I was biking home from work. You were laying on the sidewalk unconscious, your two friends hovering over you—concerned, panicked. I pulled over to see if they needed help and offered my Narcan. Your friends had just given you a second Narcan dose. 

You looked pale and gray. I checked your pulse and was relieved to feel that it was still strong, but your breathing was raspy and shallow. Someone else had called 911, and we were all eagerly waiting for help to come. 

We watched you closely, calling your name, waiting and waiting for Narcan to do its job. As we waited, person after person asked if they could help, offering the Narcan that they, too, were carrying. 

Help finally arrived. I will never know what happened next, but when I rode away you were still with us, and I hope with all my heart you still are today. 

Carry Narcan. Carry Narcan. Carry Narcan.

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