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

no bruits.
Alan straightened up.
"It's a stroke, Helen. An arteryЧ"
He heard the daughter say, "Oh, no!" behind the curtain, but he continued
speaking. He would deal with her later. The main thing now was to reassure
Helen.
"An artery on the left side of your brain has blocked off and you've lost the
power on the right side of your body."
The voice came through the curtain again: "Ohmygod, I knew it! She's paralyzed!"
Why didn't she shut up? He knew the daughter was frightened, and he could
appreciate that, but the daughter was not his primary concern at the moment, and
she was only making a bad situation worse for her mother.
"How long it will last, Helen, I don't know. You'll probably get some strength
back; maybe all of it, and maybe none. Exactly how much and exactly how soon are
impossible to say right now."
He put her good hand in his. She squeezed. "We're going to get you upstairs
right now and start running some tests in the morning. We'll start some physical
therapy, too. We'll take good care of you and check out the rest of you while
you're here. The stroke is over and done with. So don't waste time worrying
about it. It's history. From now on you work on getting back use of that arm and
leg."
She smiled lopsidedly and nodded. Finally he pulled his hand away and said,
"Excuse me," as he turned and stepped through the curtains to where the daughter
was talking to the air.
"Whatamygonnadoo? I gotta call Charlie! I gotta call Rae! Whatamygonnadoo?"
Alan put his hand on her shoulder and gave her trapezius a gentle squeeze. She
flinched and stopped her yammering.
"You're gonna clam up, okay?" he said in a low voice. "All you're doing is
upsetting her."
"But whatamygonnadoo? I've got so much to do! I gottaЧ"
He squeezed again, a little harder. "The most important thing for you to do
right now is go stand by her and tell her how she's going to come stay with you
for a while after she gets out of the hospital and how you're going to have
everybody over for Easter."
She stared at him. "But I'm notЕ"
"Sure you are."
"You mean she's going to be coming home?"
Alan smiled and nodded. "Yeah. In a week, maybe. She thinks she's going to die
here. She's not. But she needs someone holding her hand now and talking about
the near future, how life's going to go on and how she's going to be part of
it." He steered her toward the curtains. "Get in there."
McClain, head nurse for the ER, pushing sixty and built like the Berlin wall,
saw him from the desk and held up an LP tray with a questioning look. Alan shook
his head. He'd checked out Helen's eyegrounds and had seen no evidence of
increased intracranial pressure. No use putting the old lady through a spinal
tap if there was no need for it.
Alan signed the orders, wrote the admitting note, then dictated the history and
physical.
After giving final reassurances and saying good night to Helen Jonas and her
daughter, Alan finally got out of the hospital, into his Eagle, and on his way