Death Clutch - Brock Lesnar [63]
As soon as the post-fight press conference for UFC 100 was over, we flew to Jackson Hole, Wyoming, and spent a week hiding out in the woods. We went to Yellowstone. I got to know my new son.
When we got back to civilization, I got word that Dana wanted me to defend the title against Shane Carwin.
I took the fight. Why? Because I’ve never turned down a fight with anyone the UFC has offered. You want me to fight Shane Carwin? Then I’ll fight Shane Carwin. I’ll fight Shane Carwin, and I’ll defend my title against him the same way I plan on doing with every other top challenger you put against me.
But when I started training for the fight with Shane, I could feel that something was wrong. I was exhausted all the time. Tired. Worn out. No energy.
There were days when I would get home from training, and I literally could not get off the couch. I had been battling some stomach problems for a while, but I didn’t think too much of them and just went on. That was a big mistake. I should have listened to my body.
Now I had a real problem. My health was getting worse by the day, and the fight was getting closer. I had to make a decision. I wanted to be fair to the UFC, because they were already promoting the fight. But I knew there was no way I could continue training camp and be in any kind of shape to fight. Something was wrong with me. Very wrong.
I’m not a quitter, so postponing the fight against Shane Carwin was one of the toughest decisions I’ve ever had to make. I talked it over with my wife, Marty, and my lawyers, and we all agreed I had no choice. I was sick, and I needed to take care of myself.
I went to the local doctor, and was diagnosed with mononucleosis. It made sense to me at the time. Training camp can wear you down. My immune system was fatigued. I was susceptible to something like mono; it happens to fighters all the time. This time, it was happening to me. Or so I thought.
I wasn’t happy about letting so many people down, and I really wasn’t happy about being sick, so I took my family on a trip to Canada. I figured we could spend some time in the wilderness, and I could rest and get healthy again.
Not long after we got to western Manitoba, I woke up in the middle of the night with the worst pain I have ever experienced. I never felt like that before. I was sweating buckets, just drenching the sheets, and I was delirious. I didn’t even know where I was. I remember seeing Rena looking at me, and then I fell back asleep.
I woke up a short time after that, and told Rena I needed to get to a hospital.
Fast.
I couldn’t stand up on my own. That says something right there, doesn’t it? Brock Lesnar. The ultimate fighting champion. You know, Baddest Dude on the Planet. And I couldn’t even stand up. Couldn’t help myself. Couldn’t get from the bed to the car to save my own life.
My brother Chad was with us, and he is big enough to carry me to the car. He loaded me in, and we took off like crazy men. But as fast as he was driving, I still felt like punching him in the face because it wasn’t fast enough. Poor Chad. He could have put both feet on the gas pedal and redlined the tachometer all the way, and it still wasn’t fast enough for me.
I was in so much pain, and I wanted help, but we were in the middle of nowhere. It may sound funny to you, but the Manitoba prairie is at least two hours from the nearest town of any size. The speedometer is only reading ninety-nine miles per hour, and I’m thinking of how I can fight through the pain and beat up my brother because he’s driving at a snail’s pace. At least that’s how it felt to me.
We got to a hospital in a town called Brandon, and they put me on morphine right away. That took care of the immediate pain, but I still didn’t know what was wrong with me.
After I stabilized a bit, the doctors took an X-ray of my stomach, but that doesn’t show tissue, and doesn’t give you a full view of what’s going on. The doctors knew it, and wanted to do a CT scan, but they only had one machine