Brainstorm. Sheldon J.D. Cohen
call me Fred. Time is not critical for me, George. Take your time. Do it on weekends, day off. I don’t care. There’s no hurry. I’ve been thinking about doing it for over a year and my wife wants one too.”
“Okay, Mr. Wor…er Fred, I can do it, but I’ll have to hire another carpenter and a cement man to work with me.”
“As long as you’re doing the supervising, that’s ok with me.”
Worthey took off his thick spectacles and rubbed them on his T-shirt. “Look, George. You’re a true craftsman. Do the job part time, whenever you can. I know I’ll get a great product, so it’ll be worth the wait.”
“Thanks, Fred.
Fred Worthey was a multimillionaire and founder of an electronics firm. At sixty-six years of age, he was no longer active in company management, but continued to serve on the Board of Directors. He had a frontal baldness with penetrating dark eyes and a trim figure on a five foot eight inch frame. His background was as a Ph.D. in electrical engineering. Although trained in the early days of computers and electronics, he managed to stay abreast of the many advances that had so changed his industry and the world.
It was Eve, a friend of Gail and daughter of Fred Worthey, who asked Gail if George would be interested in doing some carpentry work for her father. She had seen some of George’s work at his home when she was visiting Gail, and she raved about him to her father. On the strength of his daughter’s word, Mr. Worthey hired George to construct the mantelpiece and their relationship flowered.
“Where do you want the patio, Fred?”
“In the back, George. Follow me.”
George surveyed the patio deck site and drew a rough sketch. “If you like this plan, I’ll take the sketches home and draw up a final set. I’ll hire the cement man and a second carpenter to help me out. I’ll get you good guys.”
Worthey took the sketch, and studied it. George hoped he interpreted a look of admiration on Worthey’s face.
“I’m sure your men will be good if you choose them, George. It’s a deal. Bring me the final plans as soon as they’re done.” Then he held up the sketch. As he scrutinized it, he shook his head and said, “Damn, I’m looking at this sketch that you knocked off in a minute. You’re one hell of an artist.”
“Thanks, Fred. It’s just a hobby. I’ll bring you those final plans,” he said beaming with pleasure. He felt on top of the world. It was exciting to think that a man of Worthey’s reputation could think so well of him. But, why was this damn pain coming back?
“Gail, I got good news,” George said that evening. “Fred Worthy was so happy about the mantelpiece that he hired me to build a patio deck.”
“That’s great,” she exclaimed. “But, when will you have time?”
He didn’t reply.
“George?”
“What?” he asked.
“When will you have time?” she repeated.
“Time for what?” he said with a quizzical look.
She was shocked. “For what? For the deck. We’re talking about the deck.”
He glanced at her with a scowl. “Saturdays and my day off,” he snarled, “and I’ll need health.”
This took Gail aback. She was startled. “Health? What do you mean, health?”
He took a deep breath. “What health? What are you talking about?”
Now she was frightened, but tried not to show her concern.
“You told me you’d work Saturdays and on your day off, but that you need ‘health.’”
He gazed back at her for a good ten seconds. “I did?...Help, I meant help.”
“Maybe it was just a slip of the tongue,” she said.
Then he suddenly bent over, his eyes closed, his nose wrinkled, his lips apart, and his teeth clenched. He began writhing in pain.
Gail leaped up. “George, what’s wrong?”
His breathing was noisy and labored. His face turned white. He doubled over with both arms crossed above his upper abdomen. “The pain, it just started again.” Gasping, he reached inside his tool kit for the antacids. He downed two of them. “Let me sit down for a minute. I could use a milk,” he pleaded.
She rushed to the kitchen and filled a large glass. He gulped it down. After a few minutes, his facial muscles relaxed. He sighed and said, “Okay, I’m okay now.”
“You told me you were better,” she said with an anguished expression on her face.
“I am better.”
She stomped her right foot. “No, you’re not. It sounds to me like you have an ulcer or something. I’m going to call Eve and see if she can recommend a doctor. God knows you never went to one in your life.”
He looked at her and knew she was serious. “Don’t. Not for the next few days. I swear I’ll take these antacids and then we’ll go. I can’t take time off because I need to get this deck thing going. It’s a big job, and we need the cash.”
“Listen to yourself.” What will we do if something happens to you?”
“The pain’s going away,” he said. “Like I said, I’ll take the antacids every day, and as soon as I finish the job I’ll let you call Eve. I promise.”
She could see a less anxious expression on his face. “Okay, that’s a promise,” she said.
He shrugged, and went back to the basement. Moments later, he let out a scream and ran back upstairs holding his left hand with his right.
She said, “What happened?”
“C-can’t believe it,” he stammered, as he waved his thumb in the air. The nail was dark blue. “Hit my thumb with that damn hammer.”
She reached for his hand. “Ouch. You’ve got blood under the nail. It’s got to hurt like hell.”
“Yeah,” he grimaced.
“We’re going to the emergency room. You’ve got to get that blood out of there or you’ll lose the nail. Let’s go. Maybe your finger’s broken.”
He offered no opposition as the pain was intense.
The Emergency room doctor drilled a small hole in the nail. George watched with surprise as a six inch high geyser of blood shot forth, and with it instant pain relief. An X-ray revealed no evidence of fracture. The doctor bandaged his wound and gave him instructions.
The following week proved uneventful, though he experienced intermittent abdominal discomfort. He said nothing to Gail and kept taking the antacids. After the discomfort turned into such severe burning that it woke him up two nights in a row, he agreed to have Gail call Eve.
CHAPTER 4
Gail was active in her church and greeted all new members. When Eve moved to her neighborhood, she joined the church and they became fast friends. Gail expressed the urgency of George’s recurrent symptoms to Eve. “It’s not like him,” Gail said, “He’s changed. He complained of pain in the abdomen that he prefers to ignore. One night he vomited and I saw him stumble and was unsteady on his feet.”
Eve said, “He should be seen by an internist. Since I’ve been at Covenant, I met a very fine one. He has an excellent reputation not only as a good doctor, but he has a great bedside manner. I see how he makes rounds on his patients. He’s young and board certified and up on the latest medical advances.”
“That sounds good,” said Eve. What’s his name and number?”
“Doctor Burt Crowell. Let me call him for you. When do you want your