"Wilson, F Paul - adversary 3 - The Touch" - читать интересную книгу автора (Wilson F. Paul)

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The Touch by F. Paul Wilson
Acknowledgments
The following individuals, all with doctorates in various fields, helped with
the writing of this book in ways great and small in matters related and
unrelated to their fields of expertise.
John DePalma, D.O.
Anthony Lombardino, M.D.
Martin Seidenstein, M.D.
Nancy Spruill, Ph.D.
Steven Spruill, Ph.D.
Albert Zuckerman, D.F.A.
APRIL


___1.___
Dr. Alan Buhner
"Can you feel this?"
Alan gently pricked the skin of her right leg with a needle.
Fear glittered in the woman's moist eyes as she shook her head.
"Ohmygod, she can't feel it!"
Alan turned to the daughter, whose face was the same shade of off-white as the
curtains surrounding and isolating them from the rest of the emergency room.
"Would you wait outside for just a minute, please." He made sure his tone would
indicate that he was not making a request.
The daughter found the slit in the curtains and disappeared.
Alan turned back to the mother and studied her as she lay on the gurney in the
fluorescent-lit limbo, letting his mind page through what he remembered of Helen
Jonas. Not much. Borderline diabetes and mild essential hypertension. She hadn't
been to the office for two years, and on that occasion had been dragged in by
her daughter. Half an hour ago, Alan had been sitting at home watching a rerun
of The Honeymooners when the call had come from the emergency room that one of
his patients had arrived, unable to walk or talk.
He had already made his diagnosis but followed through with the rest of the
examination. He moved the needle to the back of Helen's right hand.
"How about this?"
Again she shook her head.
He leaned over and touched the point to her left hand and she jerked it away. He
then ran his thumbnail up from her bare right heel along the sole of her foot.
The toes flared upward. He raised her right hand and told her to squeeze. The
fingers didn't move. He let go and the arm dropped back to the mattress like
dead meat.
"Smile," he said, showing her a toothy grin.
The lady tried to imitate him, but only the left half of her face responded. Her
right cheek and the right side of her mouth remained immobile.
"How about the eyebrows?" He oscillated his own, Groucho Marx style.
Both of the woman's eyebrows moved accordingly.
He listened to her heart and to her carotid arteriesЧnormal rhythm, no murmur,