Chapter 1: Part 2:

Continued from Part 1
Hal had always been preoccupied with his digestive system and each morning he downed a glass of orange juice mixed with a tablespoon of bran. He was convinced this mixture would keep his body in good running order.

The day after the trip to the Emergency department, he made an appointment to see Sara the family doctor, and then began a long and fruitless search for the source of the pain. The ultra sound led her to believe he might have acute gastroenteritis, an inflammation of the stomach and intestines. The medication she prescribed seemed to work for a while and then the pain returned.

I never accompanied him on those visits and I don't know how forcefully he presented his case if indeed he did.

This pattern of pain, no-pain continued off and on and next Sara tried treating him for lactose intolerance and put him on a milk- free diet, which did have its amusing moments. We drove to the Jewish end of Bathurst Street the next Sunday searching out bread made without milk. Believe me when I say you should not ask the proprietor of a kosher bakery if his bread is made with milk.

Sara took him off caffeine and alcohol and he found the former the hardest. He always drank his coffee so strong it had the consistency of molten lava.
"I can't get through the morning without at least a semblance of coffee," he lamented and we searched the stores for substitutes. He found one or two that helped; the flavour was pallid but the combination of holding a cup and saucer in his hand and his active imagination made him feel less deprived.

Throughout this time, he maintained his firm belief in working his health around his life and insisted on carrying out his work assignments and meeting his deadlines despite these upsets.

The pain returned without any real pattern and Hal was seeing Sara more frequently. She was concerned about the possibility of an ulcer, but still she was baffled and in July had her secretary set up an appointment for September with a Gastroenterologist; she believed the problem would be solved by then and he could cancel.

One evening the phone rang and it was the specialist calling; he wondered why Hal had made the appointment so far in advance, and Hal told him Sara's opinion and described his symptoms. The doctor said he thought from Hal's description that there was more than had been found so far and he might consider coming in earlier.

We were so surprised that a specialist would take this trouble that we irrationally did nothing.

The milk-free diet didn't seem to alter his condition. The pain lay dormant for a while and then attacked again, usually at night about the time he sat down to dinner. He'd leave the table and go upstairs and I'd find him huddled on the bed feeling alternately clammy and sweaty, often drawing his knees up and moaning, "Jesus." I'd stroke his head and rhythmically run one hand down his arm, hour after hour, trying to draw the pain away from the body. We didn't get much sleep.

I'm the kind of person who can read morbid implications into a hangnail, but when something real like this came along, I went into a denial phase that still astounds me when I think back. We both seemed to believe everything would be okay; this enormous belly pain would pass and we could get on with our lives. We discussed these pains with friends and no one ever suggested we get help from other sources and it obviously wasn't getting through to the two of us. We had never coped medically with anything more serious than a child's emergency appendectomy and occasional broken bones and our minds simply weren't geared for anything more.
Continued in part 3