Very sad, don’t read, drugs are bad

I answered the phone. I don’t usually, but for some reason, I saw the number and I answered, even though it was 2 am and I’d stayed up until midnight watching LOST and it’s the last week of school. I answered.
So we went to the emergency room.
She said it was for kidney stones.
But the doctor and the nurses and I all knew the truth.
At least this doctor made her ask for the good stuff. He offered something small, but she said no, that didn’t usually work, and he said but it did usually for kidney stones and she said not really, not for her.
So he gave her the good stuff. The stuff they give cancer patients.
And I watched her body go slack, her moth open on its own because she couldn’t control it.
It’s not the first time I’ve seen her like that.
Two years ago her eyes rolled into the back of her head and she nearly passed out on my couch. It was a holiday. We were supposed to be celebrating.
I think it started before my memories.
Somehow though, as pain piled on top of pain, it spiraled out of control. And now with doctors who call themselves pain management acting as pushers for the Oxy’s and Perco’s, and Hydro’s, it’s not even difficult to let the drugs control everything.
I hate.
Drugs and doctors who give them like candy and the fact that we don’t get to go to lunch or on trips together or even just spend time talking.
I hate that the longest I’ve spent with her in the last handful of years was two and half hours in an emergency room watching a nurse administer a drug we all knew was one more nail in a coffin that’s going to be needed way too soon.
We’ve been studying forgiveness in small group, and I’ve got to forgive somehow. I’ve got to forgive her for addiction. I’ve got to forgive myself for the anger and somehow remember the love because it’s there, and that makes it even worse.

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