Читать книгу Brainstorm - Sheldon J.D. Cohen - Страница 9

He returned home that night moody and short tempered. He paid no attention to his daughters. Gail decided to confront him after the children were asleep. She braced herself. “What happened today?”

He pursed his lips and glared.

“Do you hear me? Tell me what’s wrong?”

He refused to make eye contact. “Nothing.”

“You can’t kid me.”

“Get off it,” he snapped.

She knew it. Things were getting worse. Never before had he spoken to her like this. Could an ulcer cause a personality change? His explosive temper and sudden forgetfulness frightened her. He bore no resemblance to the man she had married and loved.

The next few days Gail studied her husband’s mood swings. He was up one minute and down the next. He went from happiness to grief, from the dumps to agitation, and he was forgetful. When viewed together they suggested some underlying psychological or medical problem. Several weeks had passed since his appointment with Dr. Crowell.

Meanwhile, he continued to work, but Andy needed to remind him to finish some projects. Whereas he had been outgoing and collaborative, he now was secretive and quiet.

Fred Worthey’s deck job was also a work in progress. George hired a second carpenter and a cement contractor to help him. He took measurements, drew up the specifications and drawings, and calculated how much material would be necessary to complete the project. They went right to work as soon as they received the material. This would be his first experience directing a construction project, and he enjoyed his new status as boss. If the three of them worked a full day on Saturdays and their days off, they expected to complete it within two weeks. Fred would act as the team’s unofficial supervisor.

When the project was nearly half-finished, Fred again praised George for his talent and workmanship.

“I appreciate that. Thanks, Fred.” Then as he reached down to shake Fred’s hand he experienced a sudden and excruciating back pain that caused him to jump off the ladder.

“Oh, God.”

Fred was startled. “What’s wrong?”

George stood stiff as a board, his left hand covering his flank as he spoke through clenched teeth. “I’m not sure. I must have sprained my back. It just hit me when I reached down to shake your hand.” As he spoke, he could feel the pain growing worse, extending into his abdomen, and threatening to render him helpless. With great care, he eased himself down into a sitting position on the ladder steps. Fred noted his distress and tried to be comforting, but George’s pain turned his face white.

“I’m always spraining my back,” offered Fred. “Sometimes it just takes a little movement the wrong way. Come in the house and sit for a while. You’ll see how it goes. I’ve got some Tylenol or Motrin if you want it.”

“Thanks,” he murmured. “That’s not a bad idea. Man, but this hurts. I never had a back sprain like this,” he groaned. Even his hammered thumb had not been so painful.

He followed Fred into the house, and they sat at the kitchen table. Soon his two associates joined them, and then all three began to hover over him. The pain was intense. It reminded him of Dr. Crowell’s questioning when he asked him to describe the intensity of his stomach pain. If Crowell questioned him about this one, he would say it felt like someone had reached inside his back, grabbed hold, and squeezed with all his might. The pain traveled down from the left side of his back to the lower left side of his abdomen. Not only was he hurting, but also he felt frustrated because he could not afford to let anything interfere with work. He became impatient with all the hovering.

“Stop worrying about me and get to work,” he lashed at his men. “I’ll be fine.” Although surprised by his response, the two men were quick to follow orders.

He squirmed in his chair, trying to find a comfortable position. He stood up and walked around the room, and after several minutes began to feel better. “I guess the Tylenol’s kicking in,” he said to Fred.

“Good. Now go home and use a heating pad. It will help you get over this thing. You know I’m in no hurry to finish.”

He got up to leave, but not before reassuring his appreciative client that he’d be back on the job very soon. Meanwhile, his two associates continued working. By the time he arrived home, the pain was almost gone. All that remained was a dull reminder on the left side of his back. He kept silent about it, not mentioning a word to his wife. She had enough on her mind, he thought.