By Sean McDermott
It was three years ago and some that I was taken to Brampton Hospital at breakneck speed with sirens and horns blasting and just myself and a paramedic in the back attempting to survive what seemed like the last lap of the Indy 500.
It was December, and although I was almost completely bed-ridden with the violent symptoms of End Stage Liver Disease and had retained enough water to fill a small decorative pond, I said goodbye to my daughter and my extended family as they planned to trek up to Caledon and fetch a tree for the coming Christmas season. “I’ll be fine, “ I said reassuringly, for I had eaten well, I was in good spirits and the remote and the phone were on the bed beside me. “Have fun.”
I had been suffering from some electrolyte management failures lately and had become accustomed to a heart arrhythmia that sounded like a beginner drummer. He couldn’t come in on the one after a speedy drum solo. It had something to do with high potassium levels and the inability of my scrunched up liver to act normally. The family were gone about an hour when I started to feel [...] continue the story