opioid – The Concordian

One student’s experience with drug addiction—and why the narrative must change

When I would come home from school, my mom would often tell me to walk the dog. This used to bother me because I hate even the most mundane exercise, but then something changed. In my senior year of high school, I started to walk the dog more often, sometimes without my mom even having to ask.

Unfortunately, my new love of dog-walking had a darker side; it became part of my routine for taking the painkiller Vicodin. Hydrocodone (the active ingredient in Vicodin) is a semi-synthetic opioid, similar to morphine. Morphine comes from the opium poppy, a plant used for decorations, bagel seasoning and heroin production, among other things.

After taking Vicodin and leashing up the dog, I would hike through the hills of my native Oregon. About half an hour into the walk, my worries of the day would begin to fade, and a sense of relaxation would overcome me. At that stage in my addiction, the pills did not impair me; in fact they helped me navigate my daily life with more ease and greater joy.

My affair with opioid painkillers (not to be confused with over-the-counter ibuprofen or Tylenol) started with a headache. Earlier in the school year, I had come home one day with a throbbing headache. I drank some water, and when that did not work, I took an aspirin. A few hours later, my head was still pounding. Out of desperation, I went into my mom’s purse and took one of her Vicodins.

At the time, I did not know how dangerous Vicodin is. I thought it was just a super strong Tylenol. My mom was recovering from surgery and had been prescribed the drug. Ironically, my grandmother, who had come from Los Angeles to take care of my mom, broke her collarbone on the flight up and left the hospital with her own 90-pill prescription. Both my mom and grandmother hated taking painkillers; this left an abundant supply for me.

When I took my first Vicodin, I was stage managing a school production involving 300 people. It was a terrific but stressful job; the Vicodin not only took away my headache but freed me from my worries.

A critical point is that my addiction could have been avoided if physicians had been more aware of the dangers of opioids at the time. Had that been the case, my mom and grandmother wouldn’t have been prescribed enormous quantities of opioids. Had there been safer prescribing practices in place, perhaps my addiction would never have started.

After that first pill, I did not take another one for a few days. Slowly, I began to develop excuses to use them—if my mom wasn’t going to take them, why should they go to waste? I developed a tolerance after a few weeks and started taking two pills to get high. Being high on painkillers isn’t like being high on other drugs. I could still function, attend school and go about my life, but everything just felt better. Nothing bothered me. I felt confident, and a warm sensation enveloped my body. At the time, I did not consider myself to be abusing drugs, and I was oblivious to this destructive pattern.

As time passed, I began to get careless. After months of a constant opioid buzz, I forgot what it felt like to be sober. Vicodin began to make me aggressive, and I started to yell more often at the actors and crew I managed at work. I stopped caring about everything, and my A in chemistry plunged to a dangerous C-. At home, my parents seemed none the wiser about my habit, and I took extraordinary steps to hide my pill-popping.

The gravy train came to an end when the pills ran out six months later. Taking the last pill in the bottle felt like a sacred event—the end of a relationship I believed I could handle on my own. Within hours, I had called my mom who was in Albuquerque. We got in an argument, and I blurted out that I had used all of her painkillers and needed help because I felt terrible. She started sobbing and flew home the next day.

My parents helped me access the resources and treatment I needed. Growing up, I never suffered from any serious mental health issues, but following my opioid use, I turned into a depressed, anxious mess. There were medications to treat my ailments, but they could only do so much. My first moments of sobriety were difficult as I mourned the end of my relationship with Vicodin. The drug turned the most mundane moments into extraordinary ones. Losing that perpetual excitement took months to get used to, and to this day, I miss the months I spent in artificial bliss.

No one wakes up one morning and decides they want to become addicted to drugs. Stealing drugs or causing my family heartache horrifies me. Opioids had an amazing capacity to mute my moral compass. Getting high no longer became something to relieve stress, but rather a necessity to remain functional and have the ability to experience happiness. Once this emotional shield began to fade, things that used to bother me enraged me; moments that hurt me devastated me and life felt like a mission without a goal.

In learning how to live without opioids, I had my “aha” moment. Most users are not lazy; they’re not failures or junkies—they are just like you and me. Often, they are just more sensitive or perhaps suffer from a mental illness.

Unfortunately, the stigma against those who suffer from substance abuse remains static with little to no improvement in public compassion. It took becoming addicted for me to realize it’s time we must shift our mentality and try to help instead of judge. Although I chose to tell my story anonymously, I hope a day will come when someone can write an article like this without hesitating to reveal who they are. Those who fight daily to stay sober ought to be celebrated as the warriors they are.

Graphic by @spooky_soda

Should student leaders have access to naloxone, the opioid antagonist?

As the infamous fentanyl crisis begins to slither its way into Montreal, many Canadian university students fear deadly substances could be lurking in the drugs recreationally consumed at back-to-school parties and orientation events. Combatting the possibility of fatal opioid overdoses is a priority for many student associations.

Recently, student association executives and frosh leaders across Canada have expressed interest in carrying naloxone kits at university orientation events to prevent drug-related deaths. Naloxone, commonly known by the brand name Narcan, is an antidote medication used to counter the effects of opioids. According to the government of Ontario, a kit typically includes two vials of naloxone, two syringes with needles, two devices to open vials safely, a pair of non-latex gloves and a card identifying the trained owner of the kit.

Allowing student leaders to have access to naloxone is tricky territory, according to McGill University nursing student Nathalie Wong. Based on what she has learned in her nursing courses, she said the signs and symptoms of opioid overdose can often be mistaken for cardiac arrest. In the event of someone suffering from a cardiac arrest (rather than respiratory arrest—a very common symptom of opioid overdose), Wong said the victim would be in need of immediate CPR, not naloxone.

“If a student leader isn’t trained to see opioid overdose on a regular basis, then it can become very difficult to assess and distinguish [from] another health issue,” she said.

According to Wong, she only began learning about these topics after about 30 weeks in nursing school. She said she did not feel capable of properly diagnosing an opioid overdose until she had participated in clinical rotations at the hospital. Even today, Wong said handling powerful antidotes and overdose victims is no small task.

“If I, as a student nurse, needed to administer [naloxone] to a patient, I would have my [instructor] with me,” Wong said. “So, even as a student nurse, with three years of study and training, administering [naloxone] is a very big deal.”

Wong said she is pleased that paramedics in Quebec are finally beginning to carry the drug with them when they respond to calls, as opioid concerns continue to rise across the country, especially among university-aged students.

When it comes to orientation events and the possibility of dealing with overdoses, Concordia student and ASFA frosh leader Immanuel Matthews said he was not trained to administer any sort of antidote, but he was thoroughly educated in prevention and intervention.

“We had two two-to-three hour long trainings to prepare us to handle situations concerning alcohol, drug use and just to provide a safe, enjoyable experience for freshmen during frosh,” he said.

According to Matthews, frosh leaders were also instructed to call paramedics in case of an emergency and to immediately report any incidents to Concordia security and ASFA executives. As for naloxone, Matthews said he believes administering it is a job better left for those with proper training.

“I think that first responders should be able to administer it,” he said. “Sometimes an overdose victim has minutes that decide whether they live or die, and I think that first responders are in responsible enough positions to be granted that authority.”

While doctors and nurses on campus are technically authorized to administer naloxone, director of public relations and official university spokesperson Mary-Jo Barr said having specially trained paramedics would be much more efficient.

“Due to the nature of a drug overdose, where heart rates can drop dramatically and leave one immobile, it’s far better to place naloxone in the hands of the front-line first responders who are closer to the scene,” Barr said.

She added that Concordia is closely monitoring the situation regarding naloxone in Quebec and across Canada.

“The province is considering allowing certain people with special training to administer it,” Barr said. “If such changes are adopted, our front-line responders would be well placed to administer the drug. At this time, we are waiting to hear about the government’s next steps.”

Graphics by Zeze Le Lin