Okla. Officer Remembers Drug Call Involving Her Son

Past midnight, Kat Green arrived home from her police shift exhausted. She pulled the ponytail from her hair, slid into pajamas and clicked on the television. Then her smartphone started ringing with urgent messages.


The Sharbers stumbled toward their car, worried they would get in trouble. Heather Sharber climbed into the driver's seat and headed for home. Rolling down the curvy driveway, she saw trees leap in front of her car.

Down the road about a half-mile, she realized it was too dangerous to keep driving. She threw the car into park and slumped over the steering wheel. Josh Sharber got out and wound up face-down in a ditch 40 feet away. When an officer approached, he could only mumble that he was sorry: "I really messed up, and I just want to go to sleep."

A panicked race for help

Konawa ambulance medical technician Richard Morphis and his partner got to the house first and found several people staring blankly. They found Stacy Jewell unconscious in a little girl's pink bedroom.

She lay unresponsive, Morphis said, her breathing so slow and shallow they could barely measure it.

"Is she going to be all right?" a panicked partygoer kept asking them.

Morphis and his partner lifted her onto a stretcher and into the ambulance. Morphis inserted a breathing tube down her throat. The nearest hospital was about 15 minutes away.

They rushed down country highways, Morphis doing CPR, but it was too late. At age 22, Stacy Jewell -- who in recent years had tried to talk others out of doing drugs -- died after a drug overdose.

Kat Green worried that would be her son's fate, too. Waiting for more ambulances, she kept holding onto her son on the lawn. His cheeks were bloody with scratches from clawing at his own face. Colton tried to sit up, then fell over and seized, his muscles tensed so tight that Green thought his body would somehow break. She watched his lips turn blue.

"We need to get the ambulances here now!" she yelled to the other officers.

Within minutes, paramedics tugged at her shoulders, forcing Green to let go. They loaded Colton into an ambulance and poked him with IVs. Green saw blood streaking from his mouth.

Then he flat-lined.

"We're gonna have to bag this one," she heard a paramedic shout while grabbing a breathing pump.

Green sobbed. Other officers hugged her shoulders as paramedics transferred Colton into a medical helicopter.

"God, please let him make it," she thought. "This could be the last time I see him."

She watched the helicopter carrying her oldest son rise and disappear into the night.

'Not supposed to end this way'

For days afterward, Brenda Akerman sat by her only child in the intensive care unit, praying. She remembered his trips with the high school band, the birthday parties at their farm. She thought of his future; he was supposed to start a second summer internship maintaining computers at the accounting firm where she worked.

Now some drug she'd never heard of had put him in a coma, and he was showing no improvement.

She couldn't figure out why her son would try something so unknown. He had seen her react severely to over-the-counter allergy medicine. Their dachshund died from tainted dog food. He should have known better.

After a week of waiting, Oklahoma law dictated Andrew's life support be turned off. Brenda Akerman watched her 22-year-old son take his last breath.

"I kept praying for a miracle," she said. "It's not supposed to end this way."

Preliminary tests later revealed that the powder delivered to rural Oklahoma wasn't 2C-E at all, but a drug called Bromo-DragonFLY -- a chemical that some websites warn is even more dangerous.

The man accused of placing the Internet order, Cody Weddle, sits in jail charged with murder -- a charge that has drawn mixed feelings in town. Some residents think it is too harsh, that Weddle didn't intend to hurt anyone and those at the party freely chose to take the drug. Authorities continue to investigate others who were at the party.

Oklahoma prosecutors contend that distributing the drug was already illegal under a state law banning substances similar to illegal drugs. Weddle's attorney questions that premise.

Konawa Police Chief Rick Brogdon plans to send his 10 officers to training on synthetic drugs. Had they stopped Akerman going through town that night, he said, they wouldn't have known what he was carrying. "What else is out there we don't know about yet?" he said.

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