A Seven Year Emergency

Those look, I suppose, like two cases for glasses. Only they aren't. One contains items that may well save a life.

Today marks a grim anniversary here in BC -- one for which there's no celebrating. It's been seven years since the province declared poisonings from toxic drugs as a public health emergency.

I guess I've always thought that an 'emergency' was a situation that had to be dealt with promptly. But I don't find anything prompt about an 'emergency' that is allowed to go on for seven years. 

Once I believed that it took seven years for us to completely change our skin -- that the 'old' skin would slowly be replaced by a fresh new set of cells. I thought seven years seemed like a very long time, and to me at least, it still does. 

To date, over ten thousand people have died. Some accounts reckon the number to be 11,000 -- no one knows for sure, as not all such deaths have any official stated cause. 

Not long ago, a letter to the editor used an example of other mass deaths, plane crashes. Their position was that if over 100 people a month were dying in plane crashes -- and if this had carried on month after month for years -- that the government would have found a way to put a stop to that many 'accidents'. 

While here in BC we at least now have some easing of drug laws, we know that this is not yet enough. 

About our only hope to date has come in the form of Naloxone kits which are distributed free of charge by most pharmacies. If injected in time, this drug can save lives -- or at least buy some time until the paramedics arrive. If you get a kit, here's a video that will show you how to give the injection. 

If you're courageous enough to watch some informative news coverage, here's a link to a story that tells it like it is, and even cites the number of calls paramedics have dealt with at over 200,000. 

The only ones not minding this reality are the dirty dealers and backyard chemists who think it's okay to make and sell poison so they can line their pockets with money. 

All of us can only wish that this is an anniversary that won't need to be repeated, though at the rate change is happening, that's probably a very faint hope. 

The empty shirt in the empty chair

Those of us who live in British Columbia have much cause to observe Overdose Awareness Day. Over the past months, more people in our province have died from using drugs than from the much-more-publicized COVID-19. 

During July of this year, 175 such deaths were reported. That's over five a day. If a similar number of deaths were the result of car accidents, plane crashes, or drownings, everyone would be screaming at the government to do something about it. 

But no, too often the person who died is someone who lived in poverty, eking out the best they could to get by, one of the people who have become invisible. 

For the most part, I prefer to call these deaths what they are: deaths by poisoning. Too many of them are the result of a person using drugs that have been cut by unscrupulous entities, often with fentanyl or carfentanyl or their even deadlier cousin, isotonitazine (iso).

Yes, Vancouver has long been home to safe injection sites, but during these 'virus days' with rules about social distancing and staying home, too many people are using in isolation and as a result, not only using alone but dying alone. 

The city has several memorials to those who've been lost to this latest spate of drug-related deaths, including murals in the Downtown Eastside, and an array of shoes fastened to the Burrard Bridge. 

While I don't have anyone's shoes to mark the day, I do have a shirt from a friend who died a few years ago. To the best of my knowledge, his case was not yet one involving fentanyl, but was blamed on a batch of overly powerful heroin that had made its way into the city. 

Because I recently had to write a piece about grief, I did a fair bit of research. One of the expressions I kept coming across was that of 'the empty chair' -- the place at the kitchen table that will never again be filled by the person who has died. 

And yes, the green shirt hanging on that empty chair is in fact a shirt that once belonged to my friend, he of the unexpected death one Easter weekend. Yet another person who erred in thinking he could use alone. 

Over five deaths a day?? That's completely unacceptable. Our laws need to change -- and soon. 

Wintry thoughts

This was the view out the back door this morning. Fresh snow adding its weight to the snow that's been here for a week or so already. It's a far cry from the way the same space looks during the summer, verdant with all those salad fixin's.

In some ways, I suppose such a "Christmasy view" should put me into a bright and cheery holiday mood. In other ways, I'll admit, it depresses me. The negative effect comes when I think about the homeless, all too many of whom surround us. Where do they go when the weather's like this?

And even more depressing is the numbers that keep rolling in with just about every day's news, how many more overdoses can there be in a single night?

The fentanyl crisis has led me to a longer piece of writing -- one I'm still working on, one I'm hoping may find a broader audience than this little blog, one that might even help change things for the better. While words seem to be the only defence I have against any of these horrific situations, there are certainly too many days when words are nowhere near enough.

Yet I'm not sure what I can do beyond seeking words. And where to look for them, but to the garden -- even in winter -- for encouragement and inspiration.

Especially to the hardiest green, the kale. A lesson in survival, to be sure.