Falling Off The Thin Blue Line
A Badge, a Syringe, and a Struggle with Steroid Addiction.
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Holding the 10 cc vial marked "testosterona" carefully in my hand, I stuck my needle into the soft rubber stopper, flipped the vial upside-down, and drew out 2 cc of oil. I pulled the needle out and tapped the side of the syringe to bring most of the air bubbles to the top. I decided to stick it in my thigh. Off came my belt and down went my pants. This one hurt like a bitch on the way in. I slowly aspirated to see if I had landed the tip of the needle into a vein. No blood. Great. The plunger went in smoothly. I pulled the needle out, popped an alcohol swab on the site, and massaged the area....
Holding the 10 cc vial marked "testosterona" carefully in my hand, I stuck my needle into the soft rubber stopper, flipped the vial upside-down, and drew out 2 cc of oil. I pulled the needle out and tapped the side of the syringe to bring most of the air bubbles to the top. I decided to stick it in my thigh. Off came my belt and down went my pants. This one hurt like a bitch on the way in. I slowly aspirated to see if I had landed the tip of the needle into a vein. No blood. Great. The plunger went in smoothly. I pulled the needle out, popped an alcohol swab on the site, and massaged the area. I pulled my pants up, picked up my gun belt, and hooked it back on. It seemed to not fit me as well as it did a few weeks ago. I guess that would make sense because according to the scale, I had already gained fourteen pounds. I left the house and got back in my patrol car. I picked up the radio and advised dispatch I was 10-8.
