Shaaron Sargent, 45, Horsham
Getting ready for his round as a postman at 6am one Saturday last October, my partner Ryan Nulty, 46, felt poorly.
His head hurt, he was sweating and shivering.
‘Feels like flu,’ he groaned.
‘Stay home,’ I suggested.
Ryan tried to power through.
But was back by 10.30am, halfway through his round.
Feeling ropey, he had a bath, went to bed.
Avoiding his germs, I took the sofa that night.
Next morning, Ryan shuffled downstairs.
‘Any better?’ I asked.
‘Much worse,’ he grumbled.
He flopped onto the sofa, exhausted.
‘Babe, I’m freezing,’ he said. ‘Where are your fluffy slippers?’
Touching his feet, I winced. They were icy cold.
Then I noticed his skin was discoloured – purple, blotchy.
‘You’ve got funny marks on your face,’ I…
