This week the sponsors of the YA Indie Carnival are supposed to share excerpts about marijuana. Interestingly enough, I had no idea what 4/20 meant, which led me to research the subject. For those as ignorant as me about casual drug use, I'm including the information from Wikipedia: April 20 has evolved into a acounterculture holidy, where people gather to celebrate and consume cannabis.
Now, I don't have even one excerpt which is remotely related to pot. However, I do have a passage where Dr. Allison La Crosse walks in on a fellow physician who has just overdosed on IV drugs. Unfortunately, there is nothing fun, funny, or amusing about this scene. I'm a nurse at heart and have seen too many people's lives ruined by drugs for me to pretend they are anything but soul sucking.
Expecting one thing and finding another, I stood paralyzed in place, staring open-mouth toward an unconscious Suri. She was slouched down in one of the two straight-backed chairs with a tourniquet applied to her arm and an empty, needled syringe hanging limp from her arm vein. Violet red blood bubbled like a brook from around the needle. It streamed over the side of her arm and dripped onto her expensive white pants – more intensely defiling them with every second passing.
“Oh my God,” I exclaimed, rushing toward her.
She was breathing, but it was so shallow and labored that it was not conducive to living. Without assistance from her and almost simultaneously, I released the tourniquet, pulled the syringe out of her arm, and grabbed for gauze and tape. I used one hand to stem-the-tide of blood. Ferocious, I used the other (along with my mouth) to rip at the tape which would be used to keep pressure on the hemorrhaging site. Once the wound was stabilized, I lowered her limp body, as slow and gentle as she could afford, to the ground. I had to minimize her risk for additional injuries after I left in search of help.
Dashing into the hall, I found Brody. At the sight of me hysterical and covered in Suri’s blood, his face went as white as the cotton balls I had just knocked to the floor.
“I need help,” I yelled and rushed back into the room.
There, I found, in just a few seconds, Suri - severely misshapen and contorted - had stopped breathing and had begun seizing. Her arms were drawn up tight and awkward into her body. Her fists were curled into her chest and directed toward her elbows. Her toes were pointed straighter than a ballerina performing a pirouette, and with head cracking force, her body rigidly convulsed. As a final shock, her eyes were nothing more than white marbles.
The horrific scene left me dazed and confused until I realized Brody was shaking me and shouting, “Get the crash cart now!”
I ran out of the room, down the hall, and toward the cart. All the while, I was barking, “CODE BLUE ROOM 7!”
Carolyn and Linda had an instantaneous shot of adrenaline with my call for help. They were out of their seats, helping me roll the cart into the room. There, we found Brody clutching the used blood-covered syringe in one hand while holding the empty vial of medicine up to the light with the other.
Without glancing our way and stripped of the control he’d shown during Trevor’s accident, he shouted orders. “I need Narcan, now!”
The volatility of his demand made all of us to jump.