It was 11 p.m.
Logan picked up the cups from the desk and carried them to the sink. He planned to sleep early tonight, something he hadn’t managed to do for weeks. His legs, still healing from infected eczema, burned and itched beneath the bandages wrapped tightly around his shins.
That morning, both legs had been dressed carefully. The bandages were meant to protect him from scratching in his sleep. At least now, he could rest without waking up to bloodied skin.
A Body That Refused to Heal
Logan had been battling a particularly aggressive bout of cellulitis. The first course of antibiotics failed. The second worked, but triggered an allergic reaction. His shins erupted in rashes and thick, dry skin that cracked and peeled.
A third antibiotic followed, along with two doses pumped directly into his veins. The infection finally retreated. The dryness did not.
Whenever his hands were free from the keyboard or his phone, they drifted toward his legs. He peeled the dead skin absentmindedly while lying in bed. The doctor had warned him to leave it alone and let it fall off naturally.
He tried. He failed.
The Doctor’s Warning
That morning, things worsened. A locum doctor ordered blood tests and examined the wounds closely. Logan told him he didn’t want to go to the hospital. There would be no one to take care of his dog.
The doctor explained the risks calmly.
If untreated, the bacteria could enter the bloodstream. Sepsis could damage his organs or kill him. Another possibility was necrosis, which could lead to amputation. He emphasized that these were possibilities, not certainties. The situation, for now, wasn’t that severe.
If Logan’s white blood cell count was elevated, hospitalization would be necessary. Potent antibiotics would be administered under close monitoring. The locum mentioned several drug names. Logan remembered none of them.
Good News, For Now
The nurse returned with the results. The locum studied them, then nodded.
The white blood cell count was within an acceptable range. Logan would be treated as an outpatient with oral antibiotics. Daily dressing changes were required. By the time the nurse finished, his legs looked like something out of a horror film, wrapped thickly like a mummy’s.
Family, Distance, and Unspoken Fear
Logan updated his family on WhatsApp. He left out the part about sepsis and amputation. His mother didn’t need that worry.
He messaged a close friend, a dermatologist and surgeon. She offered to examine the wounds. Logan declined politely and promised to reach out if things worsened.
He told his son. His son was busy but called later, offering to return home to care for the dog if needed. Logan told him not to worry. If it were heart surgery, maybe. Not for this.
Collapse
Back in the house, Logan entered the kitchen.
As he set the cups down, a realization hit him.
Minutes earlier, he had collapsed onto the living room floor, clutching his chest. He had called 999.
Logan turned toward the glass door.
He saw himself lying motionless on the floor.
The Dog Who Wouldn’t Give Up
His dog stood over him, sniffing, whining softly. The dog pawed at his chest and barked gently, trying to wake him.
Logan used to pretend to faint as a game. His dog would panic, work desperately to rouse him, and Logan would eventually laugh and sit up.
Not this time.
The dog pawed harder. He licked Logan’s face, barked louder, circled him anxiously. Logan did not move.
Sirens
Two minutes later, sirens cut through the night.
An ambulance pulled up outside the house. Red and blue lights washed across the walls.
The dog turned toward the sound and barked at the intruders.
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