Sally's post prompted me.
When my mum died part of her legacy was boxes of oxycontin.
She hated taking it cause it bunged her up and then she had to have colox & senna & shit like that - not what a proper English lady/Phd Dr. like her should have to suffer!
When she went into palliative care I had to all but carry her to the passenger side of her flash Toyota Celica (SR-02) & drive her to the hospital. I (and many others including friends & neighbors) had kept her fed, going to appointments and living at home for quite some time when many hospitals would've accepted her.
She was 2 days before she had a bung & was catheterized. A few days later she died.
A couple of days before she died & the last thing she said to me (there is a story) was "I know what you are trying to do."
After years of fucking up I really managed to kill my mother's trust in me.
Maybe she should've been honest with me about who my dad was...
EDIT: I took them to the chemists to get destroyed much to the chagrin of my mate Ron.
(Misery McUglywife an attention seeking sociopathic fuckstain., Mon 26 Dec 2011, 8:18, 1 reply)

the chemists don't destroy them..
they have a little oxy party after hours*

*this is untrue.
( Sallyrsm, Mon 26 Dec 2011, 17:15, closed)