- Drug dealers are not putting rainbow-colored fentanyl in Halloween candy. Drugs cost money and people who use them don’t give them away. (Also, this is not the first poisoned candy myth.)
- The current panic began with an August 30th DEA press release. Many media outlets, including NBC, picked up this press release and ran it.
- Different colored drugs have always been a thing—as well as giving them names and so on. See Dr. Sheila Vakharia’s comments here.
- Like with the fentanyl exposure myth, this panic works to raise collective fear of the drug and of people who use the drug. It fosters stigma. It also fosters sympathy for law enforcement and increases the likelihood that the public will support putting more money for the war on drugs which has been a failure by all measures.
- When people are afraid of fentanyl and afraid of people who may have used it, help for someone overdosing may be delayed.
- However, there a crisis in the United States. Last year, more than 107,000 people died of an overdose. In Ohio over 5,200 people died from an overdose last year according to the CDC. That’s 14 people a day. Ohio has one of the highest death rates in the U.S.
- Most of those deaths were because of fentanyl. Fentanyl has poisoned the drug supply and it is in many drugs that young people experiment with—pills, cocaine. This is scary and young people should know this and be careful because overdose deaths among teens doubled in 2020.
- Fentanyl testing strips are a simple way to test drugs before using them. They are simple to use and relatively easy to access.
- Naloxone saves lives and is also easy to use. If you suspect someone is overdosing (look for slow breathing, change in skin color, pinpoint pupils), use it. If you don’t, use rescue breaths. Here’s a great resource.
- The overdose crisis is a serious issue. People we love and care for, people who are a part of our community, are dying. Let’s treat it like the serious issue it is and spread facts and helpful information.
Heart of It All: My incomplete but perhaps useful notes from the Licking County Opioid Settlement funds meetings thus far
Licking County, Ohio–As the conversation begins about how to spend the opioid settlement money–and remember, this is coming from multiple suits, distributors as well as from drug companies. To be clear, the money hasn’t arrived yet but, to their credit, Licking County commissioners and folks from Mental Health and Recovery Board of Licking and Knox County, have organized 4 community meetings to discuss potential uses for these dollars. Here are notes I took (not opinions, just notes) from both sessions I’ve attended. Please feel free to add things you heard.
MEETING #1, Utica:
12 chairs are set up in a church fellowship hall . Commissioner Tim Bubb and recovery board executive director Kay Spergel are at the front of the room. Bubb is seated and Spergel is standing.
Bubb explains that the money is going to be dispersed over 18 years. The first payment is $61k and second payment $61k. There’s also a payment from Johnson and Johnson, but they’re not sure how much that will be. Also, every town in the county gets some money, but some payments are low (under $500). Bubb notes that perhaps there could be some pooling of money.
In addition, 55% of the money is being channeled through One Ohio Foundation, an entity set up by the state to handle the money from these suits. There are 19 regions. Licking is in Region 18. Dennis Cauchon of Harm Reduction Ohio is following this funding closely. [NB: Pay attention to the make up this board and how they disperse funds. They are supposed to hold public meetings.]
“The burden is on the community and region to allocate the funds,” says Bubb. This is why they’re having these listening sessions about the money.
The county has set up an advisory committee.
“We’ll have discretion to spend the money—to address the harms of “overproduction and marketing of opioids…The whole point of this was not to blow it like the tobacco settlement,” says Bubb. “Give me your ideas, we’re open”
Rep. Kevin Miller, former highway patrol, is here and says he is ready to listen.
Spergel hands out a guide entitled “Ohio Abatement Strategies” that is to be used to help think about creating programs to address substance use disorder (and overdose?) in Ohio.
Spergel says we have two charges: 1) what’s the way to use $ for communities 2) how to respond to the region.
Trish Perry says we need a methadone clinic in Licking County. Spergel says she agrees and we also need education to explain importance of methadone. Perry also says we need a syringe service program: “It’s not about giving away needles, it’s about giving supplies to keep them alive.” Perry also suggests shelters, stable places for people dealing with substance use disorder.
One man (don’t know name), suggests support for workforce development.
Spergel talks about the SUD /infectious disease nurse in Knox County as well as (supportive housing) and access to care.
Bubb then talks about law enforcement and the lab for CODE and how it helps “get dealers off the street. ” Then he talks about human trafficking—sees it as important issue.
Meeting #2, Licking County Building
I was late. When I walked in around 5:30 there was talk about treatment and the usefulness of a recovery navigator, especially for families not sure what to do. This person would have contacts and connections. Someone mentioned that it would useful if this person was available 24/7.
There’s a call for help for children—and for people taking care of them.
Minister Blyth Barnow from HEAL Ohio presents a thorough list of ideas created by the Ohio Harm Reduction Policy Table that she chairs. (See attached doc on FB). Of note, she talks about the need for technical assistance and support for smaller grassroots organizations (Spergel says that her board can help). Blyth also pointed out the need to bring people in recovery or in active use to work in spaces for people who use drugs.
Spergel mentions the nurse that works with unhoused people in Knox County.
Linda Mossholder asks how folks can apply for money. There’s nothing set up yet.
The expectation is for $61k before the end of the year. Commissioner Bubb notes that this is the process that was created in the court.
There’s a discussion about drug court and its effectiveness.
David Ruderman points out that some people can’t stay in programs because they can’t afford to stay in them–especially because of rising housing costs and lack of transportation.]
Sperling says we need to focus on the social determinants of health.
HEART OF IT ALL: At the 8th Annual Overdose Awareness Rally, Newark, Ohio
-after a line by Carl Sandburg
The first year there were only five
photos of loved ones
who had died from an overdose,
framed and set up on a scrawny card table.
Some didn’t want to include their children—
You can’t blame them, Trish, the organizer, tells me.
It’s different now, she says.
People are more likely to be okay with it.
Today there are three tables
stretched long in a corner,
covered in purple and white
tablecloths and framed photos, votives, and keepsakes,
tables overcrowded with moments of sweetness
and joy and light—a guy on a minibike,
a fisherman with his catch,
one woman looking into the camera, another looking away,
a father holding his son, friends together, graduations,
days, smiles, hands, teeth, skin, bone.
Under their wrists, pulses.
Under their ribs, hearts.
HEART OF IT ALL: The Bravest Among Us
NEW LEXINGTON, OHIO—He’s walking at the front of a long line of marchers. Bright blue sky. Sun beating down. He’s holding a multi-colored, star-shaped balloon that reads, “For my daddy.”
Holding onto that balloon. His head up. Leading the crowd of marchers and mourners at an overdose awareness event. His father’s name, bookended with angel’s wings, on the back of his grey t-shirt tucked into his black shorts. His father, one of the estimated 107,622 Americans to die of an overdose in 2021.
Throughout August and into September, these events take place across Ohio, across America, in big cities and small towns, like New Lexington, Ohio, population 4,707, on the cusp of Appalachia.
New Lexington, bisected by Rush Creek and rolling hills.
New Lexington, home of the Panthers football team.
And home of eight-year-old Klay, a boy carrying a balloon, carrying the memory of his father, his little legs walking up the slight rise from Jim Rockwell Stadium to Mill Street and down South Main Street in the heat of a summer day.
His grandmother Kim (he calls her Maw Maw) told me he was close to his father, Kyle Mongold.
“The love between them was amazing,” she said. “You could just tell the bond.”
He was “daddy” to Klay, never “dad.” The summer before his father died, Klay and his daddy went fishing, played Frisbee-golf at the park, played games, sat on the floor and played with cars,
“We, as a family, did a lot that summer,” Kim said. Her son wasn’t using, and he was beginning to control things that he could not before. He was fighting, she said; he didn’t want to be using. He wanted to get his driver’s license back so he could drive his son around. He was getting his life back. And the family, the got together. They went to Columbus Clippers baseball games. They planned a family trip to Lake Erie.
But he died a day before they were to leave.
Kim says that Klay is doing as well as he can. “He’s an 8-year-old boy, so it’s easy for him to turn things off when he’s got his buddies around to play. But he does have his moments when he thinks about his dad.”
Kim reminded him recently that the one-year anniversary of his dad’s death was coming up.
“That hurts,” Klay told her.
He’s a “tough bird,” his grandmother said.
That’s Klay, the boy carrying the balloon at the head of the pack, the love of his big family behind him, giving him strength, supporting each step.
The stigma surrounding the death of a loved one by overdose might keep many people away from these events, might keep many people from even talking about it. Or maybe they’re not ready to talk. Or they might not want to be associated with them. Or maybe it’s not safe for them to admit their connection. Or maybe, maybe, it is all of those things at once.
And yet, here is this little boy, marching at the front of a long line of people on a hot summer day in New Lexington, Ohio, walking a little over a mile on his own. Meanwhile, there are policy decisions being made in D.C. and in Columbus. There are smart people researching solutions. There are heroes reversing overdoses. And there is this boy, here and now, leading us and teaching us.
Poet Emily Dickinson writes that, “We grow accustomed to the Dark / When Light is put away.” She says that over time, we get used to the darkness, we begin to “fit our Vision to the Dark” and if we’re fortunate, we can keep walking forward. At least, she says, that’s what “The Bravest” among us can do — they keep walking in their own way and “learn to see.”
It is possible to move forward, Dickinson writes, but when we do so, it’s not always perfect. “Life steps almost straight,” she concludes.
That boy beneath the blue sky, balloon in his hand, stepping “almost straight,” the bravest among us.
Jack Shuler is the author of This is Ohio: The Overdose Crisis and the Front Lines of a New America and is a Denison University journalism. He can reached at shulerj@denison.edu
Naloxone is available through Harm Reduction Ohio, Central Ohio Harm Reduction. Harm reduction support services are also available through Never Use Alone and Safepoint. If you or someone you know with substance use disorder in crisis call 1-800-662-4357. If you’re in Ohio and you’d like to participate in a community gathering to remember those who have died, go to this website.
JACK SHULER 