My next memory is waking up two weeks later in a hospital bed with Perla sitting there, looking very worried. I had suffered cardiac myopathy. Years of overdrinking had swollen my heart to the point of rupture, to the point where it was barely strong enough to circulate my blood properly. I couldn’t get it through my head that I was out of commission, but I was. The doctors gave me six days to six weeks to live but not much more. Once I was well enough to fly back to L.A., I was on bed rest and forbidden from drinking or any kind of strenuous physical activity.
