Addicted To Death
ALBERTA, CANADA, HOSPITAL | HEALTHY | NOVEMBER 16, 2017
(I am eleven years old. My mother works in the kitchen of the local hospital and sometimes her duties involve delivering food trays to the patients. I remember her talking about the times on one floor where she would hear people moaning and crying, begging for morphine, as they lay painfully dying from whatever cancer was taking them from this world. One day, when I am out front of the hospital, I begin talking with a nurse who is waiting for the bus. We touch on a few topics until I remember my mother’s worlds about the terminally ill patients.)
Me: “My mother works in the kitchen and delivers food trays. She has told me about the dying people begging for morphine. Why don’t you give them what they need?”
Nurse: “Because they could become addicted, of course!”
Me: *I pondered her words for a few moments then replied* “Well, why don’t you give them the morphine they need, and then when they die, cut them off?”
Nurse: *giving me the stink-eye* “Little smart-a**!” *walks away in a huff*
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