Warrior's Drink

I've learned to hate morphine. It causes bad constipation next morning, and it wipes out your ability to stay on the mark with what's happening. A little morphine made me ramble and yack up a storm. A little more was like watching your basement fill up with flood water -- when does it all end? Morphine is a sneak. It shuts you down slowly, and keeps you down, one finger on a feather. Celerity, please. I'm glad it's morning. There's always prune juice.
Labels: chemoembolization
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