Post by Stu-E Price on Sept 18, 2007 17:36:12 GMT -5
MATT
It was then a terrible tragedy befell our family. My son Harry's cousin and best friend in the world, my sister Georgia's middle son, Matt, died of flesh-eating disease.
Davey and I had had enough of Florida. I was horribly homesick. Davey could see how miserable I was and I think he missed my family too. So we sold our house and packed up. The school year was due to end in one week and we were scheduled to move back home to Calgary on the sixth of July. On the Saturday night two weeks before our move, 13-year-old Matt, his brother Ted and some of their friends were wrestling in the outdoor ring set up in my dad's yard for the KWA, the Kid's Wrestling Alliance. This was a club Harry and Matt started just before we moved to Florida. All 30 cousins belonged. The girls were managers and the boys were wrestlers and commentators. They had costumes, sets, music and animals. It was a children's version of Monday Night Raw.
Alison called on Monday. She said a head butt to the groin had hurt Matt. He was at The Alberta Children's Hospital because he had developed some strange symptoms. He was itchy, had a fever and chills and he was doubled over in pain. Georgia thought he had pulled his groin muscle. X-rays showed nothing. But the hospital diagnosed the flu and sent him home with codeine. Later that morning, his dad, BJ, came home from a weekend shift at the fire hall. He felt Matt's pulse and rushed him to the hospital.
Alison called again Tuesday. She wanted us to come home immediately. She said Matt had turned the color of an eggplant and was having trouble breathing. She also said he was repeatedly asking for Harry. The doctors were baffled. Specialists from all over were called to consult. The family was told that Matt was the sickest boy in the whole country. By Wednesday he was on life support. Everything was shutting down except his heart and brain. His fingers had shriveled up into long, skinny raisins. His whole body was cold and hard. Matt and Harry lived for wrestling and even in his weakened condition it was still the number-one thing on Matt's mind. Owen visited with Matt and heard Matt's final words before he lapsed into a coma.
Owen had told him, "You're going to be okay. You are such a strong, healthy boy. Harry and Davey and Diana and Baby Georgia are on their way to see you. Hang in there, Matt."
Matt whispered, "I hope Davey will stay with the WWF. I want to talk to him about that. Harry and I have to get ready for our next KWA match. Baby Georgia's going to be my manager. Harry just faxed me."
"Yeah we'll all be wrestling for the WWF together someday. You and Harry, me and Davey and Jim."
"Bret needs to come back to the WWF too."
Owen nodded gravely. "Bret will be coming in to see you soon, Matt. Why don't you talk to him about that?"
That night Matt fell asleep and never opened his eyes again. The doctor finally found a diagnosis, flesh-eating disease.
A friend of our family, Danny McCullough was acquainted with Mother Teresa. He got in touch with her in India and she and her nuns began praying for Matt.
Davey, the kids and I arrived the next day. We went straight from the airport to Matt's hospital room. Anyone who visited Matt got a prescription for antibiotics and had to be disinfected and swathed in a hospital gown before going into his room. Although he was only 10 years old, Harry marched right up to Matt and took his hand. He didn't bat an eye at Matt's shriveled limbs and distended stomach. He ignored the fact Matt was in a coma and started right into the KWA, making plans for their summer. He was so happy to see Matt again.
Harry was such a big wrestling fan he had always called his dad Davey. "What kind of car should Davey get? You're still going to wrestle as The Canadian Cougar, aren't you Matt?"
Harry sat by Matt's bedside daily. He heard the doctors discussing how they might save Matt by cutting off his legs and his arms below the elbow with a saw and it would have to be quick because oxygen would promote the speed of the flesh-eating disease to his heart. They hoped he would get stronger so that he could withstand the amputation.
The whole family came to see Matt. Bret and Davey hadn't spoken to Bruce for five months since my dad's 80th birthday tribute and now they all stood side by side praying for a miracle.
Thirteen days after he had been admitted to the hospital, Matt died. Matt's 16-year-old brother Ted called me just after midnight. He was crying, "Can you get to the hospital right away? Matt has taken a turn for the worse."
Harry and I raced to Matt's bedside. Georgia, BJ and Ross were right on our heels. We all stood quietly in an adjoining room with a glass partition and watched as the doctors and nurses flew around his ravaged figure. He was drowning in his own blood. One of the doctors joined us and with tears in his eyes, he told us they couldn't save Matt. He said we had perhaps two minutes to say goodbye.
We all kissed Matt on the forehead. Everyone held a part of him. Harry had his hand. I stroked his atrophied foot. It was cold as ice. Georgia was crying. "You are such a nice boy. We love you so much."
BJ had been a fireman for 20 years. He was accustomed to death. But now he was sobbing, "How could they take my little boy?" he gulped.
"When I die Matt, promise you'll meet me at the gates."
Ross said, "That's right, you're going to heaven."
Georgia wept, "There is no heaven. God would never let this happen to you, Matt."
We were all crying. "We love you. You are the best."
Harry leaned over and kissed him whispering, "I'll never forget you."
As Matt's heart beat for the last time, blood poured out of his mouth like a
waterfall. When the blood ceased, Matt was gone.
I went into the mourning room and called my dad. I couldn't bring myself to say that Matt was dead. I said, "Matt has gone to heaven Dad."
"Poor little guy," he said.
It was then a terrible tragedy befell our family. My son Harry's cousin and best friend in the world, my sister Georgia's middle son, Matt, died of flesh-eating disease.
Davey and I had had enough of Florida. I was horribly homesick. Davey could see how miserable I was and I think he missed my family too. So we sold our house and packed up. The school year was due to end in one week and we were scheduled to move back home to Calgary on the sixth of July. On the Saturday night two weeks before our move, 13-year-old Matt, his brother Ted and some of their friends were wrestling in the outdoor ring set up in my dad's yard for the KWA, the Kid's Wrestling Alliance. This was a club Harry and Matt started just before we moved to Florida. All 30 cousins belonged. The girls were managers and the boys were wrestlers and commentators. They had costumes, sets, music and animals. It was a children's version of Monday Night Raw.
Alison called on Monday. She said a head butt to the groin had hurt Matt. He was at The Alberta Children's Hospital because he had developed some strange symptoms. He was itchy, had a fever and chills and he was doubled over in pain. Georgia thought he had pulled his groin muscle. X-rays showed nothing. But the hospital diagnosed the flu and sent him home with codeine. Later that morning, his dad, BJ, came home from a weekend shift at the fire hall. He felt Matt's pulse and rushed him to the hospital.
Alison called again Tuesday. She wanted us to come home immediately. She said Matt had turned the color of an eggplant and was having trouble breathing. She also said he was repeatedly asking for Harry. The doctors were baffled. Specialists from all over were called to consult. The family was told that Matt was the sickest boy in the whole country. By Wednesday he was on life support. Everything was shutting down except his heart and brain. His fingers had shriveled up into long, skinny raisins. His whole body was cold and hard. Matt and Harry lived for wrestling and even in his weakened condition it was still the number-one thing on Matt's mind. Owen visited with Matt and heard Matt's final words before he lapsed into a coma.
Owen had told him, "You're going to be okay. You are such a strong, healthy boy. Harry and Davey and Diana and Baby Georgia are on their way to see you. Hang in there, Matt."
Matt whispered, "I hope Davey will stay with the WWF. I want to talk to him about that. Harry and I have to get ready for our next KWA match. Baby Georgia's going to be my manager. Harry just faxed me."
"Yeah we'll all be wrestling for the WWF together someday. You and Harry, me and Davey and Jim."
"Bret needs to come back to the WWF too."
Owen nodded gravely. "Bret will be coming in to see you soon, Matt. Why don't you talk to him about that?"
That night Matt fell asleep and never opened his eyes again. The doctor finally found a diagnosis, flesh-eating disease.
A friend of our family, Danny McCullough was acquainted with Mother Teresa. He got in touch with her in India and she and her nuns began praying for Matt.
Davey, the kids and I arrived the next day. We went straight from the airport to Matt's hospital room. Anyone who visited Matt got a prescription for antibiotics and had to be disinfected and swathed in a hospital gown before going into his room. Although he was only 10 years old, Harry marched right up to Matt and took his hand. He didn't bat an eye at Matt's shriveled limbs and distended stomach. He ignored the fact Matt was in a coma and started right into the KWA, making plans for their summer. He was so happy to see Matt again.
Harry was such a big wrestling fan he had always called his dad Davey. "What kind of car should Davey get? You're still going to wrestle as The Canadian Cougar, aren't you Matt?"
Harry sat by Matt's bedside daily. He heard the doctors discussing how they might save Matt by cutting off his legs and his arms below the elbow with a saw and it would have to be quick because oxygen would promote the speed of the flesh-eating disease to his heart. They hoped he would get stronger so that he could withstand the amputation.
The whole family came to see Matt. Bret and Davey hadn't spoken to Bruce for five months since my dad's 80th birthday tribute and now they all stood side by side praying for a miracle.
Thirteen days after he had been admitted to the hospital, Matt died. Matt's 16-year-old brother Ted called me just after midnight. He was crying, "Can you get to the hospital right away? Matt has taken a turn for the worse."
Harry and I raced to Matt's bedside. Georgia, BJ and Ross were right on our heels. We all stood quietly in an adjoining room with a glass partition and watched as the doctors and nurses flew around his ravaged figure. He was drowning in his own blood. One of the doctors joined us and with tears in his eyes, he told us they couldn't save Matt. He said we had perhaps two minutes to say goodbye.
We all kissed Matt on the forehead. Everyone held a part of him. Harry had his hand. I stroked his atrophied foot. It was cold as ice. Georgia was crying. "You are such a nice boy. We love you so much."
BJ had been a fireman for 20 years. He was accustomed to death. But now he was sobbing, "How could they take my little boy?" he gulped.
"When I die Matt, promise you'll meet me at the gates."
Ross said, "That's right, you're going to heaven."
Georgia wept, "There is no heaven. God would never let this happen to you, Matt."
We were all crying. "We love you. You are the best."
Harry leaned over and kissed him whispering, "I'll never forget you."
As Matt's heart beat for the last time, blood poured out of his mouth like a
waterfall. When the blood ceased, Matt was gone.
I went into the mourning room and called my dad. I couldn't bring myself to say that Matt was dead. I said, "Matt has gone to heaven Dad."
"Poor little guy," he said.