the nurse, “Call the police — now!”
I felt my stomach drop. “The police? For what?” I cried.
The doctor didn’t answer immediately. Within moments, two more medical staff rushed in, covering David’s back with sterile sheets and whispering urgently. The doctor turned to me, his face grave.
“Has your husband worked with chemicals recently?”
“Yes,” I stammered. “He’s in construction. He’s been on a new site for the last few months.”
The doctor nodded slowly. “Then that explains part of it.”
