It is the wee hours of the morning, and this commentary has very
little to do with wrestling; it's mostly about the little girl pictured with me on the right: Tegan Sugar. As mentioned in previous commentaries, Tegan was only born on
November 11, and recently spent nine days in Nanaimo Regional General; the doctors believe she had meningitis,
but tests were confusing at best. Meanwhile, my older daugther, Zoe,
came down with a case of strep throat; so while Kim was trapped in the
hospital with Tegan, I was trapped in the house with Zoe. It has been a stressful time; I even ended up in
the Emergency Room myself.
That makes for a frightening/hilarious/ridiculous story ... depending on which way you look at it.
Last Thursday, Zoe was at my mother-in-law's house for a sleep-over (I had been running a fever and was really exhausted), and I went to the hospital to visit Kim and Tegan. The entire Sugar Family had been under a lot of stress, because the doctor's tests were inconclusive and they seemed to be content with just scratching their heads and taking a "wait and see" attitude ... while little Tegan's temperature was riding up and down like a yo-yo. I would like to say that this was a time when the Sugar Family really rallied together under pressure like champions ... but that was not initially the case. Kim and I had been really at each other's throats; to make a long story short, we were just taking our frustrations out on each other ... we both just felt so ineffective while our children were getting sicker and sicker.
When I came to the hospital that night, I had been working out and felt really stiff in the back and shoulders. When I was holding Tegan, I was finding it difficult to sit comfortably, and that wasn't making my mood any better. I left and went across the street to a local pub for a burger and glass of beer, then left the pub around 9:00pm to catch the bus. As I walked out of the bar, I was finding it difficult to breathe: the pain in my back and shoulders had moved to my chest; when I jogged across the street to the bus stop, I could barely breathe. It felt like there was a giant balloon in my chest, and it was about to burst.
Gasping for air, I started walking towards the hospital, unthinkingly retracing my steps to the Main Entrance. Little did I realize that the Main Entrance was already closed; by the time I got up the gradual hill to the entrance (about a five-minute walk), I had collapsed twice on the ground and was seeing spots. I had even crawled the last 10-20 feet to get towards the door. The entire back side of the hosptial is fenced off due to construction, otherwise I would've just crawled around the side to the Emergency Room ... but in this scenario, the ER was now a full square block away.
Barely able to breathe, I will admit I was having trouble thinking straight. The first person I called was my mother (who is nearly an hour away), because I knew I would be needing a ride home before this gig was over. The second call I made was to my wife's cell phone; in my oxygen-deprived brain, I figured she was *IN* the hospital ... she could just buzz someone to come get me (really smart, eh?). She tried to calmly explain I needed to be calling 911, so I less-than-politely hung up on her.
My third call was--FINALLY--to 911. I got through to the Ambulance no problem, but did not know the actual name of the street I was on. I told the 911 Operator, very clearly, that I was at the MAIN ENTRANCE of Nanaimo Regional General Hospital ... and she insisted that she could not help me unless I gave her the street name.
Nanaimo is not New York City, or Los Angeles, or Toronto ... there is only ONE Nanaimo Regional General Hospital. There is not fourteen of them, or even two of them. Just one. And this 911 Operator didn't know where it was; and didn't seem to appreciate it when I said "For fuck sake, the ambulance just has to drive around the fucking corner!"
The 911 Operator told me, "Sir, I can't help you if you're swearing at me." To which I so eloquently replied, "You're not fucking helping me now, you fucking cunt: I'm going to collapse right here in front of a fucking hospital!"
At this point, what seemed like my last breaths were going towards swearing at an unknown 911 Operator. I seriously thought I was having a heart attack at this point: my chest felt like it was going to explode. I hung up on the 911 Operator and struggled to my feet; she actually called back and kept demanding the street address ... but it was dark, I was at the top of the gradual hill, and couldn't see a street sign. I screamed "FUCK OFF!" at her and powered off the phone ... clutching my chest, I started walking.
During my stumbling walk around the block, two ambulances and a fire truck were cruising the streets: sirens blaring, lights flashing ... looking for yours truly. I saw them all, but was so livid with anger that I ignored them. I refused to collapse, even though I was getting next-to-no air into my lungs at this point; my legs felt like rubber, and my arms were going numb. Finally, I stumbled into the ER and collapsed into a chair; they rushed me onto a bed, hooked me up to some electrodes, gave me a nitro-glycerine pill, shot me up with morphine ... the VIP Treatment, to be sure.
After spending the next six hours in pain (although it was slowly decreasing), and listening to some whino next to me puke his guts out for hours on end, I was finally sent home at 3:30 Friday morning. Turns out it was an anxiety attack ... and quite possibly the worst night of my life.
On the plus side, Tegan and Kim came home this Wednesday (two days ahead of schedule), and Zoe's throat is rapidly getting better. I have recovered completely, and have already gotten back to working out; although I am skipping the ECCW events on January 25 (Surrey) and January 26 (Abbotsford), I am already booked to take part in the Vancouver show on February 2. Things are slowly getting back to normal ... whatever that means.
Thanks to everyone that gave their thoughts, prayers, and support to The Sugar Family during this trying time. We really appreciate it.
Until next time, Sugar Addicts.
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