Walk Down Misery Street

I was thinking about how Sean got THAT phone call few hours ago, and then went to the morgue of the hospital where Frank’s corpse was brought in by EMS. How did he manage to do it? Should I go to the funeral? How would I look to his eyes?

Frankie, Frankie. Why didn`t you throw that crappy portfolio in the trash and be done with it? Aaah!

Alas, what faced me then was not the last death among my patients from an opiate overdose, but the first.




Yellow Gowns


Time passed. The opiate epidemic in the country continued; the number of opiates overdose deaths kept rising. Alarm bells were going off. Various public and private foundations began to allocate resources to fight this new plague.

Two times a week I was assigned to work on the main campus of the hospital, in the Emergency Department. Inside the ED, a special section was dedicated to patients admitted for drug and alcohol abuse or psychiatric conditions. Some of these patients came into the ED on their own while others were brought in by ambulance, called by relatives or attending physicians, and yet others were brought in by the police. Some had their hands cuffed and their feet shackled; these were laid in bed, their arms handcuffed to the metal bed post, and policemen sat by them. The dangerous ones were guarded by several policemen.

Some of the patients, who came by EMC, were so drunk that they could not stand; such patients were picked up off the street in response to strangers’ 911 calls. They had crushed skulls, bloody faces, broken arms and legs. The agitated drunk and psychotic ones were sedated and also tied to the beds with belts.