Michael Jackson begged for sleep drug Propofol says doctor

Michael Jackson begged for the sedative Propofol to help him sleep, Dr Dwayne James, one of his doctors, has claimed. By Urmee Khan, Digital and Media Correspondent

Dr James said Jackson had pleaded for the drug – known as the "milk of amnesia" – despite all warnings. He said: "Michael said he desperately wanted to get hold of the drug। I immediately told him that Diprivan was dangerous and he should never take it at home, it could kill him।

"He said, 'But I've had it before, I slept so well, like a baby। It knocked me out, I love it, it's great, can't you give me some?' He kept saying that the day after taking Diprivan he felt so rested and had a lot more energy.

"He didn't seem to care that I was telling him it was dangerous," he told The Mirror.

Dr James, 61, the director of NutriMed Health Care Porterville, California, added: "There was no convincing him. What struck me was that he didn't seem to have any fear about taking Diprivan, despite everything I was saying."

Jackson made the demands in a phone call from his Los Angeles home, just months before his death, which is being linked to Propofol, also called Diprivan.

Diprivan, which is given to patients before surgery, is believed to be the main focus of the investigation into Jackson's death. It was allegedly discovered at his house and may have triggered his heart attack.

Dr James revealed that the 50 year old singer had repeatedly asked for the drug. He disclosed that he spoke to Jackson's nurse Cherilyn Lee just four days before he died to ask for Propofol.

Ed Winter, assistant chief coroner, seized Jackson's medical records from Cherilyn's office on thursday.

Other reports claimed Jackson travelled with an anaesthetist on his HIStory world tour in the mid-90s to help him cope with chronic insomnia.

Telegraph.co.uk

Michael Jackson's Last Laugh

Michael Jackson's death will be a JFK-Elvis-Diana memory for decades. "I remember where I was, who I was with, and how I found out Michael Jackson died," will become part of the vernacular into the 22nd century. Modern technology allowed us to be intimate with Michael from afar, and now he is gone. Michael Jackson is dead. It's hard to grasp, like yellow not being a bright color.

Celebrity death is tough on the public. Instinctively we want to run to help those we know and love, but with a famous person, all we can do is run to a television. It's a connected disconnected with emotional strings tied into a knot. When I heard Jackson was dead, I was knocked off center by the switch that occurred among millions of neurons in my brain. I just can't imagine Michael Jackson - dead. Like Diana's death twelve years ago, the cultural getting-used-to will take some time.

I met Jackson twice, most recently at a Carousel of Hope Ball in Beverly Hills. He was timid and gracious but still bigger than life. We hugged the hug he probably had given to hundreds of thousands of fans. I told him I missed his performing, but he told me he was performing every time he stepped out of the house. As he stood there in his spangles and epaulets, it was easy to understood what he meant.

Last December when I heard Jackson moved yards from my home, I was hopeful he might be reigniting his career. Surprisingly the infamous recluse had chosen the corner of Sunset Boulevard that most screams "I'm back!" I'd drive by his home daily, consistently amazed by the legions of die-hard fans camped across from his gate. Just days after Christmas I remember how simply normal I thought it was so see empty toy boxes poking out of his recycle bin - an ordinary holiday for an extraordinary American.

By very late January Michael Jackson still had his Christmas wreaths hanging on his gates. It was slightly odd, so I made a video about it. Michael Jackson was in a neighborhood - I was not about to let him think that he wasn't part of our tribe. About three weeks after I put the video on OVGuide.com, a blocked call rang on my cell phone. "Hello, this is Tom," I said. All I heard in the receiver was the sound of my own voice playing from the video and a soft giggle. Then the voice said, "man, you're crazy." I laughed and asked who it was but all I heard was more giggling until the end of the video when I heard "thanks...crazy" and then the phone went dead.

I made videos two and three, expecting I would tape number four on the pivotal Fourth of July date. I had planned to bring a reindeer and/or Santa along to help me plead my case for Jackson's Christmas wreaths coming down. I suspect Michael would have tuned in to see the fiasco I had invented. As it is, the Christmas wreaths that Michael might have left up for my silly videos got their real claim to fame by overtly hanging on his gates the day he died.

As we fight the war on economic meltdown, terrorizing attacks, and common household germs, Jackson's shocking death reminds us to live life fully now. Time seemingly moves faster and faster ever year. Death is the end of the tracks. What will you do with your life if this is your last day?

In Michael Jackson's case, he lived life out loud his own way, not because had the money, but because he knew none of us have time to waste.


The painting below is by my pal, soap star Thom Bierdz. It seems more real to me today.