Abstract

I could have been more understanding, especially when police brought a man I'll call Mr. Atkins to the emergency room for depression and suicidal ideation. But it was 3:00 a.m. and the ER was a carnival of disease and discontent, a parade of drunk drivers and folks who practiced conflict resolution with knives and bullets. A patient well known for her drug abuse wasn't done yelling at me for refusing to write her a narcotic script when a nurse tweaked at my elbow to please come speak with Mr. Atkins, who was making a case to walk out.