by Jinryu

I pass by the Main OR waiting room.  The girl is a bit over 15.  Papers are all signed.  She sits there in the waiting room, alone, wearing a hospital gown, drawing circles with her feet absentmindedly.  Where are her parents, I wonder?
A few hours later, [Mickey] tells me about how she got the jar, with a label marked 6909, and she felt nautious. 
“What’s a 6909?” I ask.
One of the RTs cuts in, “We’re not allowed to say the a-word here, sir.”