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Watching Someone Die in Ohio

~ heroin heroine ~ Leave a comment

Once again I am reading of yet another police department bemoaning the fact that they have to use a nasal spray (Narcan) to reverse the fatal effects of an opiate overdose. Just last week Butler County Sheriff, Richard K. Jones, prohibited his officers from carrying Narcan by explaining “here in Ohio, the (paramedics) get there about the same time and they’re more equipped to use Narcan. Requiring deputies to administer the medication puts them in danger.”

While true that Sheriff Butler is in the midst of a maddening epidemic that is exhausting and frightening – his explanation is nonsensical.  Why would police officers allow paramedics to deal with people who, in his words, “turn violent once they are revived?”

Sheriff Jones further complains that this epidemic is “sucking his taxpayers dry.”  Jones next move may be to follow the lead of fellow City Councilman Dan Picard from nearby Middletown, Ohio.  Picard has requested that ambulances no longer be dispatched to previously revived people. (In fact, he would like those overdosing to be fined – on the small chance they survive without assistance.) Now here is a move that would doubly benefit the taxpayer!

What we are hearing, (if not job exhaustion accompanied by bigotry), is a need to revisit the department’s mission statement. It is not uncommon for large organizations to have to remind themselves of their core mission.

Most police officers are hired:
-to mitigate damage and destruction of property
-to defend and protect individuals in the community
-to operate as first responders*
*Contractual footnote: most stipulate a speedy emergency response even to multiple calls from the same individual – you do not get to choose who you respond to. Also, those served aren’t required to be instantly appreciative or futuristically compliant.

Those of us who parent addicts understand the frustration. We know they don’t listen. We know they go back to the drugs. We know our efforts are often ineffectual. Over and over again – the same honest effort, the same disappointing result. But confer further with those of us who are not in a position to “give up” and we will tell you to trust in that future day. Not all will be saved because no epidemic-sized rescue mission will ever be 100% effective. But the recovery community is surprisingly large. Imagine the day when the person you revived is healthy and whole and breathtakingly alive. Imagine you made that possible by the simple application of a quick acting nasal spray.

Now, imagine differently. Imagine you arrive at the scene. You see the boy you saved last week. He is blue. You try to ignore his crying parents as his breathing slows to a stop. You mumble under your breath “not my problem” because this time you are not permitted to expend any life saving measures. You console yourself that the boy willfully took the drug. Possibly it will feel like witnessing a goldfish jump out of its bowl and quietly allowing it to suffocate.

I imagine that Sheriff Jones forgot one crucial element in his cost-benefit analysis: the mental health of his responding officers. Did he consider how they might feel responding and choosing not to serve? Not to rescue? Not to mitigate the damage? Not to call forth compassion?

It is one thing to be tired of saving the same people over and over.
But it is quite another to watch them die.

Comfortable with Uncertainty.

~ heroin heroine ~ Leave a comment

Comfortable with Uncertainty is the title of a book by the Tibetan Buddhist monk, Pema Chodron. Pema has written many books… and they all have portentous titles such as “Start Where You Are,” “The Wisdom of No Escape” and “When Things Fall Apart.”

Pema is speaking to me.
But a Buddhist would say that there is no me; we are all one.

“It’s not all about you.”
I have heard this before. My daughter would holler this when I would try to get her to conform, behave, listen, follow.
(She said a lot of things… this being one of the milder retorts!)

But she was right.
It’s not all about me.

A yoga teacher once told me that it is the ego at work when we think we can control the outcome of any event. Even if that outcome has no selfish impetus. Even if that outcome is to solely benefit another – like recovery.

She questioned me: “If you didn’t take credit when your eldest aced the SATs, or won the lead in the play, why would you own your other child’s difficulties?” She further explained; “If you believe you are responsible for another person’s failures that too is the ego at play. You are, in essence, believing you have a Godly amount of control over another individual’s actions.”

So, where does this leave me? If I am no longer an active participant do I assume the role of spectator?   Do I alternate between cheering from the sidelines or averting my ashamed gaze?

No. As Pema reminds, “just start where you are.” Starting necessitates setting off, not standing still. Basically; get yourself back into the game.

The thing is, if you keep playing, at some point you no longer keep track of the wins and the losses. It just becomes a series of parade like hills; some up, some down. Eventually you realize others are playing the game too. We are all part of this shifting, moving, undulating life force. There are no bystanders. And there are no ultimate victors.  We are all on the same team.

HL 3956 just passed. (Hallelujah … and what the hell?)

~ heroin heroine ~ Leave a comment

In Massachusetts we have a legal act called a “section 35” which allows a family member, or police officer, to involuntarily commit a substance abuser to a treatment facility for up to 30 days. We are fortunate to have such a process (as it is not available in many other states).

Getting a section 35 granted is not the easiest of propositions – and it should not be. You are, in essence, denying someone their civil liberty.  One must arrive in court armed with evidence that the person you seek to commit is of “immediate danger to themselves or others.”  If successful in convincing a judge of this fact, a warrant is then issued for the addict to appear in court.  To successfully win their commitment the petitioner must then best the addict’s court appointed attorney, and convince a doctor that harm is surely imminent.

I have done this four times. I am, I suppose, a seasoned section 35’er. I am also seasoned to the flaws in the system.

Four times my child was civilly committed. But only two times did she receive any treatment. Twice there were no treatment beds available at WATC, the state supported Women’s Addiction and Treatment Center. So my daughter was handcuffed and sent to MCI Framingham. MCI Framingham is the highest level security prison for women in Massachusetts. I watched as she was dragged from the courtroom, shoeless and shackled, screaming “Mom please don’t send me there…. they will not help me! Mom please!”

Lucky for me I was able to lock her pleas into a small little compartmentalized part of my brain. A part of my brain that has been built over the years to accommodate the unpleasant lies of addiction.

However, the addict isn’t the only one who lies.

At MCI my daughter was held with women who had plotted to kill their in-laws. Women who had strangled their children. Women who had stabbed their boyfriends. Women who had committed arson. Women who had committed insurance fraud. My daughter was not guilty of a criminal offense. But she was subject to roll calls, solitary confinement and body cavity searches.

Now here’s the thing – when men are sentenced to treatment and there are no available beds, they are sent to Bridgewater Correctional Institute. Bridgewater is a minimum security prison where addiction treatment is immediately provided and is similar to that received in a hospital.

What about Framingham? Did they provide equal access to treatment services ? No, they did not. The first three days of detox are spent in a single room with up to five other women. Detoxing from heroin includes severe diarrhea, hypertension, rapid heart rate, muscle spasms so large that you are often unable to stand, anxiety, insomnia, depression, and impaired respiration that makes you feel like you are underwater. Now experience all of these things together in their most extreme form. And don’t forget you are with five other suffering women. And one toilet. And a guard who doesn’t give a shit.

This is the beginning of the MCI Framingham “treatment” plan. And also the end of it. There is no counseling. There is no medication assistance (either with detoxing or maintenance). There isn’t even an AA group to attend. Women who are civilly committed for the purposes of having their substance abuse treated are incarcerated, ignored and discharged.

So the legislature finally addressed the issue in January 2016. The scramble is now on to increase the number of acceptable treatment beds. But there shouldn’t be a scramble. The ACLU won a successful lawsuit against the state a year earlier but no discernible progress had been made.

We are told the problem is solved. But is it?

If we fix the problem should we not ask why the problem existed in the first place? Lasting change can not occur if we do not question the conditions that allowed it to flourish.

Questions that keep me confounded include the disbelief, that in 2016, we still treat men with more respect than women. Or that the prison staff themselves, year after year, found the treatment of civilly committed women acceptable.  How could a judges remand for substance abuse treatment be blatantly disregarded? Are we unable to address injustice in our culture without the sword of the law? What happened to compassion? Why is a bucket and a cement floor okay?  Why?

Broken Things Have Value.

~ heroin heroine ~ 1 Comment

I have a set of flawless china. It is Lenox and it has a silver rim like a lucky cloud.

I also have a morning coffee cup. It’s crazed from being microwaved just a little bit too much.  There is a chip that serves as a reminder to not sip on that side. When the handle breaks I will, most likely, glue it back on.

Sentimental? Not really.

I have been thinking about broken things a lot lately. How my daughter’s journey has introduced me to the fractured and hidden members of our society. I have been inside too many psychiatric hospitals, too many jails, too many police stations, too many emergency rooms and too many detox centers. I have seen too many people cry.

But now I can hold these experiences in the palm of my hand like an old coffee cup. They are no longer things that happen to other people. And I can see that they have added value to my previously flawless life.

Three years ago I noted in my journal the incongruities that were becoming our norm:

“I had to pick my daughter up from an in-patient psych ward this morning. She looked just beautiful in a black tee shirt and old jeans. Her blonde hair hung in a long braid over one shoulder. I could barely see the bruise on her cheekbone. As she gathered her things to go she insisted on saying goodbye to Carl. She knocked on his door on her tippy toes, and said, “Carl come out.” “Carl, come out and say goodbye to me.” And she waited patiently. I was expecting a young boy…. but an old man came out. Wizened, beaten down, shuffling. She gave him a big, big hug. And I just didn’t know what to do with the feeling.”

Somedays I still don’t know what to do with all the feeling.  But I know I am the better for it.

But your husband might run for office.

~ heroin heroine ~ Leave a comment

The key word in this sentence is “but.”

(Because my husband is not going to run for state office!)

These words were said by a well intentioned family member. It was a warning that having a known addict as a child would most certainly preclude any future political appointments.

So secrecy, or discretion, is key.

The problem with secrecy is that it doesn’t invite change.
Your “problem” remains hidden – swaddled in shame.
Addiction is one of the last frontiers to be openly, and honestly, discussed. It used to be common to deny a relative’s homosexuality. (To put them in the proverbial closet!) Thankfully those days are behind us. Many parents will proudly introduce you to their child and their child’s partner. But not many will freely admit that someone in their home struggles with the disease of addiction. However, numbers don’t lie. And the alarming number of young people overdosing across the nation is testament that the problem is right here…. and right there… and over there. It is no longer expedient to be discreet.

As for politicos with addicts in the family… I can think of quite a few. In the recent primary debates Carly Fiorina spoke of the loss of her step daughter to addiction. Ted Cruz’s sister overdosed. Jeb Bush’s daughter smuggled crack cocaine into her rehab facility. Donald Trump’s brother died of alcoholism. And how about those who suffered from the disease of addiction themselves? Our very own mayor of Boston, Marty Walsh, is in recovery. Our nation’s Drug Czar, Michael Botticelli, is in recovery. Former President George Bush freely admits that he had to give up alcohol because he couldn’t control his use.

And what about the first lady Betty Ford? In the words of Barbara Bush, “Betty transformed her pain into something great for the common good. Because she suffered, there will be more healing. Because of her grief, there will be more joy.”

Now that’s worth talking about.