When I stepped into Fawn's examination room, she was bouncing on the edge of her chair, feet drumming against the scuffed tiles, more like an impatient schoolgirl than a woman in her late fifties. I had been forewarned. She had hurled insults at the EMTs when they first rolled her into the emergency department and informed the triage nurse of her well-known heroin and cocaine habit. Found nodding off outside the police station, she had woken up only after receiving Narcan, an opioid antagonist. Now, her sun-roughened face reflected an unsettling mosaic of emotions. I extended my hand and introduced myself. "Yes, doctor." She popped upright, grabbed my hand, and without letting go--before I could even say another word--asked me for a hug.
