So after the first failed attempt of intravenously administering the “cocktail” of class A drugs, I needed to re-evaluate the situation.
Everything that was needed for the operation was to hand. The paraphernalia and the access; in the form of a cannula that the foundation doctor had inserted in A&E. I had managed to wangle a lighter off another patient a few cubicles down. I was good to go.
There were a few conflicting factors id have to dodge; The scrupulous tap dancing male and his scruffy accomplice for one. The girlfriend had thrown a spanner in the works, secretly informing said nurse, that I was on the prowl for my next fix. He was on to me; A handful of security guards in a gabble, talking and moving their heads in suspicious and hushed tones, albeit seemed more intent on observing the passing females rather than scouting the department for any risks. Out of the group, there was only one who appeared to be on the ball. He’s the one i’ll be wary of.
I suddenly became aware that I needed a pan to cook in. In a true school boy error i’d thrown away the last into the clinical waste bin in the bathroom on the first attempt. That had been when the tap dancing nurse and the scruffy nurse had rudely interrupted the show!
So what was I going to do for a pan? My eyes like military grade radars scanned the room. Nothing. I needed to think creatively.
And there is was. I had an eureka moment! Like a magpie I had zoned in on something shiny. Sat on another patients table. Tin foil. Now left a small matter of obtaining my object of desire.
The tinfoil I need is on old Tommy’s table, across from my bed. Tommy is a grand chap and content with the deck he had been dealt in life. Frequently praising the nurses and expressing “Eyyyyy, I do feel grand!” In hope that someone will take pity on him and discharge him home. The cake in the tinfoil is burning a hole in my head! If only I felt as ‘grand’ as Tommy. I’ve begun to perspire profusely and the rattle has started to take a hold of me. My mind is telling to make me do immoral things “Take the cake!” reassuring me “Your need is greater!”. That’s the thing with the addicted mind, It makes us do things that would make ‘normal’ folk cringe and curl with shame. In my eyes there was no shame in what i was about to do. It wasn’t in greed. It was my need!
So the plan is in place. . .
I make my way over to Tommy’s table. Eyes left; The nurses are all chattering among themselves at the nurses station. The pharmacist has just left the bay. She is trying to sort out another patients Tramadol take home prescription. I chuckle to myself. It seems that I’m not the only addict here. Addiction does not discriminate. So whilst the nurses are talking and the pharmacist is sorting out ‘Tramadol man, I have to work fast. Approaching Tommy, I notice he is drifting in and out of sleep. I worked like a thief in the night. Casually walking over to Tommy, i prepare myself to ask “Is everything alright?” should he wake up. Tommy was asleep and ‘catching flies’. Eyes left; The pharmacist is now talking with the nursing staff “I suspect hes stockpiling Tramadol at home, I’m only prescribing him enough to tie him the weekend!” – There was no pulling the wool over her eyes.
Back to the plan . . .
Tommy is still asleep. The other poor sods seem to be at the end of their lives and are all unconscious. Nurses busy. With a quick slight of hand the cake is in my dressing gown pocket before you could say “pass me my syringe!”. I walk away feeling rather pleased with myself.
Cake in mouth and foil in hand I begin to cook up my medicine. The end of my suffering is nigh. I only just manage mind. After straightening the foil and dispersing the remnants of the cake in all its stickiness, the foil isn’t really up to much and is falling apart. Already I’m anticipating the warm wave of comfort and calmness i was about to experience.
I’m just shooting up and the bangs on the door are once again ruining everything! I miss the vein and expel the contents of the syringe all over my trousers. I’m in a nightmare! How could this be happening after my meticulous plan had been so successfully executed? I admit defeat. I open the bathroom door, hang my head and do the walk of shame past the disapproving looks of tap dancing nurse, back to my bed to face the inevitable pain that i am about to endure.
My Saviour takes the form of a kind natured filipino nurse who has taken over from tap dancing nurse. She takes pity on me. I like to think that she is able to see the pain and desperation in my eyes. It is more probable that she wants a shift free of failed adventures of an ‘IVDU’. We could all do without those kind of dramas right? So, 10mls of morphine later, and a good talking down off a bossy auxillary nurse from Bradford, I begin to feel like a human with rational thoughts once more.
I reflect on the events of the day. The good intentions were there. The plan may have been a failure…
But that cake . . . It was delectable!