Brainstorm. Sheldon J.D. Cohen

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.

      CHAPTER 8

      George continued with his prescribed medication until he was symptom-free, then stopped cold turkey. He finished Worthey’s deck, and was delighted with the extra income, most of which he and Gail lavished on their children. Nevertheless, the abdominal pain returned and he refilled his prescription without telling Gail.

      The following Saturday, he was free, so he took his family to a movie. Amanda was well behaved and attentive, but when Megan persisted in walking up and down the aisles, he became enraged. He tried first to scold Megan and then held her on his lap to placate her. Nothing worked, so Gail grabbed the child by the hand and led her out to the lobby, hoping to keep her occupied and away from her agitated father. She did everything she could to keep his environment serene but his strange behavior made her tense. She was wrong; things were not getting better.

      On their way home from the movie, Gail noticed George driving in the wrong direction.

      “Where are you going?”

      His mouth fell open as he stared straight ahead. “Home,” he said.

      “But you’re going the wrong way.”

      He made no comment, just continued staring out the window.

      “Stop,” she shouted. “We’re getting farther away from the house.” The tires screeched to a halt as he slammed on the brakes and pulled over.

      “I’ll be dammed,” he mumbled under his breath. He saw a look of fear on his wife’s face. Moments later, he restarted the engine and stepped on the accelerator.

      “That’s what I get for thinking too many thoughts at the same time,” he muttered. Gail kept still. She looked away so as not to let him see her worried expression. He was driving in the right direction now, and she did not want to create a scene in front of the children. Not until after they were home and the kids were out of hearing range did she attempt to speak with him.

      “What’s going on? You’re forgetting things, you lose control, you get angry for no reason, and I don’t even recognize you anymore. You’re scaring me. I don’t know what to expect.” She was trembling. She stopped to regain control. Closing her eyes, she inhaled deeply before continuing. “What on earth is happening? I’m making another doctor’s appointment for you. You never went back to Dr. Crowell, and you never got those tests like you promised.”

      “I don’t need any tests. I got better, and the pain never came back,” he lied.

      “Yeah? Then something else’s going on. You’re different now. I’m scared to say anything or I’ll set you off. What you’re doing is nuts. Don’t you care about your health?”

      “Drop it.” he yelled. “You’re making a federal case out of a wrong turn. I know my way home.”

      His anger was unsettling, and Gail felt she was losing him. This metamorphosis had been so insidious she didn’t know how to react. Her mind was hoping it would be a temporary aberration that would soon disappear. Her one remaining tool was her vigilance. She would need to remain on guard. Why was he so irrational? Was his illness making him this way?

      The following Saturday they went marketing as a family. They each took one daughter as a passenger in their grocery cart, something both girls relished. Then, they went their respective ways with a separate list of items.

      While Gail was at the dairy counter, she thought she heard loud voices. Seconds later, she heard the sounds of cans crashing down onto the supermarket floor. That would have been bad enough, but what really alarmed her was the piercing sound of a crying child: Megan! She rushed in the direction of her daughter’s voice.

      Several male employees were also hurrying to investigate. By the time she arrived at the scene, she saw George rolling on the floor with another man, their hands and feet flying in all directions. His face contorted with rage. A nearby employee rushed to telephone the police, and three others tried to separate the two combatants. She screamed at her husband and rushed to his side, but he never saw her. At that moment, he was too busy fighting off the three employees who were attempting to hold him back. The other man needed no restraining. Finally, George calmed down, but only with Gail’s prodding. When a uniformed officer appeared on the scene, George appeared dazed.

      “Is everything okay now?” asked Officer Doherty, shaking his head with disbelief as he regarded the spectacle.

      “Things have calmed down here now,” replied the store manager.

      “What happened?” asked Doherty.

      “These two guys got into a fight in the aisle,” replied the manager.

      George was sullen and remained mute, but his opponent spoke up. “This crazy guy he attack me,” he said, pointing a finger at George.

      “He hit me first,” snapped George.

      “Alright, alright. Hold on. One at a time. You. What happened?” demanded Doherty of George’s opponent.

      “My