Tell me, sister Morphine, how long have I been lying here? What am I doing in this place? Why does the doctor have no face?

Life continues to imitate Agatha Christie plot-lines:



A Christchurch medical researcher has died in a suspected suicide as police investigated claims she poisoned her partner last year and also whether she fatally poisoned her husband nine years ago.
...
Before her May 9 death, police had approached her about her partner collapsing at home three times last year. The partner, who Stuff has decided not to name, was rushed to hospital in June, July and August after falling unconscious. Tests eventually revealed his blood contained five different types of prescription medicine. 
...
The partner grew suspicious when he woke in his hospital room to find Dawson wearing gloves and administering what appeared to be a yellow substance to his IV line through a needle.

She claimed she wore the gloves because he was infectious and that he had seen a yellow pen.

Whenever I wake up from a drugged stupor and find the Frau Doktorin by the bedside holding a syringe, she explains that she needs to practice taking samples for work, so that's OK.

Disturbingly, this is probably only the second- or third-most bizarre medical-researcher-related tale of devious murder to come out of Christchurch.