drinker, the amount of work I was doing was affecting my body almost as badly as years of drug abuse or alcoholism would have done. I started to feel dragged down, even when I’d had enough sleep. Fatigue was always with me. I became nauseous and plagued by headaches. When I started vomiting, I saw my doctor but even she was baffled as to what my symptoms could mean.
I continued working, as always, but instead of spending any downtime joking around with the crew or goofing off with David, I took to just laying in my trailer until they were ready for me.
My body ached. Just ached everywhere.
Rabia insisted that the bullshit with my family had been the last straw, that my body had finally succumbed to the stress. But then I began losing weight and running a fever and neither of us thought it could be contributed to stress.
I have no recollection as to what happened next but according to my wife, I’d stopped breathing while I slept. I was rushed to the L.A. County Hospital and put under close observation.
When I woke up, the first thought in my head, before I even opened my eyes, was, gods, my feet are killing me.
When I did open my eyes, I saw a chubby nurse by my bed, checking my IV. “My feet are killing me,” I told her, but then realized it wasn’t my feet at all. My head hurt but my feet felt fine.
The nurse called a doctor in and then I thought, Jesus Christ, I can’t even finish a fucking cup of coffee in this place. “What?” I said.
The doctor leaned over me, sticking a light in my eyes and telling me to follow his finger. I did, thinking, I wonder what Marilyn is wearing right now. “Who?” I said.
Both the doctor and the nurse ignored me. He began asking me questions about how I felt and what I remembered, while she fiddled with the medical equipment beside the bed. I answered the doctor’s questions and he kept nodding and I thought, I wonder if she gives good head. “What?” I yelled trying to sit up. “ Who?” Now they exchanged a glance and the doctor asked if, to my knowledge, I have suffered a head injury. Did I remember if I fell down at all?
“No,” I said.
“No, you don’t remember?”
“No, I didn’t fall down.”
“Are you sure?”
I thought I was sure, but was I? “Where is my wife?”
“We sent her home,” the nurse said. “We didn’t think you would wake up tonight. Would you like me to call her for you?”
“Yes,” I said immediately. Rabia could tell me what was going on. She always had the answers.
67
When Rabia entered the room, I thought, Oh, thank gods! But for some reason it felt like I thought it twice. Like I had two separate thoughts which had overlapped each other.
“How are you feeling, sweetheart?” she asked, coming over to the bed.
“Ok.” I did feel better when she kissed my forehead but only for an instant. Other than that, I felt like puking again.
I thought, Jesus, she looks awful! I frowned, looking at Rabia’s face. Now why did I think that? She looked beautiful. She always looked beautiful.
“Did the doctor tell you anything yet?” she asked.
“No. I don’t think he has a clue.”
That’s probably because he’s too busy hitting on anything with a vagina. Now, why did I think that? I don’t even know the guy. Maybe I should move her to a different hospital.
I’m seriously gonna puke. I swallowed hard. “I’m seriously gonna puke.”
Oh, fuck! Rabia jumped up and grabbed the plastic puke thingy that had been set on the table next to me. She stroked my hair while I threw up. I had to hand it to her. She didn’t look away or even grimace. She’s a real trooper, that girl.
Gods, this is making me want to puke myself. What’s wrong with her?
I think my whole stomach is gonna come up.
I’m going to find that little
I continued working, as always, but instead of spending any downtime joking around with the crew or goofing off with David, I took to just laying in my trailer until they were ready for me.
My body ached. Just ached everywhere.
Rabia insisted that the bullshit with my family had been the last straw, that my body had finally succumbed to the stress. But then I began losing weight and running a fever and neither of us thought it could be contributed to stress.
I have no recollection as to what happened next but according to my wife, I’d stopped breathing while I slept. I was rushed to the L.A. County Hospital and put under close observation.
When I woke up, the first thought in my head, before I even opened my eyes, was, gods, my feet are killing me.
When I did open my eyes, I saw a chubby nurse by my bed, checking my IV. “My feet are killing me,” I told her, but then realized it wasn’t my feet at all. My head hurt but my feet felt fine.
The nurse called a doctor in and then I thought, Jesus Christ, I can’t even finish a fucking cup of coffee in this place. “What?” I said.
The doctor leaned over me, sticking a light in my eyes and telling me to follow his finger. I did, thinking, I wonder what Marilyn is wearing right now. “Who?” I said.
Both the doctor and the nurse ignored me. He began asking me questions about how I felt and what I remembered, while she fiddled with the medical equipment beside the bed. I answered the doctor’s questions and he kept nodding and I thought, I wonder if she gives good head. “What?” I yelled trying to sit up. “ Who?” Now they exchanged a glance and the doctor asked if, to my knowledge, I have suffered a head injury. Did I remember if I fell down at all?
“No,” I said.
“No, you don’t remember?”
“No, I didn’t fall down.”
“Are you sure?”
I thought I was sure, but was I? “Where is my wife?”
“We sent her home,” the nurse said. “We didn’t think you would wake up tonight. Would you like me to call her for you?”
“Yes,” I said immediately. Rabia could tell me what was going on. She always had the answers.
67
When Rabia entered the room, I thought, Oh, thank gods! But for some reason it felt like I thought it twice. Like I had two separate thoughts which had overlapped each other.
“How are you feeling, sweetheart?” she asked, coming over to the bed.
“Ok.” I did feel better when she kissed my forehead but only for an instant. Other than that, I felt like puking again.
I thought, Jesus, she looks awful! I frowned, looking at Rabia’s face. Now why did I think that? She looked beautiful. She always looked beautiful.
“Did the doctor tell you anything yet?” she asked.
“No. I don’t think he has a clue.”
That’s probably because he’s too busy hitting on anything with a vagina. Now, why did I think that? I don’t even know the guy. Maybe I should move her to a different hospital.
I’m seriously gonna puke. I swallowed hard. “I’m seriously gonna puke.”
Oh, fuck! Rabia jumped up and grabbed the plastic puke thingy that had been set on the table next to me. She stroked my hair while I threw up. I had to hand it to her. She didn’t look away or even grimace. She’s a real trooper, that girl.
Gods, this is making me want to puke myself. What’s wrong with her?
I think my whole stomach is gonna come up.
I’m going to find that little
Similar Books
