yet.
When he arrived home after work, Gail looked at him concerned and said, “How do you feel?”
“Good, why?”
“Your queasy stomach. Remember?”
“It’s gone.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah.”
“Good, your dinner’s ready.”
“Thanks, in a minute.” He hurried downstairs with the plans for Worthey’s mantel under his arm.
He continued working downstairs through dinner. Gail sighed, ate with the children, let the girls go to their rooms to play and then walked down stairs. She found George at his workbench staring into space.
“George?”
He continued looking straight ahead.
“George?” repeated Gail.
He finally turned to look in her direction. “What?” he said with a blank expression. I got tied up with these plans. I’m trying to figure something out for Mr. Worthey.”
“You didn’t eat anything.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Hungry, not hungry, hungry, not hungry,” she said. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” he said with a tinge of anger in his voice that she detected.
That silenced her, but he was already back to work and deep in thought. It would just be one of those evenings, she thought; the frustrated artist would spend all night cooped up in the basement detailing another masterpiece. I wish he would do more artwork for his own enjoyment, but he was always “too busy.” Maybe he’s working too hard. Could there be some problem at work? I hope not. He needs more recreation time doing what he loves to do in his private workshop where he has always been calm and relaxed. She went back upstairs to prepare for bed.
As she was getting into bed, George came up and joined her. He fell asleep in minutes, but during the middle of the night, a sudden severe nausea woke him up. The urge to vomit overwhelmed him, and he leaped out of bed and ran to the bathroom. When he did so he awakened Gail, and she found him on his knees with both hands on the toilet seat and his head hanging over the bowl.
“George! What’s wrong?” She knelt down beside him. He was unable to answer as he continued to vomit. The retching was loud and vigorous; his face was ashen and perspiration covered his forehead.
“Oh, man.” Bracing one hand on the sink, he pulled himself up to a standing position, but his knees buckled and Gail grasped his elbows.
She steadied him with both of her hands. “I knew something was wrong,” she said.
He shook his head and wiped his mouth with a towel. “Damn bug!”
“I’ve never seen you so sick.” She felt his forehead. “You don’t feel warm. Does anything hurt?”
“Yeah, a little pain here,” he said, pointing to the center of his upper abdomen.
“That does it. You are going to a doctor. I’ll call Eve and see who she recommends.”
“No. I’ll be okay; in fact, I’m better already. That vomiting did the trick. I think it’s just the stomach flu. I’ve got lots of extra work to do. I told Mr. Worthey that his mantle would be ready in about ten days.”
“Yeah, but…” she said to his back as he walked away.
They returned to bed. He tossed and turned all night. She lay awake wondering what was happening to her husband. He had never been sick a day in his life, or at least not the years of their marriage. She never heard a complaint from him in all that time. Something was happening. This was not like him. She joined him in tossing and turning much of the night.
She was the first to rise and she dressed and went down stairs to prepare breakfast. George followed in twenty minutes. The children were already on the way to school.
“Feeling better?” she asked, attempting to sound cheerful.
“Sure,” he shrugged.
“Hungry?”
“Not much. A glass of milk is all I want.”
As he sipped, he became aware that the abdominal discomfort that he chose not to tell Gail about was easing. He kissed her goodbye and drove off to work. He looked back to see his wife standing at the window watching until his car was out of sight.
While at work, his abdominal pain worsened. A fellow carpenter saw him rubbing his abdomen. “Looks like you got pain,” the carpenter said.
“Yeah, it hurts right here in the pit of my stomach.”
“Why don’t you try some of these,” said the carpenter reaching down into his toolbox. He handed George some antacid tablets. “Take a couple of ‘em. It helps me when I get some acid.”
He took two and within ten minutes, his symptoms were gone.
That night, at dinner with his family, he felt better, but only because of continued use of the antacid tablets purchased at a drug store during the lunch break. He could see his wife looking at him with a contented look on her face. She knew nothing of the antacids in his tool kit.
“I spoke to Mr. Worthey about some new ideas for his mantelpiece. He liked it even though it hiked up the price.”
“That’s good,” she smiled.
“I got a few more things to buy, and I’ll work Saturday so maybe I can finish earlier than I promised.”
Gail was relieved. He was talking and acting like his old self.
CHAPTER 2
Burt Crowell, a young board certified internist, is on a first date with Eve Worthey at an up-scale restaurant in Chicago. Colorful modern art lines the walls. He feels comfortable in her presence, immerses himself in the relaxing ambience, and opens his life to her full scrutiny. What he does not know is that his date, a nurse who works at the hospital where he is a medical staff member, will soon refer a fascinating medical case to him setting up a chain reaction that will educate the young doctor, the nurse and the new patient in ways none of them ever dreamt possible.
When he first saw her in the Covenant hospital cafeteria, she was sitting alone holding some papers in her left hand and eating a salad with her right hand. She immersed herself in whatever it was she was reading. He was able to see her in profile and thought that she looked familiar. As he progressed down the line, he glanced again in her direction and was able to see her face from a frontal projection, and then knew who she was. He recognized her from his past residency days at Illinois General Hospital. She was a medical nurse there and although he had had very little contact with her he did not fail to remember that she was very attractive. He was married at that time, so the thought remained buried in his mind never to see the light of consciousness. However, things were different now, so he paid his bill and walked to her table and asked if he could join her. She looked up at him and her expression told him that she too recognized him. “Sure,” she said with a smile, “What a surprise, but I have to be back on the floor for a meeting in two minutes.”
“Well okay,” he said. “Eve, isn’t it?”
“Eve Worthey. Good memory, Burt.”
He laughed. “Okay, take care of your meeting, but let’s talk about old times at dinner tonight. How about seven at Silvestri’s?”
“I’ll meet you there,” she said with a nod.
His eyebrows lifted as her warm smile made him feel an emotion he had not felt for almost a year. There was something to look forward to this evening. After he and his wife divorced, he had wanted to socialize, but there was so much to do: work, study for boards, get established in his new practice, join a new medical