Los Angeles Times

Commentary: After his first overdose, my husband promised it wouldn't happen again. I believed him

The first time I saved my husband's life, his face was the color of saturated denim. I found him curled on the floor, body fighting itself. Limbs constricted, shoulders twitching, he snorted desperately as his lungs gasped for oxygen.

I yelled his name, shook his arm, slapped his face. The sputtering sound came less often, and he was so, so blue.

"Has your husband ingested or administered any opioids?" the paramedic asked after they pushed me aside.

I shook my head no, feeling my teeth chatter. It felt like a random question. I knew what drug users looked like -

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