“The Colors of His Addiction” at the Los Angeles Times
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.