The danger of meatballs
17 Nov2019.

Three weeks ago I was fighting for my life. 

On October 25 I entered St. Michael’s Hospital for routine hernia surgery. The operation went fine. The problems started the next night. Hospital food being what it is, I was served a plate of horrific Swedish meatballs. A few hours later I went to sleep, still on heavy pain killers. The next thing I remember was a blinding white light. I was trying to claw my way upward as doctors and nurses with wings flew around me, telling me to calm down. 

Two days later, I came to in the ICU unit. I was surrounded by glowing lights and my family and friends. It felt like I was in a Brazilian soap opera. They gathered around, clucking and clutching my hands. I was told that I almost died, from choking on my own vomit. That fucking Swedish meatball.

For four days I was on a breathing tube, unable to eat, drink or move anything other than my bloodshot eyeballs. I had suffered from pulmonary aspiration, so popular with rock stars, the same thing that killed Led Zeppelin drummer John Bonham, AC/DC singer Bon Scott, and Jimi Hendrix. Except I was lucky. A nurse had noticed that I had stopped breathing and I was rescued in time, but for several days I was on the critical list. Eventually, the breathing tube came out and I lay there weak and stunned. Although the prolonged lack of oxygen did not affect my heart or brain functions, my kidneys failed and there was talk of dialysis.

Gradually, I came to realize how close I came to kicking the bucket. The staff at St. Mike’s were amazing, and the whole time I kept thinking of Tommy Douglas, and how he created our health care system and how all this would cost me nothing. Had this happened in the States, I would have survived the trauma but died from the hospital bill. I kept saying prayers and writing thank you notes in my head. I felt nothing but love for everybody. 

Not once during this ordeal did I feel like I was alone. I had the support of my sister Christine and her family, my partner Georges and his mother, and the support of my oldest and closest friends, including Scott Thompson, Randall Finnerty, Paul Pogue and Josh Levy, many who flew in to make sure I would pull through. When it occurred to me that my prolonged convalescence would lead to financial ruin, my cousin Jessica, aided by Maggie Cassella and Brad Fraser, launched a successful gofundme page. The amount of donations offered to me was overwhelming, and will more than cover my financial woes. The vast majority of the donors were from the comedy community, or Kids in the Hall fans, or former students. Some were people I haven’t seen in over 40 years. I thank each and every one of them. 

After 12 days, I finally went home to begin my long convalescence. If I learned anything from all this, it is that love that keeps us alive. It is love that keeps us going. It is a lesson that has both humbled and energized me. It will probably take the rest of my life to truly show my thanks. I am also certain that I will never ever again eat a Swedish meatball.