Strange, it seems, to be gazing down upon the resuscitation bay. I left my body about an hour ago yet they seem intent on forcing air into my carcass and pressing over and over again on my chest.

I must have inhaled enough vomit to fill a bucket. Luckily I have no recollection. That toxic muddle keeps spewing out of the tube and they keep forcing it back in. I know about all the pain meds, but I am no doctor. Still, even to me, none of this horrid scene makes much sense. And I’m not sure why someone keeps humming that Bee Gees tune “Stayin’ Alive.” Firstly, I’m clearly not staying alive. And secondly, I really hate the Bee Gees.

I realize they have work to do, but a gown over my chest would be a nice gesture. The rattlesnake tattoo on my left breast has been an embarrassment since the day after I got it. I do wish they would stop all of it.

I’m not sure why someone keeps humming that Bee Gees tune ‘Stayin’ Alive.’ Firstly, I’m clearly not staying alive. And secondly, I really hate the Bee Gees.

It’s time for me to leave now but I feel that I should not move on until these doctors and nurses are satisfied that I am, in fact, dead. Possibly a Munchkin in a black suit and a strange voice will come out and sing, “As Coroner I must aver, I thoroughly examined her. And she’s not only merely dead, she’s really most sincerely dead.” That would make me feel better about leaving, but for now I have this inexplicable desire to watch.

It’s the same as driving by a rollover accident in the median of the freeway. The Incredible Hulk couldn’t keep you from turning your head to gawk.

I’m certain they all think poorly of me. The looks on their faces show a combination of pity and disdain. Pitiful would be a good description of me. You’ll get no argument here. I can’t blame anyone for their posthumous judgment.

I didn’t mean for my short life to end this way. I was a different person before. Nobody would have ever voted me homecoming queen but you wouldn’t call me unattractive. Before I lost 20 pounds and cut my hair and dyed it pink I could at least look presentable. The thing is, I started using after a car accident. I thought my pain was really bad then. After watching this gruesome scene and seeing my family react, I now know what 10 out of 10 pain really feels like.

But they kept asking me to rate my pain. It seemed like 10 out of 10. I got 20 oxys in the ER. I came back a few times and they kept giving me another 20. Soon enough, I was getting about 15 oxys a week from various ERs. Then I convinced my family doctor that my pain was unbearable. This arrangement was much more convenient. I got 90 per month for the $10 Co-Pay. Now that’s a deal.

I could get by on two a day, so my friend turned me on to a guy that would buy my extras.

Really, it was no big deal. No big deal until I started trading them for heroin. First, I was just getting high, and pretty soon I was hooked. I used every day just to keep the shakes away. Like I said, I really didn’t mean to do this. My guy got a new supplier. Who knew the stuff would be so potent? I shot up in the bathroom and that was it. By the time they broke down the door, I was gone.

I blame myself, mostly. Early on, I could have stopped. And later, I should have asked for help. But I

didn’t. Nobody pushed me off this cliff. I do think I had plenty of help finding my way to the edge. They’ve stopped now. No short guy is singing but I have my answer. A young nurse with a tear in her eye is trying to clean me up for my family. I’ll be on my way now. This part I can’t watch.

Dr. Baehren lives in Ottawa Hills, Ohio. He practices emergency medicine at Wood County Hospital. Your feedback is welcome at DBaehren@premierdocs.com.