Smells Like Teen Spirit Baby

Frances Farmer Will Have Her Revenge on Seattle


It was a Frances Farmer-worthy freak out. Shaking, rambling, and hysterics to the point of tears; how the fuck did I become the most responsible person in the room?

“C’mon Elle. You’re the best! You can do this; it’s just like any other patient.” Third times the charm?

“It’s Kurt-fucking-Cobain, Molly! I can’t kill Kurt Cobain!” she cried.

“You’re not gunna kill him! You’re the top of our class for fuck’s sake!” I pleaded with her, in a voice whinier and bitchier than anyone had ever attained, ever.

“Why the fuck is no-one in there yet?! Fucking hell Molly, leave Elle alone and get the fuck in there!” Mala screeched. Now, I take back what I said. His voice was light-years bitchier than mine was.

I cast a finally glance towards Elle, before grabbing the poison control bag and dashing into the building. My mind raced and I frantically recited the treatment for excessive pill swallowing.

“Revive, ipecac, or stomach pump and further assessment.” I muttered. Crashing to the floor next to the cataleptic grunge idol, I pulled out the smelling salts, otherwise known as ‘super-disgusting ammonia stuff’.

“Sir. Sir, are you okay? Are you okay?” I said in the most confident voice I could muster.

No response.

I broke open the smelling salt package held it under his nose for exactly three seconds before making the next attempt to rouse him.

“Sir. Sir, are yo-”

“Mmf…wot ducks garnon, wtre ya doin’?” he slurred through a half shut mouth.

I nearly jumped a foot of the ground when he came around; partly because of the sudden-ness, but mostly because I had done something right.

Back to professionalism.

“Sir, I need you to focus. What pills did you swallow and how many of them?” I inquired as I rifled through my bag.

“Whydontcha just look adda bottles, nurse-lady?” he muttered before breaking into a fit of giggles.

My mouth tweaked into a smirk as I spotted the bottle. Not too bad. A whole bottle of Adderall, only about twenty pills, and very little risk of seizure.

This meant I got to use what is quite possibly the most fun medicine in the arsenal. Wonderfully hilarious, and mercilessly vomit-inducing: Syrup of Ipecac.

“You’re fucking lucky you didn’t die, silly boy. Now open your mouth.” I ordered. Luckily, in his stupor, he didn't have energy to fight the request, and the medicine slid down his throat without incident.

I slid him quickly onto his side, and tried to wake him up more fully.

“Mr.Cobain, I would highly recommend that you prepare yourself.” I said as I spotted the boys racing in with a stretcher.
“An' whys hat?” he asked.

And then the vomiting began.
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I'm going to try updating more regularly! Woo-hoo. Less medical jargon in the next chapter, I promise.