Chapter 1: Part 1: Genie Flies Out Of The Bottle

It was almost spring when our lives changed forever. Hal began getting cramping abdominal pains that usually started at six in the evening and faded around two in the morning. We blamed it on a hiatus hernia he'd had for years and for which he consumed enormous quantities of Bromo Seltzer rather than curb his love for spicy foods and alcohol. We thought we'd wait it out and the pain would go away, but after a couple of weeks I was getting exasperated when he'd sit down at the dinner table and almost immediately the pain would take over. It was like clockwork and we couldn't understand what was happening.

Then late one night, the pain switched from strong to agonizing and I drove him over to a nearby hospital where our family doctor had privileges. A large imposing sign at the entrance clearly stated this hospital was not equipped for emergencies, but we naively didn't consider a bellyache a real emergency.

Two residents attended to him and actually localized the exact problem site, something,no one else would do for some time. They thought at first it might be a misbehaving gall bladder, but never reached a definite conclusion and finally sent him home with instructions to stop off at an all-night drug store for an antacid and to come back the next day for an ultra sound. The pain had disappeared before we left.

I used to believe that Hal and I lived under the protection of a benevolent cloud. No matter what troubles came our way, we managed to work through them together, often with a lot of pain.

Hal was a writer and editor, and in our thirty-seven years of marriage he had the same pattern of reaching the saturation point with each job just around the five-year mark. Then he'd joyfully cut loose from the bi-monthly pay check- plus- benefits package and return to the shaky life of freelancing. It's amazing how often this coincided with the birth of each of our six children. It was like working a trapeze without a net. He seesawed back and forth from job security to free-lancing, depending on how calmly I dealt with all those kids and bank overdrafts. It was an insecure life and often it felt as though we were clinging to safety by our fingertips.


With the children grown and on their own, we moved from the suburbs to a tall, narrow house in the downtown section of Toronto. You could say we were living in the guts of the city, because we had settled in the not-yet-trendy Cabbage town, full of flophouses and sad-faced people who drank aftershave for breakfast. We honestly didn't notice the facade of the neighbourhood because we were so dazzled by the space and charm of our ninety-six year old house with three floors and twelve-foot ceilings and space, lots of space. This was a thrill after years of shoehorning six children, two adults and varied animals in a small ranch style house. Hal set up his study down the hall from our bedroom on the second floor and hung out his free-lance shingle, permanently this time.

Hal was a funny, calm guy, even-tempered and loving. He worked harder than anyone I ever knew. He was special. We had good times and bad times like everyone, but the past few years had been fine years and our love had strengthened. We thought we had forever until our lives were altered without much warning. Continued in Part 2