Two Years and a Day

[Scott McKee]

I think it was a vodka / tonic?  In fact I’d bet on it.  It was probably my eleventh or twelfth that day.  Sometime just before midnight, just as the joint was getting ready to close, I had my last alcoholic beverage.  That was two years and a day ago.  The months leading up to that day were pretty scary for me.  I knew something was wrong with my heart, but I didn’t want to really admit it to myself and I sure as hell didn’t want to go to a doctor and find out I was right. 

When I say scary, I mean really scary.  Walking across the street became an almost impossible task.  Going up stairs left me completely out of breath.  Bending over to pick something up made my head want to pop off.   It was crazy and I was crazier, because I didn’t want to do something about it.

On Sunday, February 28^th, 2010, Sidney Crosby beat Ryan Miller and Team USA in the Olympic Gold medal game.  I remember trying not to cheer too enthusiastically during the game for fear that I might drop.  That night Carrie decided enough was enough.  “Tomorrow I’m dragging you to the doctors”, she declared.  I relinquished my no doctor philosophy and agreed.

Whatever was wrong with me was getting worse.  I was retaining massive amounts of fluid in my legs and chest at this point.  The prior Thursday I had lifted one of our servers, who is just a petite little gal, up to turn off a neon light and the pain that shot through my chest made me think I had been shot.  The prior Saturday, I thought I would pass out just bending over to grab Bud Lights for the boys behind the pine.  She was right of course, enough was enough.

Monday morning, Carrie tried to reassure me, telling me the doctor would just supply me with some high blood pressure medication and send me home.  I said, “He’s going to make me go to the hospital.”  For once, I was right. 

When I went to the doctors, my heart was racing so out of control, that my jugular vein was visible on my neck.  He said, “You can either go to the emergency room right now, or I will call an ambulance for you.”

Off to the hospital we went.  On the way there I called my baby brother Bruce and told him the news.  He said something like, “Your heart?”  I was really good at hiding how near death I felt.

Arriving at the hospital my heart was racing at 160 beats per minute and had been for quite some time.  I was told by the cardiologist that I was killing my heart with alcohol.  I had no blockages, in fact the veins and arteries around my heart were, according to the fellow who did my angiogram, “huge and clear.”  It was the booze poisoning my heart.  My cardiologist said stop drinking alcohol forever or I would die from a heart attack or have a massive stroke.  I said, “Okay”, and that was it.  My “Party Boy” days were over.

I had been pretty much been driving the liquor into me since I was fifteen or so.  College was a whirlwind of binge drinking, alcohol fueled mayhem and recklessness, and that behavior carried over to my twenties and early thirties.  In my late thirties I started hitting the sauce hard every day.  If a day ended with “Y”, I was getting loaded.  Quitting this wasn’t easy, but the alternative to not quitting was much worse obviously.

Besides my family, friends and Carrie, the thing that motivated me to stop boozing and live for a while was musky fishing, believe it or not.  I had been neglecting my favorite angling pursuit for a few years at this point in my life.  I preferred being glued to a bar stool, crushing drinks, over the front casting deck or starboard side seat of my and Mark Reichert’s boat.  In the hospital, I remembered how much I love chasing after teeth and decided to recommit myself to the sport.  The first place I went after being released from my first hospital stay was the foot of Sheridan.  I had to look at the River and I promised myself I’d spend as much time on her as I could in the future.

Thanks to Carrie forcing me to the hospital two years ago today, I’ve made good on that promise.  Thank you Carrie, if it wasn’t for you, I’d likely be dead.

Don't ever hesitate to go to the doctor if you think there is something wrong with you.  Forget tough, just go.

Two years plus one day sober gang, and I’m damn happy and a little proud to be.  Thanks. 

[Mike "the facilities" Fortunate]

amen scott!!!!!!!!!!!!! preach my brother!