The Red Marks
Tiny red bumps covered his back. At first, there were only a few. But over the next few days, more appeared — dozens of them, grouped together in strange, symmetrical patterns.
They looked almost like small clusters of insect eggs under his skin.
My heart raced. Something was terribly wrong.
“David, wake up!” I cried, shaking him. “We need to go to the hospital right now!”
He chuckled sleepily. “Relax, honey, it’s just a rash.”
But I couldn’t calm down. “No,” I said, trembling. “This isn’t normal. Please, let’s go.”
The Hospital Panic
We drove straight to Memphis General Hospital. The doctor examined David’s back — and his calm expression changed instantly.
He turned pale and shouted to the nurse, “Call 911 — now!”
My stomach dropped. Call the police? For a rash?
“What’s happening?” I asked, my voice shaking. “What’s wrong with him?”
The doctor didn’t answer. Within seconds, two more nurses came in. They covered David’s back with sterile sheets and started asking questions:
“Has your husband been around any chemicals recently?”
“What does he do for work?”
“Has anyone else in your family had these symptoms?”
I stammered, “He works construction. He’s been on a new site these past months. He’s been tired, but we thought it was just from overworking.”
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