All of my writing is fiction and the characters are products of my imagination. All characters in this story are 18 years of age or older.
The writing here about septic shock is from personal experience, and the therapists described in the story were greatly inspired by the therapists that cared for me.
I hope you enjoy the story and thanks for taking the time to read it. Ratings and comments are greatly appreciated.
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"How far you going tonight?" Zac asked, stuffing two squares of his Hershey bar into his mouth.
"Eight miles, I think," Sim answered, shaking his head.
"What?"
"The Hershey bar."
"Yeah, they were out of the ones with almonds, so I had to settle." He waved the half-bar remaining at Sim. "They're good calories."
"You mean they taste good, right?"
"That too," Zac laughed. "Did you enter the Lawson Lake run?"
"Yep, and it's some kind of charity thing, so the entry fee was thirty bucks."
"You think you've got a shot?"
"It's up by the university, and I'm betting they'll have the whole cross country team running. I'll be happy with top five. Legs are starting to feel the results of too many hard races."
"You're allowed to take time off and rest, you know."
Zac got a stern look after saying that.
"Yeah, that won't happen, will it?"
"Not likely; it's not in my character."
"You gonna throw in a fall marathon?"
"I hate marathons; you know that."
"You've mentioned it, but you still do them."
"Only when I've forgotten what the last one was like." Sim laughed when he said that--he wasn't there yet, thank God.
"Have a good run; I'm heading home for dinner."
"Hope you have the chocolate gone before you get there."
"If I don't, Jean will help out."
"Tell her hello."
"See ya, man." Zac headed for his car, peeling away the wrapper on the last of the chocolate bar.
"Don't toss that wrapper on my driveway," he called after Zac, who extended a middle finger in Sim's direction.
Simeon Mcfarland went inside his house and took the stairs two at a time, his usual method of getting to the second floor, even at bedtime. He hated to waste a chance for a little extra conditioning. He undressed, then pulled on his running gear, carefully double-knotting his shoelaces. He was planning a moderate eight miles today, probably around six-thirty per mile, in anticipation of Saturday's race.
The run completed, Sim was in the kitchen chugging ice water when he heard a car pull into the driveway. Glancing out the window, he smiled. It was almost always a good day when Melissa stopped by to see him. One of these days, he planned to propose to her. She'd been divorced for ten years now, long enough to be single, he'd decided, and he was ready to take the big step for the first time. Thirty-eight years was long enough for him to be single.
"Hey, babe," he said as she came through the front door.
"Looks like you just finished a run."
"Eight miles."
"I'd give you a hug, but you're kind of disgusting."
Sim tried to watch her face when she said that, never quite sure whether she was kidding him or was serious. He knew that his running wasn't one of her favorite things, and she occasionally let him know that.
"How about a kiss, then."
Melissa puckered up, so much pucker that her lips extended well past the end of her nose. No chance of any sweat being transferred. Sim matched her and received a very brief and unsatisfying kiss.
"How was work?"
"Normal. People are idiots."
"Normal idiots?" Sim asked, laughing.
"Yeah. They say, 'What? You expect me to work eight hours every day and start at six-thirty? What if I need to do something else?' No sense of responsibility or reliability. And the managers yelling that I'm not sending them good people. If I could find them, I'd send them."
Sim decided he'd asked a simple question but the wrong question. He knew when Melissa was even slightly riled, things didn't go well. He might have to tiptoe a bit.
"How about you?"
"Two customers asking for explanations, which I had, and then plowing through lots of statistics. Sounds exciting, huh?"
A snide chuckle. "Not very exciting, but I know what will be exciting; going to the Italian festival on Saturday. I can hardly wait." Her face had broken out into a huge smile.
But, a chill raced down Sim's spine. This wasn't going to be good.
Melissa noticed the lack of a matching smile on Sim's face. Hers disappeared. "What?" she snapped.
"I'm running the Lawson Lake race on Saturday."
"The festival starts at three and goes into the evening. Your run's in the morning, isn't it?"
"Not this one. It's at three."
"Shit," Melissa said under her breath, looking away from Sim. She knew there was no chance of his canceling--his running was <>way too important
for that. "Go take your shower," she said coldly. "I have some shopping I need to do." She spun around and was out the door, no kiss and not even a goodbye.
Sim shrugged, resigned to a shower and a lonely evening...and probably a lonely couple of days before the weekend.
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Melissa slammed the door, started the car, and backed out of Sim's driveway, resisting the urge to spin the tires. She'd let him know how upset she was. It wasn't the first time his running had caused problems in their relationship, and she was getting fed up with it. Maybe shopping would help.
At the mall, she parked and went to Macy's. She found a colorful blouse she liked and went to the dressing rooms to try it on. Her large breasts made that necessary, as she didn't usually like to display an excess of cleavage. She checked the mirror and could see the edges of her bra, which, for some reason, piqued her curiosity. Off came the blouse and the bra.
She rebuttoned the blouse and checked the mirror.
"You're a sexy thing, Melissa. Eat your heart out, Sim," she said, checking the bit of cleavage showing. She was feeling rebellious and debated wearing it for the rest of her shopping. A little wary of doing that at a crowded mall and among strangers, she discarded that idea, paid for the blouse, and headed for the food court. Not the best place for dinner, but there was one Chinese booth whose food she'd had before and enjoyed. She ordered, paid, and found a vacant table. She'd taken about two bites when she heard a familiar voice.
"Hey, Melissa. I don't picture you as a food court diner."
She chuckled. "Hi, Wayne. This stuff isn't bad." She took another bite. "What's up with you?"
She and Wayne had a couple of dates about five years ago, but nothing serious. He was a pleasant guy to be around, so she didn't mind his dropping in on her dinner. He followed her lead and picked up some of what she was eating, then joined her.
"This is pretty good," he said, sounding a little surprised.
