River for the Unrequited

By W.L. Liberman

Harried writer, Bernard Goldman, is about to discover that the greatest challenges are those that are closest to home.

Somehow, he gets roped into an eco-rafting trip down the pristine Jennings River in Yukon, to bond with his son, Sergeant Sean Goldman, who suffers from extreme PTSD after a disastrous tour in Afghanistan.

But can the wilderness adventure heal the hidden cracks in Bernie’s marriage, help Sean find his way, and give Bernie a path forward to reconcile with his famous father, Ephraim?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Next Chapter
• Release date: Aug 16, 2023

Book preview

1

As a kid, I had an overactive gag reflex. Any object hovering within inches of my mouth triggered a dry heave. Toothbrushing turned into torment. Just the thought of an invasion of bristles forged a reaction.

Forget about going to the dentist, a nightmare. Having someone attack my mouth invoked a series of non-stop retches. I hated Dr. Hooperman and loathed going for the obligatory check-ups and periodic treatments. I never received any sympathy, either. Rather, he deemed the situation my fault. A psychological condition seemed to be the prevailing view, implying, I could control this if I wanted. And apparently, I didn’t want to. None of this increased my affection for those of a dental persuasion, although I appreciated the efforts of the various hygienists who seemed, at least, sympathetic. Not the dentists who charged a premium fee for a thirty second rinse around the interior of my mouth. And X-rays? Don’t get me started. Legalized, highway robbery.

Despite this ongoing trauma along with periodic abdominal upheaval, my teeth turned out okay in the end. Rather than rely on my father’s cronies to supply their services at a cut rate and for dubious quality, I took control. Once I found my own service professionals and paid them what they wanted to charge, the care, and my condition improved immeasurably. The heaving and retching subsided, although I still find it difficult to have foreign objects invade my oral space. Better than it was, however.

I mention this childhood predicament because my father, Eph Goldman, yes that Eph Goldman, the one who wrote the phenomenally successful book, The Global View, and who, subsequently went on to a stellar academic and literary career, hobnobbed with the glitterati of the age and subsequent eras, one day, lost his gag reflex. Seems careless, I know. Nonetheless. Eph, now in his 93 rd year, called me. His wife, my stepmother, Catherine, and their daughter, my fifteen-year-old half-sister, Madeleine, embarked on a trip, leaving Eph behind. Otherwise, why call?

Bernie? I heard what sounded like gurgling and undersea noises. Dolphins or porpoises frolicking.

Dad? Where are you?

I’m at home.

What’s that noise? I asked, as waves rolled in from the sea.

What noise?

That. That noise. It sounds like you’re underwater.

I’m not underwater, but I do have a problem.

What’s the problem? I asked, hearing a deep-rooted percolating sound like water disappearing down a drain.

I’ve called a taxi. I’m on my way to the hospital.

What?

I said, I’ve called a taxi and I’m on my way to the hospital.

Now, I responded like a responsible son. Stay right there. I’m coming to get you.

I hung up the phone. The house sat quietly. Hastily, I wrote a note for my wife, Sharon, and anyone else who cared to read it: Gone to take Eph to the hospital. Will call when I know more. My father lived about a ten-minute drive away. I grabbed my car keys and then hesitated. From the kitchen where I stood, I looked up at the ceiling, willing myself to peer through the wood and tile into my son, Sean’s room. Sergeant Sean Goldman, war veteran and hero, completed three tours in Afghanistan, lived with us. Now thirty, he spent his days sitting in an easy chair staring out the window, a bottle of Wild Turkey and a half-full, cut-glass tumbler at his feet. Sometimes, he held a 9-millimetre Glock pistol in his hand. I made certain it was unloaded. Often, he fell asleep in the chair, the bottle half-empty, the tumbler drained. Rarely, did he move, except to lift the myriad of weights he kept around him. We’d hear his grunts and feel the vibration of the metal on the floor when he finished a set. Far from the skinny kid he’d been at the time of enlistment, Sean had expanded into a muscle-hardened linebacker, tattoos scrawled up each forearm, along with his Para wings and regimental insignia on each bicep. He seldom spoke, having disappeared inside of himself, reliving some kind of personal hell in a movie only he could see. We feared his condition to be suicidal, hence the gun. Nothing subtle about Sean. That he suffered from Post-Traumatic Stress, seemed abundantly clear. What to do? Less so. The floor above didn’t creak, and I hoped Sean had nodded off. I couldn’t keep Eph waiting, abandoned at the seaside or whatever condition he evoked.

I slammed the door behind me and jumped into the Volvo, recently traded up from a clapped-out Saab. I pulled into Eph’s drive and ran up to the door. I tried the knob. It opened. I found him, resting on a small suitcase in the hallway. He looked wan and more than worried. His breathing laboured.

Dad. You, okay?

He shook his grizzled head. No. The roar of the ocean gurgled from his chest.

Jesus.

I helped him up and hefted the small case. If nothing else, Eph remained prepared for anything, even possible death. We marched methodically to the car. I dumped him into the front seat and buckled him in, like I used to do with the twins, Sean and Nathan, when they were small.

I slammed the door and ran around to the other side and dove in, simultaneously, starting the car, then backed out while pulling on my seat belt.

Take it easy, my father burbled. No need to kill us before we get there.

Ha. Ha. He always knew how to get under my skin. Lately, however, we’d been on better terms, ever since Madeleine and my son, Ronan, both the same age and as close as an aunt and her nephew could be, had been born a few months apart and grown up together.

Eph bent forward in his seat with the seatbelt supporting his weight. I drove fast but carefully. How long has this been going on?

Not long. A day or two, maybe.

A day or two? Why didn’t you call me earlier?

I thought it would pass. Clearly, I was wrong. That pedantic tone used to drive me insane. Under the circumstances, however, I cut him some slack.

Well, that was a stupid thing to do. Maybe this thing could have been nipped in the bud if you hadn’t waited.

Oh? So, you’re a doctor now? Only a light layer of sarcasm.

You know what I mean. You’re being stubborn.

And you aren’t? You’d do the same. I know you well enough.

I wanted to say he didn’t know me at all, but I lapsed into silence. The hospital loomed up. I drove right up to the emergency department, pulling in behind a parked ambulance. I helped Eph out, gingerly. He didn’t seem too steady, and I had to balance him on the right while I carried his case with my left. We staggered through the main entrance. Just ahead, a paramedic team steered a stretcher our way. The lead paramedic, a burly guy with shaggy hair and a beard, stopped us.

Hey, you need some help? The old fella looks a little unsteady.

I nodded. That’d be great, thanks.

Who you calling, old? Eph croaked.

Hey, that doesn’t sound good. C’mon, let’s get you up on the stretcher there, young fella, the burly guy said. His partner, a lithe blonde woman, snuffled a laugh into her palm. But they were efficient. I hardly blinked and Eph lay prone, strapped in while the blonde paramedic had his shirt unbuttoned, and a stethoscope pressed against his chest.

Sounds like Lake Ontario in there, she pronounced. Let’s get him inside.

Here. I’ll take that, the male paramedic said, easing Eph’s case out of my hands and slid it under the stretcher. "You go park your car, or you’ll be towed, pronto. Does he have his ID and health card on him?

Eph spoke up. I can hear you, you know. I’m not deaf. And the answer is yes, back left pocket.

The guy gave a thumbs up and his partner smiled. You’re a feisty one, she said.

You don’t know the half of it, I replied. They began to wheel him in. Dad. I’ll park and be right back.

As he disappeared, Eph, raised a hand and waved it weakly. It might have been a gesture of dismissal. With my father, you just never knew. As he aged, he resented any time wasted on something he deemed unimportant. I figured he realized the state of his health seemed to be a personal priority.

2

The paramedic had been right on the money. A parking warden began to approach my car, a scanner in his hand. I sprinted up and zoomed past him, unlocking the door with the remote.

Just leaving, I said as I slid into the driver’s seat, started the car, and pulled out of the U-shaped driveway. A multi-story parking lot towered across the street. I went for it. The parking warden seemed pissed, but I didn’t care. I drove into the multi-story noting the maximum cost totalled $48 and for the privilege of occupying a spot, the owners sought to charge a mere $5 per half hour. Very generous of them. Naturally, the slanted drive proved to be circular. After more than ten revolutions, my head spun. I kept going up, until I hit the roof. There, finally, I found a spot and lurched into it. I took the stairs down thinking the elevators in those facilities operated at a glacial pace and I would hit the ground floor a little faster. I think the elevator passed me by at least twice, maybe even, three times.

As I ran toward the emergency entrance, I encountered the same paramedics on their way out.

He’s been taken in, the guy said. Just ask at the nurse’s desk.

Prepare for a long wait, said his blonde partner. Check in, then they’ll come get you.

I nodded. Okay, thanks.

Good luck, they called, maneuvering the gurney around the back of the ambulance, on their way to the next emergency call. I waved and ran on.

At the nurse’s desk, I waited in a short line. At my turn, I gave my name and my father’s. The nurse had a kind but no-nonsense demeanour.

Oh yes, she said. He’s being examined now. Just take a seat over there… She pointed to a bank of seats occupied by a group of people, all of whom had anxious expressions on their varied faces. Someone will come out and speak to you.

How long, do you think?

As you can see, it’s quite busy. Hard to say, maybe an hour, maybe two? Every case is different. So, you’ll just have to wait, I’m afraid. Sorry about that, she said, without sounding sorry at all.

Okay, thanks. I pulled out my phone, found a seat at the end of a row and sat down. I called Sharon’s number.

What’s going on? Where are you? How’s Eph? she asked within the space of a nanosecond.

I spoke quietly. I’m at Riverbrook Hospital. They’ve taken Eph in through Emergency and he’s being examined now, apparently.

What happened? What went wrong?

Sharon, I don’t know. He just called me in some kind of distress. I went over and drove him to the hospital and that’s it. I must wait for someone to come and tell me what’s going on, but it might be a while. Maybe a couple of hours, I don’t know.

When Sharon became stressed or anxious, her Irish accent notched up. I’ll come over. I’ll wait with you.

That surprised me. As the CFO of Cablestar, a media conglomerate that seemed to be gobbling up everything in its path, she had stressful days filled with back-to-back meetings, conferences, and consultations. Though, after Ronan had been born, she eased up a bit and spent more time with him but as soon as he started school, she reverted to type, allowing her time to be dominated by her career, leaving me to plug all the domestic gaps. And to be fair, that had been our deal, our agreement. I smoothed the way so nothing on the home front waylaid her career. The myriad things kids demand. Doctors’ appointments, play dates, sick days, swimming lessons, birthday parties, weekends at the park, playing baseball, basketball, drop off and pick up at daycare, day camp… all the stuff kids do normally supervised by a parent. In this case, me. I was the go-to and with three young, active boys, it had been full on. I also did all the cooking and shopping, thousands of meals, and visits to the supermarket over the span of time. My reward? I could concentrate on writing books, that is, when I didn’t procrastinate which admittedly, took up a lot of time but otherwise, I could spend my spare time, miniscule amounts there happened to be, as I saw fit. I remember being struck by a vanity license plate I spotted while heading home one day. It belonged to a woman driving an extended van full of kids and read; I Schlep. That summed it up perfectly.

I turned back to my conversation with Sharon. Do me a favour, though. Can you get in touch with Catherine and Madeleine? I think they’re going to have to cut their trip short and come home. They vacationed in the Lake Como area, in Italy. A mother-daughter bonding trip, Catherine had said before departing.

Of course, of course I will. I should have thought of that myself. I’ll get right on it. I’ll see you in about half an hour. Maybe you’ll have heard something by then?

Yeah. I hope so. See you.

Bye, my love. She clicked off.

Sharon and I had experienced some rocky times in the past but managed to get through them. At 52, Sharon still knocked them out; statuesque, long, auburn hair, recently cut short, only slightly tinted and the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known. A few crow’s feet. A megawatt smile that lit up the air around her. But she didn’t suffer fools and made no bones about it. It wasn’t pleasant being on the receiving end, as I’d experienced over the years. Being caught in her gunsights meant blood would be spilled. I did feel thankful at times I didn’t work for her, just lived with her.

I should have brought something to read. You’re never fully prepared for the glacial pace in a hospital but in a way, that left me thankful too. When hospital personnel hopped to it, then you knew a real emergency kicked off. A mass shooting or terrorist attack maybe. Not that this turned out to be the case. Just a small horde of anxious and bored-looking relatives waiting for news, much like me. I found a crumpled-up section of the newspaper and pretended to be interested in what it had to say, but I couldn’t really concentrate. The headlines blurred.

Is this it? I asked myself. In a way, I’d been preparing for a long time but psychologically girding myself since Eph’s 90 th birthday. That had been a demarcation point. Not that I’d seen any significant deterioration. His mind, and his tongue, remained razor sharp. Physically, he’d shrunk. It seemed in old age, you could go one of two ways, either wallow in obesity or conversely, wither to near-oblivion. Eph had gone the latter route even though his appetite hadn’t diminished but like the wicked witch, he seemed like he’d slowly melted in the past few years. He’d become light as a feather, enveloped by anything he wore. My kids made fun of him, calling him Mr. Baggy, since everything pillowed around him. A stiff breeze would catch the sail of his trousers and lift him up into the stratosphere. He flapped as he walked but he still walked and that impressed, with no signs, until now at least, that he’d need additional support or assistance. As befits a man in the tenth decade of life. As per usual, my mind wandered into some empty expanse filled with random, loosely connected thoughts.

Huh?

Bernie. Where were you? Wake up, would ya?

Sharon stood in front of me, all of her at once.

Sorry.

I stood up. We embraced and she gave me a wrestler’s hug. I felt my ribs crack a little but still, it felt good. And she smelled wonderful.

She held me at arm’s-length. Any news?

Nothing yet.

We both sat down and held hands. Sharon squeezed my palm.

Don’t worry. He’ll be fine. Eph’s a tough old bird. It would take a lot to bring him down.

You didn’t hear how he sounded or looked, I said. A river seemed to be rushing through his lungs.

Well, we’ll see what the doctors have to say, shall we?

Of course.

I couldn’t reach Catherine. They were out somewhere for dinner, so I told the concierge at their hotel to have her call me, whatever the time. I hope that doesn’t throw them into too much of a panic.

It’s bound to, I said. But I’m sure Catherine has been thinking about this. Eph’s no spring chicken. He is over ninety.

Good genes run in the Goldman men, Sharon said. She gave me a saucy look. I have it on good authority.

I must have blushed. A guy a few seats down grinned at me and raised his eyebrows. I nodded back.

Yeah, well……

Just then a young doctor in his mid-thirties arrived from inside the emergency department.

Mr. Goldman? he inquired.

Here, I said. I almost raised my hand.

I’m Dr. Kaur, he said, and we shook. I introduced Sharon and she gave him her bone-crushing handshake. He winced.

Dr. Kaur, of southeast Asian heritage, had thick dark hair lightly speckled with gray and a million-dollar smile. He moved us to an unattended waiting area.

More privacy here, he said. I apologize for the wait. It’s been a busy morning.

Sure.

What’s the news, Doctor? Is Eph going to be, okay? Sharon asked, cutting right to the chase. She hated wasting time on anything.

Dr. Kaur nodded. "First of all, let me say, what a privilege it is to be treating someone as renowned as your father… and father-in-law, here at the hospital. I’m a big fan. I read The Global View, in university. I attended several of his lectures back then."

Well, thanks, I said.

"And I really enjoyed your book as well, Spinning Out of Time? I wasn’t sure if he was asking me or unsure. Very illuminating."

So, Doctor? Sharon prompted.

Ah yes, of course. So, as you may have noticed when you brought your father in, he had a lot of fluid in his lungs. We drained close to two litres from him.

And the cause? Sharon asked. I shot her a look and she shrugged.

Well, it appears that Mr. Goldman has aspirational pneumonia, Kaur said. "This is unlike the regular pneumonia many people experience, usually brought on by a bad cold or the flu. In this case, we believe that your father has lost his gag reflex. The gag reflex prevents us from choking. You know when you swallow a drink the wrong way or choke on food when it gets into your windpipe. That reaction causes us to gag, hence the gag reflex. When you lose it, you don’t realize that something you’ve eaten or drank is going

down the wrong path and ends up in your lungs. Over a period of time, this develops into pneumonia and causes the fluid build-up, which, of course is dangerous to a person’s health."

How do you treat it? I asked.

Well, the first thing is to deal with the pneumonia because it is an assault on the body, particularly for an older person with a weaker immune system. I want to tell you, that Mr. Goldman is now up in the ICU, and we’ve put him on a ventilator to help him breathe.

Oh my God, gasped Sharon. Is he dying?

Dr. Kaur held up his hands. Please, don’t panic. I don’t think so, but his body has taken a beating and his lungs are weak. We’ll keep him on the ventilator for a few days only, just to give his lungs a bit of a break. He should be perfectly capable of breathing on his own afterward. He’s also sedated and sleeping. His body needs to have the opportunity to heal, so he will be sleeping for long periods of time, likely sixteen to eighteen hours a day.

Will he get it back? This gag reflex? I asked.

Hard to say but unlikely. That hasn’t been the pattern in older patients, I’m afraid.

So, what will happen? Sharon asked. How will he be able to eat or drink anything?

Yes, Kaur said, that is the tricky bit. He’s on intravenous fluids at the moment. When he recovers sufficiently, we’ll have the therapist come in and test him to see if the gag reflex has returned. I should say that it is highly improbable. In that eventuality, we can perform a very simple procedure and then provide him with a feeding tube.

That puzzled me. Feeding tube?

Dr. Kaur nodded. Yes, that’s right. An incision is made into the abdomen and a kind of nozzle inserted, and the patient is fed with liquid supplements directly into the stomach via the tube. We have patients that have been on this regimen for years. As an example, I have a colleague in his Fifties, who has been feeding himself this way for the past five years. It is an adjustment, of course.

So, you are saying that my father will never be able to eat a meal or have a drink… of anything… ever again?

That is correct. It is possible for him to feed himself this way or with some assistance. He can rinse his mouth out or use swabs to keep his mouth and palate from drying up. It’s not ideal, of course, but it is doable. Anyway, we are not there yet. We need to get him out of intensive care first and go from there.

I can’t see Eph going for any of this, can you? I asked Sharon.

Bernie, I don’t think he’ll have a choice, isn’t that right, Dr. Kaur?

I’m afraid so. In time, he should get used to it. Like I said, many of our patients have.

And we can visit in the ICU? I asked.

Of course, but only for a maximum of half an hour and one person at a time. Kaur paused. Sorry, I should have asked this, but does Mr. Goldman have a family of his own? And if so, have they been informed?

My father remarried and has a wife and a daughter. They are currently on holiday in Italy. We’re trying to contact them so they can return home as soon as possible.

Good. There is one other thing you should know, said Kaur.

Sharon and I looked at each other. This didn’t sound good.

What is it? Sharon demanded.

Well, it is common for our older patients to become disoriented because of this experience. It seems to affect their mental capabilities.

Do you mean, Sharon asked. That Eph will become doolally?

Dr. Kaur grimaced slightly. Well, I’m not sure of the clinical definition of doolally but we prefer to call it, delusional. His mental faculties may not come all the way back and you may notice a steep decline in cognitive capacity. It doesn’t always happen but it is common enough that we apprise the families so they know what they may expect when the patient begins to recover physically.

Ah geez, I muttered. I tried to imagine Eph as mentally adrift. The image didn’t come into focus.

Dr. Kaur glanced at his watch, aware that other families wanted him, and he’d given us a lot of time and attention. I’m sorry but I am needed elsewhere. So, if you don’t have any further questions? Check at the desk for the visiting times. In the ICU, we tend to be flexible because they represent serious cases. Be prepared to be a little shocked when you see him, that is natural. No one looks their best when hooked up to all kinds of machines.

We shook hands all round.

Thank you, Dr. Kaur. You’ve been most helpful.

You are most welcome. If only the circumstances had been somewhat kinder…… He nodded, turned, and strode off.

Sharon had tears in her eyes. I can’t believe it, she said, and this was the woman who buried her own mother just six months previously. In the past year, Felicity had lived with us as she’d been poorly and needed more attention.

I asked at the desk for directions to the ICU and was pointed to an elevator and the fourth floor. At the ICU entrance, a nurse sat at a desk.

Patient’s name? she asked.

Ephraim Goldman, I said.

The nurse checked the chart. "Ah yes. He just came up. We’re going to need a few minutes. He’s still being checked over. There’s a waiting room