When I think back about what I learned about drug addiction in medical school in the 1980s, I can’t think of much.
Sure, I talked to plenty of patients who had been snorting coke and injecting heroine. One man with AIDS promised to teach me how to draw blood, if I’d sit by his side and keep him company. He didn’t have any other visitors. Maximum security prison where he was before, had a game room, and a gym and, he told me, the food was a hell of a lot better. In any event, he fed me the kinds of stories I had only read about. Looking back, he probably just wanted to help me, so I wasn’t poking him over and over since I was the one charged with getting his blood samples.
A teen mom told me that she tried crack for first time during her 7th month of pregnancy so the baby would come out early and small. I didn’t believe her at first, but a pediatrician told me that was in vogue among the city high schoolers, both pregnancy, and the forced premature delivery.
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