Kim Manlove - Surviving the Worst Loss

Photo by Rocky Rothrock, courtesy Kim Manlove

Grief is an individual experience. When the Manloves' son David died from a drug-related event, Kim's feelings of guilt and shame overwhelmed him  -- but it did not divide him from his wife and together they have found acceptance.     


You know, we first discovered that he had a problem in late 2000.  He was 16 at the time. 

It started with marijuana and then eventually alcohol.  There were some pills.  We didn’t know what they were -- pharmaceuticals of some sort. 

We got our son into treatment, and while he was getting help, we were getting some education about the disease of addiction, that it was chronic, that there was also could be a genetic component. And that it could be deadly. 

But we of course didn’t think anything about that. We just concentrated on supporting our son in every way that we could.

We began 2001 with a lot of hope. About five months into treatment, he had been doing well and we had been pleased with his progress, and so he came to us on one day and asked if he could go swimming at a friend’s house. We knew the kids he was going to be swimming with, and he’d been doing well, so we decided to kind of lessen the reins a little bit, and said sure.

They swam for a while, and then the girls decided to go in and have lunch.  David then and his friend went to a nearby drug store, bought a can of computer duster.  David had learned somehow that he could inhale the propellant, which would give him a very brief high, anywhere from 10 to 15 seconds, and it wouldn’t show up on the drug screens.  I don’t think he knew is that in some cases computer duster can cause something called Sudden Sniffing Death Syndrome, a disruption of the electrical activity of the heart, and can also bring on a heart attack.

They were passing the can back and forth, taking turns, going underneath the water.  And then at one point, David didn’t come back up.  He’d gone into Sudden Sniffing Death Syndrome while he was underneath the water.  His body’s first reaction, naturally, was to try and take a breath.  He opened his mouth and took in all water. 

The main cause of death was drowning.  The secondary cause of death was Sudden Sniffing Death Syndrome. 

While the EMTs were there, the parents had called my wife.  So Marissa drove to the hospital, and by that time, he was already gone. 

I was actually a couple of thousand miles away in Phoenix, Arizona.  I got the call from her saying that he was – had died.  I rushed to the airport.  This is before 9/11.  I basically told the ticket counter what had happened.  And they -- they were great.   They didn’t ask for any documen-tation or anything.  I mean they could tell that I was distressed, and immediately put me on the first plane directly back to Indianapolis.  And so ---  but that, that was  -- that flight was the worst.  Just so much going on in my head. 

The addiction gene ran on my side of the family.   I had two uncles who had -- were alcoholic on my father’s side, and I was someone who overindulged on a regular basis.  I had already pledged to my wife that I would know how to help him and get through this, and I failed at that.  Between the grief and the guilt, you know, I began to spiral down myself, drinking more alcohol and then I began also abusing the anti-depressants that I was being prescribed for the grief and the guilt and the depression.  To the point where I began shopping doctors for the medications.  I had a tragic story.  It was pretty easy for me to go to another physician and share the same story and immediately get a script for Xanax. 

One day, my wife and my son, my other son, my older son, came home and found me in a blackout.  And I can still remember coming out of that blackout seeing, you know, my wife screaming at me and saying, “What the hell is wrong with you?” 

I said, “I’m in trouble. I’ve been abusing alcohol and drugs, and I think I need to get help.”

My situation was so serious that I ended up having to come in-patient at that point in time. 

Part of the recovery regimen, too, was going to 90 meetings in 90 days, and I ended up doing 180 meetings in 180 days.  And I’ve been in recovery now for 15 years and I still do 5 or 6 meetings a week.  That’s the medicine that I continue to take for my disease of addiction.   And the dollar that I put in the basket at each of those meetings is a lot cheaper than the prescription drugs I take.

I’m an academic by training.  Spent 28 years as an administrator and dean at the largest university here in Indianapolis.  But a couple of years after I got into recovery, I started kind of a new chapter. I went to the CEO of the treatment center and told her that I’d be interested in getting some profession experience in this field of addiction treatment and recovery. 

And so we started a parent support group.  There’s no question that the death of a child is the worst loss.  What we found was, you know, we didn’t have to do counseling in that group.  The counseling took place just by people sharing where they were, what they were struggling with, and then hearing others sharing exactly the same things in a same way, and found comfort there for the first time. 

After David died, friends, family, and even people that we hadn’t been acquainted with, came to us and often started off by saying, “Well, what went wrong?” you know.  And sometimes it would be a little more pointed, you know:  “Were there some things that you didn’t do?” 

Our children aren’t supposed to die before us.  It’s like a violation of some sort of rule.  What went wrong?  What could we have done differently?  All that kind of mental machination is part of what led to my serious depression, and frankly, trying to find relief from the shame, and the guilt – probably more the guilt.  Again, because the addiction gene ran on my side of the family.  He caught this from me. 

We learn in recovery that acceptance is the release of all hope for a better past.  That’s become our mantra.  And that then has freed us up emotionally and psychologically, and brought us to the point where we can help others, at least try, to work down that path.

I describe our mutual recoveries as kind of what a strand of DNA looks like.  DNA has two trunks.  I’m one of the trunks and she’s the other trunk.  They’re separate and distinct but there are branches periodically that connect those two trunks.  And that’s what recovery has done for us.  It’s connected us in some marvelous ways.

But at the same time, if you look under a microscope, DNA kind of spirals around.  That’s what life continues to do to us is that it continues to spiral us around.  And we continue to have challenges and things happen to us.  But there is still that tightness and structure of us together. 

The most important thing recovery has done for the two of us is that it has allowed us to -- to move on from the worst loss and celebrate our son’s life in a beautiful way.

My name is Kim Manlove and this is my story. 


Mariel Hafnagel - Grace & Luck in Recovery

Mariel Hafnagel is the Executive Director of the Ammon Foundation. In longterm recovery since 2007, she knows the disease of addiction well. Grace and luck and a lot of compassionate support changed her life.


I didn’t wake up when I was 17 and decide that I wanted to be a drug addict. 

The trajectory of my life and how I began to manifest addiction was not a conscious decision.  Was picking up alcohol and drugs a conscious decision?  Absolutely – because I was in tremendous pain and I wanted to take that away. 

My addiction progressed rapidly, leaving limited if not zero time for intervention, education, primary level care. 

My name is Mariel Hufnagel.  I’m a woman in long-term recovery which for me means that I’ve been alcohol and drug free since May 7, 2007, after an alcohol, heroin and crack cocaine addiction from the ages of 17 to 21.  

There was nothing extraordinarily dysfunctional or out of order or catastrophic that happened in my childhood.  From a very young age however, I always felt less than, different, and was constantly looking for a way to diminish those feelings.

I acted out. I stole. I was promiscuous. I threw temper tantrums.  Anything I could do to get outside of me and to get some attention from you.

I do remember at a very young age experimenting with alcohol, alone, and I just think that is important because the reason why I used alcohol and drugs, the reason I acted out was because I was trying to self-medicate. 

It’s very clear to me there was something off in my brain, and that there were mental health issues, underlying and untreated. 

I didn’t start using anything regularly until I was about 17.  And in literally a matter of months, if not weeks, I went from having a seemingly pretty normal life, you know, a beautiful house, a loving family, a decent GPA in school, friends, a boyfriend, etc. – to being homeless, a prostitute, living on the streets of Norwalk, Connecticut.  I had a $1500 a day drug habit. 

And what comes along with that lifestyle, as a 17, 18, 19 year old female, is a lot of trauma, a lot of sexual abuse, a lot of dangerous situations.  All that does is it perpetuates the need and the desire to continue getting high.  There was nothing I needed to do more than numb out so I could escape from all of that.

May 7, 2007, I was arrested and I was brought to jail.  That was the beginning of my recovery story. 

So often we talk about someone needing to have a willingness or a honest desire to enter and maintain their recovery.  I was not willing or voluntarily brought to Volusia County Correctional Facility.  But what that allowed is it allowed just enough time for me to get physically separated from alcohol and drugs that I could begin to have some clarity about my life.  And it was through that clarity that I became willing to be an active participant in changing and addressing some things, so that I could be sober and live a life that was worth living.

Detoxing in jail, potentially in physical danger, unlike any other chronic disorder that would be medically addressed, addiction is not ,and was not, for me.  And so I’m terrified and just kind of just left to fend for myself.  Which is not loving and not medically appropriate for anybody.

So I ended up being in jail for about two months.  And when I was released I needed to make a lot of changes and I needed to address a lot of things that I had been shoving down and unwilling to address for years at this point.

I got accepted into a halfway house and I was there for almost 9 months.  It allowed me to have a safe place to live, get involved with peer-to-peer support.  It allowed me time to look for employment, apply for Medicaid and food stamps, and social services.  All of this was vital for that first year.

I also needed to get honest about how I was feeling, what I was thinking.  And one of the most important things that I have found in my personal recovery is having people around me who hold me accountable and who I can be transparent with about what’s really going on.  Recognizing that part of just the human condition is that we are broken and imperfect and that’s okay.  It’s okay to be uncomfortable.  It’s okay to be who I am, in all its glory or in all its ugliness, and finding people who embrace me and love me and hold me up during those times.  And had I not be able to kind of find that support, I don’t know if I would have been able to maintain my recovery. 

I think it’s really important when we talk about recovery to talk about people being able to build meaningful, purposeful lives.  Because without being crass – although I am crass -- if I can’t have a life worth living, why would I not want to be getting high? 

Not saying that life needs to be perfect al of time.  No one’s life is all of the time.  However, when the bad times come, if there is purpose and meaning and love and connection in their life, it’s easier to weather those storms. 

What happened when I was about five years in recovery is I realized there is a lot of discrimination against people like myself, and I became motivated to try to make a macro difference. 

Oftentimes people ask me, what do I attribute my recovery to?  And I say grace and luck. 

Grace is defined as an unwarranted gift from God.  And whatever you believe is your beliefs, but I believe that the universe is conspiring for our greatest good, all the time. 

I believe that I’ve been put in the right place at the right time with the right people enough times to maintain my recovery and to become who I am today. 

That’s also combined with luck.  Luck for me is connected to privilege.  It’s connected to the fact that I’m an upper middle class white female.  Between the ages of 14 and 21, I was a repeat offender.  I am now a convicted felon.  I’m a sex-trafficking survivor, and I’m formerly homeless.  Time after time, I was given second, third, fifth, a hundredth chances, by everybody – police, judges, by people who I just crossed paths with.  I also experienced tremendous generosity because I was seemingly non-threatening.  And, due to the socio-economic status of my family, I was able to access treatment, go back to school. 

I was able to do all of these different things that are off-limits or much harder to attain than say my African-American female counterpart, my trans counterpart, my lower socio-economic counterpart. 

My recovery should not be based on grace and luck.  It should be based on the fact that I was given access to services, that barriers were removed, and that I was treated with compassion because I suffer from a brain disorder – and that’s why I should be able to have entered and maintained my recovery.

So since 2012 I have had the incredible ability to join what many people call the recovery advocacy movement.  I have been able to work and live in a space where people are demanding what I like to consider the civil rights of people who suffer from a substance use disorder.  And, you know, it started as a volunteer intern in 2012 and just six years later I have the distinct privilege of being the executive director of a foundation.

And that really is what recovery looks like, right.  It looks like the fact that I got married.  It looks like the fact that we rescued two dogs. We bought a house.  I’m a daughter. I’m a sister. I’m an aunt.  I’m a taxpayer.  I’m an employer and an employee.

My story is not extraordinary.  I just have been empowered to share it.  There are thousands if not millions of others, just like me, living in recovery, a part of society who have overcome their own struggles with addiction. They have just not yet been empowered to share their story. 

My name is Mariel Hufnagel and this is my story. 

Dr. Faye Jamali -Doctor in recovery

Photo courtesy Faye Jamali

In 2007, Dr. Faye Jamali broke her wrist.  What happened in the next few months jeopardized her career as an anesthesiologist and made her understand pain in a new way.


I don’t want to say it’s unusual but for me it was unusual -- because never in a million years did I think I would ever find myself addicted to opioids. 

I had never had issues with heaving drinking, using drugs.  I even graduated Berkeley without even trying pot. 

It was scary how much raw talent I had for being an addict.  For someone who had had no history of it, I showed great skill.

At age 40, this is after I’d been an anesthesiologist for almost 15 years, I broke my wrist at a birthday party for my children.  This was back in 2007.  Had a couple of surgeries.  Had some pain.  The surgeon, who was actually a friend,, prescribed me a big bottle of pain pills.  And back then it was not unusual to do that.  We were taught in medical school, in residency, and even in my clinical work place, that we had to treat pain very aggressively, and that if patients were being treated for surgical pain, the chance of addiction was minimal.  That was what we were taught.  So to me, it wasn’t unusual that he prescribed me a whole bunch and he also said, “I don’t want you to have to call for a refill.  Here you go.”

And I took the pills as directed -- every three to four hours when I had pain.  Funny thing happened.  I noticed that when I had those pain pills in my body, things didn’t  bother me as much.  I was just less stressed out about everything. 

At that time, I had two small children, a two-year old and a five -year old.  Life was pretty stressful.  I was a full-time anesthesiologist.  My husband was a full-time surgeon. Hectic life.  But I found out that hey, if I took one of these Vicodin pills, it just smoothed the edges.  I just felt like Oh, this is kind of cool – and it’s prescribed!

So I just started slowly taking things once in a while when I was stressed out.  But it muddied the water for me. 

I also have a long history of very severe migraines that I had gotten all kinds of treatments for.  Botox injections in my scalp.  I would occasionally find myself in the ER having injection of a narcotic.  I was at work when I had a very bad migraine.  It was towards the end of my shift. And at the end of the shift as an anesthesiologist, whatever leftover narcotics we have from the cases we’ve done, we waste them.  As I was in the bathroom just dealing with this really bad migraine at the end of my shift, I thought, Oh my god, I have this narcotic.  This is the exact same medicine they’re going to give me in the ER. And I don’t have to wait.  And I don’t have to do anything.  And I’m a physician.  And I can inject.  Let me just do it! 

I did it.  The headache went away.  But I felt so guilty.  I felt like I had just crossed a line that should never, ever be crossed.

The next day I got a migraine again.  I tended to get them during my period.  And I thought this time, Oh, I know exactly what to do.  I went and injected myself again.  This time though, I felt a rush of euphoria, not just pain relief.  It was a euphoria that made me stop, and think, and be angry at myself for having had access to this amazing drug all these years and I never used it!?   I mean, what kind of idiot was I?

Over the next three months, I just was chasing that euphoric feeling.  And within a three-month period, I had increased the dosage of medications I was taking by close to tenfold.  I was terrified.  I kept thinking,  Well, this is wrong but no, no, no, I’ll stop.  It’s just really stressful right now.  I’ll stop.

But something would trigger it, and I would just like  I just want to feel good again.   And I would find myself doing it and feeling worse afterwards because no matter how much I tried, I couldn’t quite stop myself.  But I kept thinking, Look, I’m a smart person.  I’m a doctor.  I have good will power.  I can beat this.

Nobody knew.  Nobody.  No, I did not tell my husband about this. He had no idea.  I never used when people were around.  It was always in private.  And I would use on the day that I wasn’t working.  Children were at daycare or at school.  I hid it pretty well.  I also didn’t know how to ask for help.  I felt so ashamed.  I kept telling myself, But I can’t be an addict.  I’m a doctor.  I’m a soccer mom.  This is not addiction, this is just some phase. 

But I  -- I was scared.  Anesthesiologists died from overdose but I never thought that that would be me.  And I was afraid that if I overdosed and died, I would leave two small children without a mother. 

So I had this brilliant idea one day.  I would inject into my arms.  So I put my daughter’s name on my arm where the vein was, and my son’s name on the other arm where I used.  And I told myself, Just think of it, next time you’re injecting there, just tell yourself you’re injecting into their eyeballs.  You would never do that, would you?  But the craving would hit and I would rip that Band aid off, and I would inject, and I would feel a thousand times worse, because what mother does this?  What mother would do this?

The worse I felt about myself, the more I needed relief.  And the more I did it, the further down I would get.  I would go two or three, four, five days without using and I would see the light.  Like, okay, I am crawling out of this crevice, and then fall back down again further.

I had a fight with my husband one night, and I drove to the hospital, went straight into the recovery room.   It was like 8 o’clock at night.  Said hi to the recovery room nurses, went to the narcotic machine, just picked a random name, a patient’s name, and checked out narcotics.  Went into the bathroom and injected.  And I woke up, maybe a couple of hours later.  I still had a needle in my arm. There was blood.  I had vomited.  I had urinated on myself.  I was horrified.  Horrified at my husband for having made me do this.  I was angry at him.  This is the depth of the change that happens in your brain.  The addiction in you does not want you to call it addiction because it’s an existential threat to its existence. 

My workplace – they called me one day.  They said, “We need to talk to you.” I walked into a conference room.  There was like ten people sitting around this large conference table, and they just had all these records of medications that I had checked out that had nothing to do with surgery or the operating room, just a random patient, a patient who had actually died two days earlier who was still on the list and I had checked out a medicine under his name.

I just didn’t even have the presence of mind to say anything.  I just said, “I don’t know.  I don’t know.”  I just didn’t know.  It was shocking.   They said, “Turn in your badge.  You’re under investigation.  Until the investigation is done, you’re on suspension.”

And I remember walking out of the hospital wondering, Now what?  Oh my God.

And that evening actually we had a marriage counseling session because our marriage wasn’t doing so well at that time.  We went home, put the kids to bed.  And after things were quiet, my husband said, “Faye, do you want to tell me something?”

And I just looked at him.  I thought, Okay, this is it.  This is the lowest point in my life.  This is how it just completely falls apart.  I didn’t even say anything.  All I did is I rolled up my sleeves – I used to wear long sleeves all the time --  I rolled up my sleeves, just showed him my arms.  And then what he did, was he just picked me up, hugged me and said, “Sweetie, why didn’t you tell me? We’ll get you help.”

And I have never loved him more.  Because to be that low, and to have someone offer you help -- it is the world to you. 

And also that moment taught me no matter how hard the situation is, the truth is actually easier. 

So the next day I called up my hospital and I told them.  And I saw this physician who is a psychiatrist at my hospital who is an addiction medicine specialist actually.  He had treated me years ago for depression, post-partum depression, so he knew me very well.  He’s my angel.  He said, “Faye, it’s going to be a long, rough journey, but we’ll take you through it.  We’ll walk you through it.”

And I’ll never forget the first day I showed up at the recovery center.  I had dressed nicely, wearing a nice pearly necklace, and I sat down and this guy next to me said, “So, hey, what are you here for?  Alcohol?”  And I’m like, “No, I shoot up drugs.”  And he was shocked.  Like I didn’t fit the profile of someone who injects.  But that’s who I was. 

I was extremely fortunate.  I had a job where they gave me the opportunity to take a year off.  I had insurance that would pay for my recovery program.  I was in a physicians’ support group.  I had therapy.  I had group therapy.  I went to AA – I just felt more comfortable in AA versus NA – but just like a 12-step program.  I really immersed myself into recovery.    

But at the end of that one year, the hospital said, “You can either come back to the job you had before, as an anesthesiologist, or you need to sever your ties with this hospital.”  And I was terrified.  I didn’t know whether I could go back to being around narcotics.  So we came up with a plan for me to come back slowly, be monitored.  For the first three months there was another physician with me on every case.  I took naltrexone, an opiate blocker.  I told people in my group, my anesthesia group, of what had happened. I wanted them to be part of my safety net so that if something looked off, that they would be there and notice it. So we had a big program set up and I was able to return to work. 

Most states, except for three, have a physician health program.  If a physician has problems with substance abuse, they can be referred to this program, and as long as they abide by all the program rules, like going to meetings, having therapy, urine testing – as long as that is going on, the medical board doesn’t plaster their name on the internet, as long as they are in recovery. 

Unfortunately in my situation, California is one of only three states that to this day, does not have a physician health program.  So what happens is that if you have a problem with substance abuse, the medical board reviews you.  So the medical board took two years before they got to my case – not because they are lazy, because they are backlogged.  I was already back at work practicing for a year before the medical board came down on me and said you are under probation for five years.  During that time I had to get tested four times a week.  I had to take an ethics course because according to them, it’s an ethical failing.  I had to take lots of continuing medical education in addiction medicine which was great. 

I don’t think being a doctor is a right – it’s a privilege.  I was willing to do whatever to do this.  But any patient who wanted to could go on-line, put in my name, Dr. Faye Jamali, and what does it say?  It doesn’t say I’m in recovery.  It just says that I am this addict.  That’s hard as a physician.  And I don’t think it does the public any good because now physicians go underground if they have a problem. 

Who wants their problems on the internet being broadcast?  Physicians in recovery actually do much better long-term, 80% recovery rate vs. the general population.  Also we have access to good insurance.  We have the means to get the recovery we need.  The general population, unfortunately, doesn’t. 

But in 2015, I was able to finish my probation.  During this time of recovery, it’s not like life was peachy.  Pain happens.  What I learned from recovery were all these tools to deal with life and pain that is inevitable in life.  I think prior to that I had wanted to become numb to the pain.  I think as a culture we want to do that.  We want to numb ourselves.  It’s almost makes things worse because rather than actually dealing with the problem, we never address the problem because we just numb the pain.  And pretend it’s not there. 

I will forever be an addict in recovery.  There is no cure for this disease.  Your brain has changed.  It is not a moral or ethical failing on anyone’s part.  And just like a disease we need to have a treatment plan.  And recovery is a treatment plan and we should support that, and there should be money toward that.

You know, I always think of this thing when someone is trying to quit smoking, everybody is rooting for them.  They’re like, Good job!  You can do it! Why can’t we treat it like that?  Why can’t we say, Good job!  You can’t do it!  and be the support that they need.  And that’s what I want to be.

We need to have good policies in place, have people buy into it, to realize that this could happen to anybody.  Hey, if it can happen to a 40-year old woman physician with no history of this, it can happen to anybody.  And, you know, it is happening to everybody. 

There is something going on in the brain, a neurochemical disease.  It is no different that any kind of other chronic disease.  And we have to approach it as a disease, take the stigma away from it, and that way with facts and science, we might have a chance.

My name is Dr.Faye Jamali and this is my story. 

Dakota Ayers -An EMT's perspective

As an emergency medical technician, Dakota Ayers has seen a lot of pain and illness, much of it related to opioid addiction.  When he responds to calls, he's not there to judge.  


Growing up I wanted to be a cardiologist.  And after I graduated high school, I soon realized, Wow, med school takes a long time!  What can I do to make an impact on society now?  What can I do to matter?

I am an EMT, an emergency medical technician.  We only run medical calls, so anything from the flu to chronic back pain to car accidents and people who suffer from drug addiction,  because that is an illness.

I’d say the percentage of drug calls that we run into would be about 60-70% of every call.  We will either get the call from the concerned citizen.  They see somebody on the side of the road doing what we call ‘the nod,’ that heroin nod.  They’ll call 911.  Or you’ll have people who are getting high together, and they realize one of their friends took a little but too much and now they are unable to wake them up so they’ll call 911, maybe throw them in a cold shower, and then just leave.  Which makes it much harder for us to do our jobs because how can we really help you if we don’t know how long you’ve been in this condition?

We’re medical professionals and it’s not we’re there to arrest anyone.  We don’t have the ability nor do we have the want to arrest anybody.  Honestly, the most important thing is getting the full story.  That’s all we care about is rehabilitating them to the point of reviving them and helping them to get the medical care that they need. 

If somebody is slumped over on the ground and they’re unable to pick themselves up, what we need to do is get them on to the stretcher. And what we do is we can either go under their arms and pick them up by their extremities, under their arms or legs.  It takes a lot of strength and it takes a lot of effort and when you’re doing that nonstop for 12 hours every single day, it’s very easy to become numb.  To forget that you’re not picking up a patient as a part of your job. You’re picking up a human.  You’re picking up somebody’s brother, somebody’s child.  You know, you’re picking up a person.

And, really, what I do sometimes is I like to think about people in my family that I know have suffered from opioid addiction, and I know – I’m so sure, I don’t know for a fact but I’m so sure  -- someone has called 911 on them before.  And when I’m with my patients, I like to remember that and think about that to bring that level of self-awareness and consciousness to the scene.  And just to remind everybody that we’re around that, you know, let’s take a second look at what we’re doing.  And let’s make sure that we go about this, not only by our safety protocol, but let’s make sure we are giving these patients the extra respect that they deserve for being humans.

Once we get the patients on the stretcher, we have to do what we call an assessment, checking their vitals, their blood pressure, the amount of oxygen in their blood, so on and so forth. We also have to document their story -- how they got to where they are  -- because that’s a part of their medical care.  There’s a large difference, there’s a huge difference between somebody who’s been an addict for five years, one year, or has been a chronic problem throughout their entire life, thirty-five years of abuse.  We have to treat that differently, we see it differently, and we have to report that to the hospital differently. 

Somebody who’s been an addict for thirty-five years is going to have much more trauma to their organs.  You need to be able to assess how much tissue damage they may have, how much opioids or heroin they have injected into their system, or snorted or smoked into their system, in that moment because that depends how much medicine on our end that we need to give you.  If I give you two shots of Narcan, intranasally, up through your nose, but you’ve been using heroin for thirty-five years, I’m probably going to have to up that dosage.  I’m probably going to have to do it twice as much.  That’s important to know because that’s the difference between allowing somebody to be able to breathe or not. 

If somebody calls 911 on themselves. because they feel like they need help, the conversation will go completely different.  You know, How did you get here?  Why did we come here today?  That’s what we say.  And then they tell us, Because I felt short of breath.  Because I was unconscious.  Because I need help. 

Sometimes people think they need to be committed for psychological issues or they think they need to be committed for recovery.  For a lot of the cases that I’ve seen, a lot of addiction comes from mental illness, and the lack of stable doctors’ appointments that they are able to get, the lack of consistent medication that they are able to get , and the lack of family support that they have.

There’s two different types of calls that we get.  We get the patient who is completely overdosed,  and then we get the patient that is too high for their own good.  A lot of times, we will see people who are high wandering throughout the street, bobbing in between traffic, knocking on car windows at red lights for money.  Sometimes they are just so high out of their mind, they don’t realize the dangers of what they are doing.  It’s not that they’re so hungry and so greedy for money.  A lot of times they are just so far out of their own mind, they don’t recognize the dangers that they are putting themselves in and the dangers that they are putting other people in driving by. 

When I’m on scene, when I go on calls, I try to make sure that I provide a level of  tranquility to the scene that I know sometimes isn’t always there.  I will go out of my way to make our patients feel like they aren’t being attacked because a lot of the times when 911 is called, they don’t want to go to the hospital.  They don’t feel like they are doing anything wrong so it’s really our job, and something I try to do day in and day out, is just remain patient and cognizant of the way that you touch people, the words that you’re using, the tone of voice that you have, the way that you guide them into the ambulance.

A lot of these people – I’m only 23.  Okay, I’ve been doing this for two years.  And most of the people that I pick up are in their 50s, 60s, sometimes 70s, still addicts.   It’s so hard to look at somebody who is so much older than you and when they’re looking back at you and they, they feel so small.  You can just sense it.  They feel small.  They feel insignificant.  And the vibe that they give off is, is I’m hurting.

Most people aren’t addicts because they think it is fun and glorious.  There are some people who are like that but most of the patients that I encounter are--  they’re hurting.  And it’s imperative that you look back into their eyes and really acknowledge, I see you as a human and I’m here to listen.  It’s not my job to arrest you.  It’s not my job to judge you.  It’s not my job to tell you, Well, if maybe you did this, then you wouldn’t be in this situation and you know, Get yourself out of these streets, and dahdidahdidah.  That’s not our job.

We’re there to save lives.

This is Dakota Ayers and this is my story. 


Lisa Curtin -My mom was addicted

In the late 1990s, Lisa Curtin's mother read about a new drug called Oxycontin, and then nothing was ever the same for Lisa or her family.


All through our years of growing up, my brother and myself, my mother struggled with alcohol before she got addicted to drugs. 

My earliest memory is when I was about 6 years old, and my brother who’s eighteen months younger than me, was four and a half, you know, she was on a bender, just drinking like crazy, my father was traveling.  She told my brother and I to pack our clothes.  We were going to have to live in an orphanage because my brother and I were fighting with one another and she couldn’t handle it. 

She literally made us go pack our clothes.  A stranger came to the house to pick us up.  She put us in a car with the stranger and the stranger took us to a grocery store parking lot.  And in the grocery store parking lot, he just turned to us and said, “You know, you just have to start listening to your mom.  She’s just sort of at her wits’ end, and if you don’t listen to your mom then you know, you’re not going to be able to live there anymore.” He brought us back to our house then.  

And I don’t for one minute doubt that my mother loved myself and my brother.  I don’t doubt that at all.  But I realize that you can’t compete against a bottle of vodka. You cannot compete whisky.  And you can’t compete against prescription drugs.  It just doesn’t happen. 

When she was around 50, she diagnosed herself and convinced a couple of doctors at the time that she had fibromyalgia.  This was her ticket to freedom.  Very difficult to diagnose.  She was smart enough to figure out ways to pretend that different pain points in her body when touched would be sensitive to that touch, and she then started to get prescription drugs. 

It started with Vicodin, at first.  Because sometimes she would not eat, physical things would actually happen, like she would actually trip.  One time she, you know, broke a toe on her foot.  My mother, my daughter, Amber, and I were going on a trip together on a plane ride.  She was on a crutch and her toe was casted and we get to Alabama, and my mother forgot her medication at home. 

So, when we were in the hotel room, she unwrapped her toe, reinjured it which then caused us to spend a good portion of the time in the emergency room so that she could have another x-ray on her foot and get pain medication.  Now she’s got you know, a supply at home and now she’s got a supply while we were on vacation so when she gets home she has a great  party ahead of her because she’s got all this medicine.

The things that she did, the way she sort of manipulated situations to be able to get what she needed to get is no different that someone who is on a corner, you know, looking for a way to be able to get a quick fix. 

All through my mother’s fifties, she struggled with some sort of illness, one way or another, that was causing her to get prescription medication.  And then my father had his stroke.  So the year would have late ‘96.  My mother met a doctor – and I’m getting chills just thinking about it right now – who turned her on to Oxycontin and that’s when it really just started to go down. 

At first, it seemed to be like good for her, in that she didn’t seem to be in pain and she had a better frame of mind, and she was gentler toward my dad and more sympathetic toward my father’s situation.  But after awhile, she would just track  when she would take her pills, and I have 3x5 cards of her handwriting of how she was like monitoring when she was taking the prescription medication, because I think she was trying to convince herself that she wasn’t actually taking more than she should.  But she was.  And it was an endless supply. 

This also started a trend where she would overdose on a fairly regular basis.  At least five times which usually was she took too much of her Oxycontin, she didn’t eat.  Once in awhile she would mix it with alcohol.  She’d go to the emergency room.  I’d get a call and I’d get there, and I’d say to the doctor, or the emergency room physician, you know, “Test her blood alcohol count or test her for, you know, morphine or whatever.  Just test her for something because I’m sure that she’s overdosed.  It’s not that she just fell or that she’s disoriented.”  And she would deny it, you know, she was always in denial about this.  Constantly in denial.  

Sure enough, you know, the next day they’d come back with test results and her blood alcohol count was really high or the presence of opioids in her system was really high.  But still the doctor continued to prescribe them to her. 

There was a time when my mother overdosed.  I walk into the emergency room.  I could hear my mother’s voice asking for morphine, that she was in pain, I want this, I want this, I want this drip.  And they ended up giving her the drip.  But then I went back to her apartment.  I found thirty–seven prescription bottles of medication from four different doctors.  Most of them had like one or two pills in them.  But all either for Vicodin or Oxycontin.  And I brought all that medication to the hospital.  And when I saw her doctor, I showed him.  I go, “This is what you’re dealing with.  She’s going between Illinois and Wisconsin.  She’s going across the state borders to get medication.” And the doctor who I think was the worst influence in her life, you know, he just seemed to ignore it.   He didn’t think it was like that big of a deal. 

All I think about from the time I was 6 years old and I’m 58 years old now, that’s a long time, that’s 52 years of trying to figure out how the hell to take care of a woman who doesn’t know how to take care of herself, or anyone else, and refuses to get help. 

The memory of all this stuff that went on with her still lives with me every single day.  Every single day. 

My mother passed away in 2006.  It was actually my grandsons’ second birthday.  I had gone to the doctor with her two weeks prior.  And I told the doctor once again that my mother’s best day of her month is when she comes to see you, to get her prescription refilled.  The doctor said to me, “Well, you know, your mom’s in pain.  And she – you know, I don’t think this is an addiction.  You know, this isn’t a drug that’s addicting.”

And I said, “She doesn’t even eat.  She’s either falling in the bathroom or she’s falling, you know, in the living room or whatever.  When they take her to the hospital you end up coming there, and she gets what she needs.  So she’s figured out a way to get a fix until she can get the next prescription filled. This is a pattern and you’re not helping at all.  I’m like powerless to do anything about it.”

The doctor still filled her prescription.  And the twins’ second birthday was coming up.   And so she was going to come with us, and I was really excited that week because I thought, Ok, that would be great.  You know, she’s going to come.  This is going to be wonderful for her.  And she called and said that she wasn’t able to make it.  She wasn’t feeling very well. 

I just had this weird feeling all day long.  I tried calling her several times.  I couldn’t reach her.  She did end up calling me back, and she said I just want to lay around anyways, I don’t feel good.  And I said, well, okay, we’ll talk on Monday. 

So Monday came and Monday night came, and I still -- I hadn’t heard from her and I kept calling her.  Finally, I called the apartment building that she was living in and I asked them to do a ‘check well-being’ on her. 

She was gone.  She was gone. 

And I’m like okay.  I was at work and it didn’t really even sink in, you know.  In a way it was sort of like, she’s gone so it’s like relief.  But I know that sounds terrible. 

But on the other hand it was like Oh my God, my mom’s gone and I never could fix her.  I could never get her to understand herself.  I couldn’t even get her to understand me.  She didn’t even get that.  Nobody has ever once been on my sidelines except for my kids saying, You can do it!  You can move forward.  You know, we’ve got your back.  And I wanted my mom to do that, and she couldn’t.  And then I couldn’t save her either. 

And so, you know, on the day when I’m having a good time with my twins’ birthday party, when they’re two, she’s laying in her bed, dying. 

We got the autopsy results, and she died of morphine toxicity.  The last year of her life was all about going to the doctor.  You know, I took my pill this morning and so, I feel better and you know, I’ll take another one a little bit later today.  That’s all it was.  Every single thing was about that particular pill which made her life so much better than everybody and everything else around her. 

If I was able to sit in the front of the doctor today, I would like to say to him: if family members are involved in the patient’s life, and they’re telling you the best day in that patient’s life is the day they get to come and see you because they know they’re going to get their prescription refilled, and how this is destroying, actually, the entire person that’s sitting in front of you, that is your patient -- it would be really great if you could just listen. 

And I don’t know if the motivation for writing the prescription is related to great incentives for doctors.  I don’t know if that’s the reason. 

I don’t know if you really felt sympathetic to my mother because you thought that she really was in pain.  However you really only saw her for like seven minutes a month, so you didn’t really know her. 

And maybe it was just the time, late 90’s, early 2000’s.  Maybe enough wasn’t known.  I don’t know.  Although I find that hard to believe because it’s highly addictive even though it was toted originally not to be.

It would just have been nice if you just would have listened.

My name is Lisa Curtin and this is my story. 




Jenny Beetz -Human contact or heroin? You can't have both.

Jenny Beetz loved how heroin made her feel but she appreciates the stability of her life without it.


It’s very hard for me to pinpoint when exactly my addiction started, or even what started it.  I would imagine I started doing drugs at around the age of 12, really.  It just just always seemed to be part of my life.  It wasn’t something I even thought about.  Which has been an ongoing problem by the way.  I’ve always missed that middle part where you maybe reflect and think, Well, should I do some drugs?  As soon as that thought hits me, I’m already driving to go buy drugs. 

By the age of 16, I had discovered opiates.  The heroin.  It was, This is my drug. I felt like I found finally my peace. And that is something that it has always given me is a sense of peace.  And also a sense of wellbeing.  A lot of people, it seems, when they do opiates, before you know it, they’re licking the floor, or their head is about a foot from the concrete.   Contrary to that, I feel energy.  It puts the skip in my step and I go around the house singing or humming. 

Honestly, I have often felt it’s a financial problem more than a drug problem because when I have had plenty of money, gainfully employed and all that, it didn’t interfere in my life in any way.  I wasn’t being arrested.  I wasn’t crawling around half sick, trying to get my drug.  But when it gets to that point, which it seems to for virtually everybody, that is the hell. 

It feels like you’re missing a couple of layers of skin.  And you’re jumping into rubbing alcohol.  It’s hell.

But I took a long break and I thought that it was simply a passing phase.  I had gone to college.  I got a degree in philosophy.  I thought philosophy was all Sartre and Camus, and all of that really great stuff.  No!  It’s this really boring analytical crap—Hegel, Heidegger -- oh my God, you know, that’s torture!  They should use that at Guantanamo. 

But I’m not sure what started me again, at all.  A lot of my drug use has been because it’s just been right there in my face, most of my life.  Every time I’d gone to New York City when I was younger, part of my visit there included good New York dope.  So when I moved there, it was like Wow, I live in the land of good New York dope!

And it started out very slowly.  I had a boyfriend who was not a drug addict and we started using together. I became a raging junkie and he stopped the first he got a habit.  He was no, this is awful, this sucks.  And I just kept going with it. 

I spent pretty much all of my time in New York City being a heroin addict.  In my 30’s, I went to a methadone program.  I was very, very, very stubborn.  I did heroin every day of my life for a least a year, knowing I’m not even going to get high because methadone has a blocker in it. 

Again I was very stubborn. And I still am.  I am on a methadone program now.  I have a lot of resentment about it, in a way.  In general, in life, I have a lot of resentment about my use or not use of heroin. 

Why can’t I do my drug? 

My friend for example, he – he gets drunk virtually every day, and it’s fine.  You know, it’s socially acceptable, really.  Well, to a degree.  And, I’m not allowed to do my drug.  It that pisses me off.  It really does. 

If I were to win the lottery, all bets are off.  I’m, I’m buying land in Afghanistan.  I’m going to marry Hamid Karzai, and I’m just going to have acres and acres of poppies.  Drug lord, whatever, you know.  I’m really looking forward to it, in fact.  I mean, this is the sort of thing that comforts me. 

But being a drug addict, weird things tend to comfort me, like Oh, I can always just kill myself!  That’s a comforting thought to me.  There’s always that option if I’m sick of this, I can always just, you know, do my last shot and be comfortable and …

What motivated me to go on a methadone program at all or even to consider quitting is I did lose that well-paying job, which by the way, was answering phones in a whorehouse.  But I became homeless.  Theoretically the methadone program, it’s there to help a person get off of opiates.  Great! Wonderful!  You can’t get addicted to methadone in two weeks.  They would taper you off and then hopefully you have follow-up care. 

Methadone maintenance?   To me, it is solidly absurd.  I have traded basically an illegal drug and illegal activities for a legal thing called methadone maintenance program.

I can’t get take-homes because I take Seroquel and that’s a whole other horrible – and that’s a -- by the way, a lot of mental illness mixed in with all of this.  I am disabled, officially, with major depression.  I’ve been hospitalized.  And also with post-traumatic stress disorder.  Like serious  -- like my childhood was outrageous including kidnapping, gang rape. Just horrible things. 

The benefits again are I’m not getting arrested two and three times a year.  So now I’m on as low dose as I possibly be, and my life has been – it’s stable.  I realized wow, I actually feel, both physically and mentally, I feel engaged in the world around me.  And it’s pleasant. 

And then I realize, and this is a strange way to realize it, somebody just rubbed my back in an affectionate gesture, and I realized I had had zero affection or anything like that, by choice.  By choice.  And it was again revelatory.  It was like this is what I’m missing in my life. -- human contact. 

And the less methadone I was on, the more engaged I became.  And I got to a pont , where I was down to 10 mg of methadone, and that was great.  My tits came back.  I started fucking again which I enjoy a lot.  But -- and you can’t have both.  It’s human contact, and caring about people, and sex, and boobs and all that -- or it’s heroin addiction.  You can’t have both.  Heroin ends up being a kind of a boyfriend. 

When I rejoined the living, I noticed all these benefits that I had not foreseen.  And it’s good in a way.  I really miss heroin. I do.  And I feel jealousy when I see somebody licking the sidewalk out front – I feel jealous, actually.  You know, it’s like, I want what she had!, you know. 

I think this is definitely part of my nonuse rather than using, that my writing has exploded with regard to how much.  But the quality as well is really good.  And then, I started making collages.  And I just started with one and now I think I have about one hundred and twenty.  And I do them all by hand.  And that’s been really great – the art work, you know.

I believe that from the day, the year, whatever age you are when you begin taking drugs, that’s pretty much when you stop maturing -- emotionally at least.  And so, in a lot of ways, I’m this, you know, annoying, intellectual artist type.  But also I am a, a 12-year old, you know.  And if you start doing drugs at a very young age like I did, I mean you’re kind of fucked in a lot of ways, you know, being  this 12 year old and negotiating the world supposedly as a 53 year old, you know. 

I’m trying… I might cry.  Yeah.  I don’t know why that makes me cry but -- 

Because I’m the 12-year old for a second here, you know.

I’m Jenny Beetz and this is my story.  Thank you for listening to my story. 

Ted Stout -The doctor prescribed opioids for my pain

If Ted Stout had continued to follow the advice of his doctor, he might not be alive today.  The prescribed opioids reduced the physical pain he suffered from Postherpetic Neuralgia -- until they made him much sicker. Then he took matters into his own hands.


I was 38 years old and I thought I had a sinus infection, up towards the forehead, above my eye, behind my eye.  The pain in my trigeminal nerve was intense.  Eventually I went to the doctor, and he said, “Look, you’ve got a rash under your hairline.  You have shingles. It should last about a week and you should be fine after that.”

Well, I wasn’t fine after that, and it just lingered.  I went back and he said, “Well, we’ve come to the conclusion that you have post herpetic neuralgia.”  The nerve was damaged and would never fix, that the only thing to do at this point was pain control. 

Well, I didn’t quite trust this doctor and found a doctor who was a very well respected doctor in the Fredericksburg area.  Right off the bat, he prescribed opiates.  And I saw some pretty immediate help with the pain.  But it kept coming back.  And it kept getting worse.  The doctor just kept throwing more medicine at me.  And he said, “Well, if you feel any pain, if you feel a tingle, take the drug.  You want to nip it.  The more you allow pain to happen, the worse off you will be.” 

Ultimately I was on something called morphine sulfate ER, and it was a time-release morphine.  I came to find out that the stronger medications would take the pain down a little bit.  For a couple of hours, it was like oh, whew, relief.  And then after about two hours, it started to creep back in.  And I kind of would joke that the pain was made at me because I was trying to get rid of it and it was coming back with a vengeance.

Frankly, I never got a buzz off of that.  I didn’t even know I was taking it.  But I sure knew if I didn’t take it.  And it just felt like I had little boa constrictors wrapped around my bones, my tendons – there was no comfort.  It probably took a couple of times before I put two and two together, and I started feeling that it was time to get off of these things.  If my body was this dependent on this drug that I didn’t even feel!  So I went to the doctor and I said, “I think I should start to get off of this stuff.”  And he was adamant that I don’t.  He said, “You’ve come this far.  It took us this long to get to this point, why would you want to mess this up?”

The doctors who you assume were doing their best – they are humans too.  They will take the easy way out when they can.  Plus they want to give relief.  You know, I was in pain.  “Here, take a pill, you won’t be in pain anymore.”  I said, “Okay, but I still feel that we should start trying to get me off of this.”

So in 2014, I had a TIA stroke.  It was scary.  I was 49 years old, lying in a hospital bed, and I said to myself, “You’ve got to make a change.  You have to take control.”  This had been going on for about 13 years.  I decided that I would get off of all medications, every single bit.  And I found a facility in Virginia.  I contacted them, told them what was situation was -- pain from post herpetic neuralgia in my trigeminal nerve  -- and I said, “All right, well, I’m sure you can get me off of this stuff but what about the pain that happens afterwards?   Because it will be there.  The pain will come back and I have to have a pain management program to fall back on.”

They assured me that they did.  They said part of  you know, getting rid of this addiction was having a very comfortable bed and comfortable surroundings and all these things.  OK, great.  So I show up there and it’s-- it might as well have been a mattress off of a gurney.  It was rubber, or plastic, with an old sheet on it.  And I get that that’s how it should be, because when you start getting off of these drugs and it’s just nasty, nasty, nasty.  And there were times that I couldn’t even make it to the bathroom in time.  I couldn’t do it and I was lying there in my filth. 

After three days there, and I’m getting off the morphine, I had not seen a doctor yet. And I was talking to the nurses there, saying, “When does the pain management part kick in?  The pain is bad right now.  You know, I’m off of this one drug and the pain is so bad, I would say it was a ten.”  Now a ten probably is I want to hang myself and die.  I really felt that way.  I said, “If you don’t let me see a doctor right now, I am driving out of here.”

One of the nurses I called Nurse Ratched.  She just kind of told me I was being a baby, and that if I left this facility she would call the sate police because they give – they give you something, I don’t know what it is, to try to help you get off this stuff and that that impairs me. And if I get in my car to drive, she will have me arrested.  We’re in the parking lot, yelling at each other.  I mean it was – it was  awful.  I’ve never been treated that way in my life.   And I was paying for this, you know.

The fifth day I was there, the head doctor of the whole place called me into his office --beautiful, lavish office -- sat me down, and I’m thinking Great, now I’m going to get the plan.  And the plan was to tell me that they had no plan.  They talked about it.  They monitored me, did some more research into it and found out that they had no plan for me.  But I was welcome to stick around for 30 days if I’d like. 

I broke down and cried.  It was – I get a little…

I felt betrayed.  They told me they had something.  I put up with crap.  I put up with Nurse Ratched.  I put up with being an inmate.  And now they’re telling me, “Oops, I guess we should have looked into it a little more.”

I did have Plan B.  There is a place in UNC – UNC Chapel Hill Healthcare-- and they have a very well recognized trigeminal neuralgia program there.  And, two and a half hours I talked to these people.  I felt listened to for the very first time.  It was like Hallelujah!  They go to the root of the problem.  They don’t mask it.  They’ll be no drugs given.  They told me to try Tylenol and ice.  What they did was they gave my body a chance to get strong and knock this thing out.

He suggested that I go see a chiropractor every week and get a massage every month.  Change my diet – organic everything.  Don’t drink coffee. Don’t drink alcohol.  Drink a lot of water.  He said fat will help repair the nerve damage.  You need good fats like avocado fats to heal your nerve.  He said your body wants to be good.  What you put into it, what you put on it, is going to affect everything, and if you are predisposed to this condition, every bad thing you do is going to cause you a problem. Every good thing you do will strengthen your body and it will make things so much easier for you, you will be able to do this without drugs. 

I believe that the nerve is mostly fixed. It took about a year and half for me to get totally good.  And I know that opiates will make it flare up again.  And I know that some will say, “Wow, that’s great, but I could never do that.” I know people who’ve done it and they are happier people for it.  Do they still have pain?  They do, a little bit.  But are they better off for it?  Yeah, they are better off without the opiates.  Opiates should be a temporary thing, not for chronic pain.  It will kill you.  Or you might kill yourself.  I came close because it just seemed like there was no way out of this. 

I’m a very private person but if my story can help one person realize the dangers of extended opiate use, it’s well worth being uncomfortable with my story being out there in this world.  If you hear this, know that you can do this.  If I can do it, you can do it. And please try.  Give it at least a try.  You won’t be sorry.   

I’m Ted Stout and this is my story. 

Eric Whitaker -Peer pressure led to heroin

Eric Whitaker understands the destructive patterns and habits that can rule life. And he's figured out a way to break his. He's clean and he's sharing his story.


When I was around three or four years old, my parents decided to move us from West Baltimore out to Carroll County, a very small town in Carroll County.  It was a shock but it was a welcome shock. 

Now, school begins and the first thing I notice is I don’t look like these people, I don’t sound like these people.  And I felt different.  You know, I am a black man and 2% of the population in that county, to this day, is minority.  

At first I tried to work through it.  However kids are cruel.  For one, I had a stuttering problem.  It was fueled by anxiety and everything else.  So I was made fun of and I was picked on.  But it was stressed in my household to read, to learn, and no one would ever be able to deny you.  And as soon as my grades were great – I mean, I was a great student – I was always at the top, I won spelling bees and everything.  I felt like I was part of something that I belonged to.  So, one could say that like at an early age I was also searching for approval of others.  What kid doesn’t? 

However, throughout middle school and high school, that same need for approval had me doing things that I really didn’t even care for.  I went places with people that I didn’t like or even want to be with.  It was a constant need for approval.  Peer pressure. 

The time I turned 15, I decided to start using drugs.  I started to do heroin before I did anything else.  I thought that a cool guy my age did drugs and drank.  And this was 1995.  When I graduated there were four black people in my class, counting myself.  What was happening was, I was not black enough to be around them, but I was not white enough to be around the others.  That’s when I debuted selling the drugs, because at this point, my heroin habit had gotten insane.  I had gone from thirty, forty bucks a week, to now I’m close to a hundred dollars a day.

No one knows what it’s like to need to put fifty bucks in your body before you can brush your teeth.  No one knows what that’s like unless you’ve been through this.  It’s like waking up with the flu times one thousand. 

Every night, I’m not going to sleep.  I’m laying down and resting my eyes for three hours, after homework, sports, social time, girlfriend, family time.  Getting right back up at four o’clock in the morning. I’m being picked up from a small town in Carroll County, Maryland by older white men that would otherwise not talk to me at all so we can go down and I can get them their fix, their money can get me mine, and I can be dropped back off to get on a school bus and go to school and perform, pass tests, give speeches, and act like nothing was wrong. 

One teacher my senior year spoke to me.  She said, “You know, Eric, I know you’ve had some problems.  And iff there was something I could do to stop you, I would.  Only you have the answer. Please let me know what I can do to help. “  And I looked her dead in her face, and I said, “There’s nothing wrong with me.”

What can you tell a teenager --especially a teenager that feels like he or she is in charge?  When you’re not done, you’re not done.  And I was out to do harm to myself.  I couldn’t do enough drugs. I couldn’t do enough drinking.  Everything I did was just so far off the meter. 

It’s not about the drug pulling you.  It’s about feeling you have nothing to live for.  You have no hope. 

So I began to seek the solution.  I chose this self-help group.  I could show up the way I was.  I could be who I was.  And within reason, me keeping my story as my story, someone was going to relate and get something from me, even on my worst day.  It was about learning how to live again.  All I knew was drugs and that’s not living. 

So in ‘08 or ‘09, I checked into a sober-living situation.  I put together two years clean – my first time getting clean, I put together two years living clean.  But I fell again and used.  And in 2010, I overdosed for the first time.  It was a combination of prescription meds that I was prescribed for anxiety, pain meds that I was prescribed for a broken collar bone, and a couple of beers.  So that began my overdose history. 

Once you overdose once, you’re pretty much in line to continue that path until you die.  And that’s just what I know based on experience.  Overdose again, two more times that year.  At this point, we know how it goes:  I do well, and then I do not.  I continue the same behaviors and I get the same results.  I didn’t have enough to live for to worry about  -- dying.  It was as if I always needed someone’s approval to validate me wanting and needing to live.  I was never good enough for me. 

And I believe that’s what different about this time around.  And I’m never going to say, “I got this, I’m okay. “ But I’m definitely all right. 

This time I checked into a facility.  That was in April of 2017.  I now work for a very prominent local hospital.  My job is I link people with the help and the hope that they need to possibly seek treatment.  Because I practice the principles tolerance, patience, faith, perseverance, I managed to make a career out of my story, my life, and my experience.  So this has taught me to look at myself and learn myself.  And when someone is speaking, truly listen, listen to learn.  Because I don’t always have an answer.  But I do have an ear to listen. 

I’m Eric Whitaker and this is my story. 

Anne LeVeque -Losing my sister

Anne LeVeque's sister, Elisa, died from an overdose of carfentanil in 2016.  "Unless each and every one of us talks about how this opioid crisis affects us all, openly and honestly, we are never going to conquer this evil."


Sibling death is so much harder than your parents, particularly if you’re middle-aged, your parents are elderly, they have a condition or disease, whatever, you know, you’re prepared for it.  It’s in the natural order of things. 

Having your younger sister die, isn’t.

It was August 1st, 2016.  Got up, eight in the morning and found a text message, from an unknown number. It said, “Elisa is dead. Sorry.”   I’m looking at this and there is this sense of unreality.  Elisa is my younger sister, younger by four years.  And so I called my niece, her daughter, who was sobbing. 

My sister, Elisa, lived in Ohio at the time, near Akron.  And it turned out that the text was from her boyfriend, Elisa’s boyfriend.  And that she had died of a dose of carfentanil.  My understanding is that its only use is in zoos, for very large animals, elephants.  It’s a tranquilizer.  There is no safe human dose.

The drug trade, the street drug trade, has changed considerably over the past couple of decades.  Apparently it gives a dealer a great degree of street cred if some of their customers die, because it indicates that their product is so strong, it’s so powerful, you will get a high unlike any other.  There is this element of risk.  I can’t really, and probably ought not speak to any of the science of it, because I’m not a scientist.  But that people who are prone to addiction also have the risk-taking gene.  And so they want the bigger high, the better high. If this dealer’s customers, if some of them have died as a result, it indicates that his product is very strong.  So it’s basically advertising.

I immediately got in the car and drove to Ohio to help my niece, who was 25 at the time.  She was an adult, living somewhere else. 

We had thought Elisa had been clean for a while.  After our mother’s death the previous year, she had gone into rehab, again, and then had a bumpy time in the halfway house and was kicked out of there.  And so her options were incredibly limited.  She had lived in Ohio previously.  She moved back to Ohio.  She told me she was living with a friend.  And she referred to it as a house.  I later found out it was a small trailer and it was just so full of trash and junk and cigarette smoke and garbage.  Everything.  It was just horrifying.  And you wonder how does this – how does this happen?

She had estranged herself from everyone else in our family through her abuse of our relationships, including probably the worst thing she did was when my mother was moved into hospice, she went and drained my mother’s bank account.  You know, I mean that’s that’s pretty horrifying to do.   What’s doing this is the disease.  It’s the addiction.  It’s not who she is, deep down.  That’s a really hard thing to internalize and there’s lot of anger, disappointment – all those things.

After my sister’s death, we had a gathering and it was mostly her daughter’s friends but also her friends, at an Episcopal church in Akron.  And the woman that she shared the trailer with attended – Beth.  Beth talked about being the daughter of a rabbi -- and our dad was an Episcopal priest --  and how they would talk about being “PK’s” which is -- PK is preacher’s kids.  And I, I thought to myself, I was just floored.  I thought, how, how is it that the daughter of a rabbi, the daughter of an Episcopal priest end up in this God-awful junky trailer, using the worst drugs imaginable in this existence that is not anything you or I could ever imagine, you know, in our worst nightmares.

Dealing with the fact that it was the drug overdose, it was addiction, we’ve really tried to be -- at least I’ll say, I have tried to be --as open as possible about that because I feel strongly that the more people keep things like that a secret, the less we’ll be able to really deal with it as a society.   If lots of us can say, “This happened to me. This happened to my family, and we need to deal with this,” within the family, within our society, within the medical and pharmaceutical industry -- we need to deal with this globally too.

It affects everybody.  No exceptions.  You know, there are no exceptions for, you know, if your dad’s a doctor or your mom is a lawyer or whatever, it’s not going to make any distinction.  It’s, it’s insidious. 

I’m Anne LeVeque and this is my story. 

Andy Viner Seiler -I was told the pills were non-addictive

Andy Viner Seiler was prescribed opioids by his doctor to deal with pain.  He was hooked and his doctor wasn't helpful.


Withdrawal is the worst.

I mean, here I have an illness and the pain is just unbelievable.  And then I find getting off opioids is worse than that.

It all began in 2004.  I got hit with something called Ramsey Hunt Syndrome.  I call it the evil cousin of shingles.  It’s the same virus.  Basically, all you have to have done to get it is to have had chicken pox when you were a kid.  But it’s rare enough that nobody’s doctor ever diagnoses it correctly.  That’s what happened to me.  So I got sicker and I got sicker.  This thing attacks the nerves in your face.  It looks like Bell’s palsy.  It feels like – oh my God, it’s nerve damage.  It’s insane pain. 

Now the doctor, the same doctor who misdiagnosed me, gave me a whole mess of meds, antivirals and things, and he threw Oxycontin actually, into the mix. 

And after awhile, I didn’t know why I was sticking to him so I went to a specialist neurologist.  Unfortunately, I was seeing that neurologist for more than ten years.  She would put me on higher and higher does of opioids.  And I didn’t even know what they were.  And I remember that I’d been on them for several years, and it started to dawn on me that opioids might be the same thing as narcotics.

There was no publicity about these drugs at the time, and in fact she told me they were non-addictive, which is what the manufacturers said at the beginning. 

But I was just beginning to figure this all out, and I said to my neurologist, “Is there any difference between these drugs you have me on and heroin?” 

And she said, “Oh, it’s totally different from heroin.  When you buy heroin on the street, you never know what quality you’re getting.  And this is pure.  This is good stuff.” And I’m like oh no.  And that was when I first realized I was in big trouble. 

They had me on an enormous amount of Oxycontin and Percocet around the clock.  This went on for thirteen or fourteen years.  Every once in a while, I would realize that they weren’t doing a very good job compared to what they’d done before so I would want to get on more.  And she’d prescribe more. 

It was only in the last couple of years, things changed so much.  All of a sudden there is heat coming down on the doctors for prescribing this stuff.  So, all of a sudden my neurologist -- she just totally changes her tune.  But she doesn’t just change her tune. She starts to rewrite history.  And it was something that my wife and I both noticed.  She suddenly started saying things like, “Well, that’s why I’ve been trying to get you off these drugs bcause they’re not good for you.”  And it’s like, you’ve never said that before.

By this point, I was on such a high dose -- because your body adapts and it starts tolerating a higher and higher amount to just do the same thing.  And what eventually happened was we managed to immediately lose an entire huge vial of  Oxycontin as soon as we got the prescription filled -- which we later found.  But, while we couldn’t find it, I mean all of a sudden I didn’t have any, and my neurologist just freaked out.  She became convinced that somebody was selling them or something was going on, and she wouldn’t prescribe anymore, probably because she couldn’t prescribe anymore, but I don’t know.

She just fired me as a patient.  She gave me a referral to a pain clinic.  But she didn’t follow up with me or anything.  And I guess what most people would do is immediately go on the street and try to buy heroin or something.  I mean that -- I could see exactly how that would happen. 

But, I just realized I’ve got to detox myself and I’m not going to go to a clinic.  I’m just going to do it.   But it took a long time and it was horrifying. 

You’re incredibly hot and then you’re incredibly cold.  And I mean like you can put on all the clothes you’ve got, and cover yourself in blankets, and you’re still freezing.  And sometimes your head is sweating uncontrollably and you’re unbelievably hot in your head but your body is cold.  And you’re just in horrible, nagging, gnawing pain.

It also does a horrendous thing to your digestive system.  When I first got on these drugs, I got so constipated I thought I was going to die.  But when you’re getting off the drugs, of course you have the opposite situation.  I mean, this is disgusting this part of it but diarrhea isn’t even the right word for it.  I mean it’s just about a hundred times worse.  And it doesn’t stop.  I mean even after you finally wean yourself off the drugs, it lasts for another month. 

I started about the week before Christmas.  I did not completely wean myself off till sometime in February.  But I do feel better than I did when I was on the opioids. 

The other thing that kills me about it is how expensive it was, because insurance just paid for a very small amount.  And boy, would I like all that money back again.

It was like climbing down a totally vertical rock cliff.  So you’re terrified.  And you’re working your way down, climbing down and climbing down all day long for a really long day.  At the very end of it, you look down, and the ground isn’t any closer.  That’s what it was like. 

I’m Andy Seiler and this is my story. 

Bob Nicklas -Fentanyl post-surgery was critical

Bob Nicklas underwent a complicated surgery to treat his lung cancer.  Fentanyl was the only drug that brought him real pain relief.  His doctors were vigilant about getting him off the drugs as soon as he could manage it.  


Throughout my life, I’ve had a high tolerance for pain.  I once played volleyball for two hours on a fractured ankle. 

The doctor said you’re probably going to have some considerable pain.  It gave new meaning for me to what considerable pain was.

Back in 2014, midyear, I developed shoulder pain, the type of shoulder pain you get maybe from lifting the wrong way.  I went to an orthopedist.  He suggested physical therapy.  Went through physical therapy off and on for several months.  It did not get better.  Finally my wife said, “Look, there’s something wrong here.”  We went to an emergency room, and within an hour the doctor came out and said, “I’ve never learned how to dothis any other way but directly – you have lung cancer. “

 I had advanced stage three cancer. 

In December of that year, I had what they call a lobectomy. So I had the upper left part of my left lung taken out, three ribs, various associated muscles, nerves.  It was a seven-hour surgery.  It was pretty extensive.   To this day I remember waking up in the recovery room, my wife Terri was there, so was my son Tim and my daughter-in-law, Karlee.

The first words that I remember out of my mouth were “Please someone help me with the pain.”  I have never experienced pain like I had.

For the next what seemed like a lifetime, but it was over the next half hour to an hour, they played with a combination of painkillers which included fentanyl, oxycodone, a nerve medication gabapentin, and morphine.  Finally, I felt like I was drifting off.  The cocktail had begun to do its work.

I was in the hospital for six days.  Once I got home I remained on gabapentin, fentanyl, and either oxycodone or Oxycontin -- whichever was doing the most effective job. 

For me, fentanyl was probably the most effective.  I was on a patch.  I can’t remember exactly what the dose was but the patch was changed every three days.  And I was on that for probably a good six weeks to two months after I was done with surgery.  I still had pain throughout the day.  Now some of that pain was just the surgical pain of having an incision, which went from the bottom of my neck down to below my shoulder blades.  I could barely comfortably lean back.  And that lasted for several weeks, even with being on the cocktail I was on.  The fentanyl, though, was the most effective at keeping the pain down to a manageable level.  And it was also the last drug I went off of. 

Thankfully, I was at Johns Hopkins, and the doctors there basically, from the day of post surgery, were encouraging that I should take the drugs for as long as I felt I needed them but to be aware that the goal was to go off of them. Which was I think an important mindset because the pain could be really severe at times.  But I was committed to try to go off of them in as rapid and judicious a way as I could. 

I was a smoker.  I was addicted to tobacco.  So I had some firsthand knowledge of what addiction can do to you.  I was in pain because of my addiction to tobacco. 

My father was a doctor.  He was in practice with someone who became addicted to heroin.  And when my dad discovered it personally – I mean he walked in on his partner injecting heroin, and he left within the month.  My dad was the one who – he would try to prevent people from becoming addicted.  I mean, he knew the power of the drugs that he was at times providing.  And I was bound and determined not to become addicted to painkillers.

As I was discharged from the hospital, I was given instructions that when I was ready, I could follow to slowly get off each of the drugs, and a suggestion as to which drug should go first, which should go second, which should go third.  And the staff would regularly check in with me, and I had to check in with them.  And they’d say, “Do you think you’re ready?”  And at a certain point, I said, “Yeah, I’m ready.  I want to try to start going off.”

I didn’t experience any withdrawal.  And I think it was because of the phasing.  My doctors had a good sense of which one to go first, second, third, and a timeline to do it. 

I have been a lucky person.  A very lucky person.

I’m Bob Nicklas and this is my story. 


Capt. Tyrone Collington -There are alternatives to incarceration

Captain Tyrone Collington is the commander of Takoma Park, Maryland's patrol division. His #1 mission is to save lives. Sometimes that entails the use of a powerful tool called Narcan.


Well, our number one priority from a police perspective is to save lives, and that’s what we want to do. 

For our department, there are a number of us, including myself, that are trained to administer a counter drug treatment that you can give someone who you suspect to be overdosing, and what it does is it knocks off the drugs and revives the person, brings them back around.  Even if it may not be an opiate, it’s harmless.  It won’t cause any other type of medical effects.

Seeing people just strung out, unconscious, unresponsive, eyes may be rolled back in the head, shallow breathing, sometime they may be clammy, cold – it’s troubling because at this point you don’t know how long they’ve been unconscious, you don’t know what drug they are under.  So you don’t really know how to begin administering any type of resuscitation or first aid.  And you have to be careful that you don’t confuse that for some type of diabetic episode. 

Sometime we get the calls from someone saying a friend has overdosed. And we have had anonymous calls where people have been left in bathtubs and it’s so sad.  They don’t want to remain on the scene because they don’t want to be involved.  So they’ll put the person in the cold water and left them which puts them in even more danger because they could drown.  So we have to get them out of the tub and them we’ll immediately administer the Narcan drug, two squirts, one in each nostril, and that will within there to five minutes start to revive the person.  To see them come back you feel like you’re helping this person live, you’ve just saved someone’s life.  But I have been on scenes where I’ve seen the same person in the same state, unconscious, and you just ask yourself, you know, how many more times are you going to be able to come here to save this person before one time it’s too late. 

I’ve encountered many different age groups, different colors, different race.  You have a lot of professionals, students.  Sometime when I see them I’m surprised, especially if it’s someone that I’ve dealt with within the community.  And so I always say, you know, you never know what a person is going through, what demons they are dealing with within themselves.  It’s a sickness.  It’s an illness, and it’s important for us to educate ourselves, educate the community on, you know, how can we prevent this, what signs to looks for, and how to proceed with trying to get them treatment.

I’ve met a lot of good people who have had whatever setbacks and I’ve had conversations with them like, how did you get here? One incident that really stick in my mind was an individual that told me he was using for 25 years. And I asked him how do you continue to look at your body just deteriorate?  And he said, you know, sometime you just  -- you need it.  It’s a sickness that we’re dealing with.  In our mind, we believe that we can’t function without it. 

So when I see people on the street using, immediately I want to refer them to like some type of health and human services. I want to get them to talk to someone.   There’s always alternatives to incarceration. 

Not all the people that use drugs are bad people.  You know, sometimes, you know,  they have chronic pain, like back problems,  you know, any kind of problem.  They get medication, hard narcotics, and become addicted to them.  That doesn’t make them a criminal.  So it’s more important for me to try to get them help, wean them off the drug, than put them in some kind of confinement.  You’re taking people away from their families, you’re taking them away from their jobs, you know, you’re taking them out of the community.  If it had not been for this sickness, they would be productive citizens.  These are someone’s, you know, wives, sisters, brothers, daughters -- loved ones. 

Sometimes they just need treatment.  You know if you really want to get to the root problem, let’s get the person some help, especially if we’re not catching them breaking in the house or anything like that, we just find them using on the street.  I can come up and have that conversation, like, “What got you here?” That’s important to me.  Let’s find out what really happened as opposed to “This is illegal, I need to take you to jail.”  Because that’s not going to solve anything.  You’ll go to jail, you’ll get back out, you’ll use again.  But if I can help you to find some kind of medical treatment, I’m willing to do that, to save you, save your family, save your life!

Just saving one person means I’ve done my job but there are a lot more out there to be saved. 

I’m Capt. Tyrone Collington and this is my story.