The phone rang. Sherry. “Give him two more milligrams haloperidol, one milliliter liquid lorazepam, and two milliliters of liquid. Leslie the nurse is on her way up there.”
It is a 45-minute drive.
He was pacing and heading for the door. He continued his short loop of thought. Every ten seconds I had to find a way to stall him and try to calm him. It was light out now, but in his extreme state of psychosis, he’d be much harder for me to control outside. Besides, with all the haloperidol, he could drop at any minute. He’d now had enough to sedate an elephant.
It was then I had a flash from heaven.
“That was Sherry,” I said. “She says Leslie is on her way with our passports. Then we can leave safely.”
As soon as he heard the word “passport,” his body relaxed.
“They want me to give you some more medicine. It will make you feel better.” He self-administered the liquid lorazepam and morphine. He swallowed the pills.
“These might make you sleepy,” I said. “Why don’t you lie down?” He took the few steps to the hospital bed on the other side of the room.
“Leslie will be here in half an hour, then we’ll go,” I said.
He nodded and closed his eyes.
He never opened them again. He died about ten hours later.