"Hand me the alcohol wipes" I reach over the bed " this is finally starting to drain"

He hand me two packets of alcohol pads.

"Damn Tracey. How many fucking times are you going to do this to yourself?"



That question rang in my mind for a month to come. I had been performing surgery on myself. I was laying on the bed of our hotel room. We had hustled all day to get the $35 we needed to stay here tonight plus money for dope. Soon, we will have to do the whole thing all over again. For now, I needed a place where I could take off my pants. I needed to lance this abscess to get the pressure off. It wasn't getting all that red or hard but it hurt to walk. I knew the signs. I knew when to go to the doctor. I had been there many times before. The clinic would slice me open and send me on my way with some sterile water and gauze to pack my wounds.



I was quite the amateur doctor, at least in my mind. I had taken a new syringe and stuck in the middle of the in…