Question:  What have I learned from Opera's Lohan Interview?

Answer:  How so many of us have Damaging Misconceptions around Recovery!

Lindsay has been in recovery some six times now. This may be the one that does the trick; and it may not be. However, the fact that she keeps reentering rerecovery does not indicate that her past admissions were failures. Therein lies the misconception. 

Each time she entered rehab, she has succeeded at sobriety, for a period of time, one more time. Stood up to her demons for a moment longer. Felt hopeful one more time.

Recovery from an addiction is an ongoing, sometimes minute by minute, process; not an instantaneous change of ones' mind and miraculously - poof - They're Addiction Free. 

It has become my mission to teach - from my lived experience - that addiction is a disease that follows the same process as any other chronic illness of relapse and remission and to also eliminate the stigma of failure when an addict determines they need to return to rehab, or in Lindsay's case, is court ordered to return. 

Compounding an addicts' feelings of failure with negative judgement does nothing but confirm what they are trying to convince themselves of in the first place; that they have failed. Such negativity can, and sadly often does, lead to the addict returning to the familiar and rewarding behaviour in order to feel good again. 

What of the fact that they had been strong enough to stay clean for a period of time. A month, a day and even an hour is not failure - it's the beginning of recovery. Recognition of their accomplishment however big or small, or at the absolute very least, not supporting their feelings of failure, reinforces and supports their capability to fight and beat this chronic illness. 

My daughter, Jac, had three strong reasons to want to recover from her addiction to Opioids. Three young daughter's, who loved and adored their mother and who were solely dependant on her for their care and direction in life. 

I don't believe Jac consciously set out to be a mother that was more invested in being high than the welfare of her girls, but at the time, in my ignorance of the disease of addiction, I showed no compassion towards her as an addict. Neither did I have an eduction in addiction. Instead of working with her, I worked against her and became instrumental in having her girls removed from her care. I believed that that was the right thing to do for the children given the circumstances and conditions they were living under. I did it understanding it would also be the worst thing that could ever happen to my daughter and could in all likelihood turn out to be her undoing. I did little to ensure that Jac received the support and tools she needed for her recovery other than to demand from her that she get clean, ... or else. I held the threat of her children over her head, thinking that would be her inspiration to get clean. I thought she could simply change her mind. I thought she could do it all by herself. I thought it was as easy as that and... I was wrong.

What would my approach have been, I often wonder, if I had found that the reason my grandchildren had been neglected was that my daughter's disease was Cancer or MS, like myself, rather than addiction. Because I understand how each of those conditions had affected me, her lack of care for her children would have been understood and excused. She would not have been afraid to seek out or ask me for help with her childrens' care. I believe she would not have feared seeking help for herself either. My lack of education and the stigma that I, and society, associated with her disease - addiction - interfered with my providing her and her children with the compassionate care that anyone suffering a chronic illness deserves.

One parent will make decisions based upon their “heart” while the other tough cop’s decisions are cerebral and clinically based. The tough love parent vows to never enable.
Or do they?

Often there are couples that display a different dynamic. The tough cop is comfortable as long as he is the only tough cop.

He can rely on the fact that his partner will try to “love” their child from the addiction, thus he doesn’t have to. The task of compassion is placed squarely on the shoulders of the good cop and bad cop likes it that way. He can put on the tough cop face and rest easy. Good cop will beg and plead for softness and from his throne he can approve or deny these emotional requests.

But…(there is always a but) …When the “good cop” begins to toughen up, the bad cop is faced with a dilemma. He truly must have to remain “stern” but now does not have the “wiggle room” which was formerly provided by his once “softer” mate.

If everyone is playing the “bad cop” role (tough love or whatever we wish to call it) the ability to have loopholes dissipate and the roles of the parents often change. The whole battlefield is rearranged.
Consequences may happen too quickly for even the “tough” cop’s taste.

Do other parents think this happens? What role do you play? Even those that are single parents have to play multiple roles on different days.

WHAT ADDICTION SAYS...




Hey little girl, come on over here, I’ve got something you might need.

A pill to make you pretty, oh yes indeed!

I’m cunning, baffling, and powerful too.

I’m larger than life and bigger than you.

Nothing I say is ever true

For me, there isn’t anything, you won’t do.

At first, I’ll be your very best friend

I’ll love you to DEATH – till the very end

I’ll steal your thoughts, but you won’t know

It’s no longer you, who’ll be running the show

Your life will change, right away

You’ll wake up wanting me, every day.

People will tell you, to leave me alone

But you won’t listen, for you I own

No one else can interfere.

For if they do, they’ll pay dear

I won’t settle just for you, I want your entire family to

I want their finances and peace of mind

I want them hopeless, and broken, and no longer kind.

For its greed and hate, that make me tick

I’ll feed you blame and resentment, to make you sick

It’s really quite easy, you should see

I’m amazed they don’t ever, catch on to me.

They build shelters and safe injection sites

See my killing you, really is my right

There is nothing, they, won’t do for me

I’m a master manipulator, I’m God, and I’m the King

And when we meet, you’ll wear my ring.

People serve me in every way, allowing me freedom to have my say

Human kind is naive, and so eager to please

And this works so well… with my disease

I’m the plague, I’m death. I’m immoral and cruel

You’ll give me your life – Oh what a fool.

What starts out as fun quickly disappears.

I’ll age you faster than your years

Your skin will change, your organs too, I’ll take your teeth and brain cells too.

And when you make babies you recreate me, for I’m genetic, can’t you see?

But never mind. Just look away. You might even live to see another day.

You’re now a puppet, at my command. Our days are numbered, together we stand.

Don’t fret I won’t miss you, when you’re gone, for by then, I’ll have moved on.

They say I’m illegal, but that’s not true, for isn’t my biggest drug dealer you?

Pharmacies, Doctors, Safe Injection Sites, you guys are crazy! I’ve won the fight.

One in ten is infected by me. But I want you all and soon it may be.

Come here little boy, have a toke, you’ll find euphoria in my smoke.

By Lorelie Rozzano

Jac's voice speaks on Safe Injection Sites

Here is what happened at yesterday's Toronto Board of Health Meeting on Supervised Injection Services. For my presentation, click on the link below to download the file...

It was an amazing and eye opening day speaking in support of opening Safe Injection Sites in the City of Toronto, Wednesday, July 10, 2013. Out of the 20 who had a voice - All 20 – spoke strongly in favour of Toronto opening Safe Injection Sites. Only two of the six City Counselors sitting on this matter were in opposition of having them within their wards.  

There were two main hurdles preventing the implementation of this pilot project; funding and the passing of Bill C-65 in its current form. A third concern, which doesn’t appear to be insurmountable in the least, is an evaluation study of Safe injection Site pilot project.

One of the first things to be done will be to ask the Federal Government to take another go at drafting Bill C-65 and provide Canadian Citizens with reasonable conditions for opening these sites. Although in theory this bill allows Safe Injection Sites to exist, in it's current form, Bill C-65 effectively creates sufficient barriers that ensure, at the very least, a significant delay to it ever actually happening.

Funding will determine the number of pilot projects that will be implemented, but who will provide the funds for the pilot project to get underway? Our Provincial Health Minister, The Honorable Deb Matthews, had this to say in a recent interview on the topic of provincial funding for pilot projects of Safe Injection Sites, “they aren’t something that we’re moving forward with right now, but we do believe in an evidence-based approach to harm reduction.”

It is yet to be seen if the evidence presented Wednesday will impact the Provincial Health Minister’s decision and turn it around resulting in funding coming sooner rather than later. It also remains a question, once a favourable decision is obtained for this pilot project, the amount of funding that will be allocated to it.

In the meantime, as clearly substantiated in the statements and studies provided by the proponents, lives, which could so easily be saved, will be lost. Many more individuals will contract HIV and Hep C through the sharing of needles; those with life threatening infections caused by drug use (such as the two that took my daughter’s life) will fill hospital beds; and our neighbourhoods will continue to be littered with needles; all of which, as an end result will cost considerably more than if safe injection sites were implemented immediately.[1]

So, now what happens?

The Toronto Board of Health will now register its opposition to Bill C-65 and will make the recommendation that a more feasible CDSA[2] exemption application process in consultation with relevant provincial, public health, public safety and community stakeholders including people who use drugs, be drawn up.

On the issue of funding, The Toronto Board of Health will urge the provincial government fund the integration of supervised injection services, on a pilot basis, into existing provincially-funded clinical health services for people who use drugs in Toronto, and fund the evaluation of this pilot.

Donna’s Opinion

You likely have already determined that Safe Injection Sites very likely will still be a thing of the far distant future. That is definitely a disappointment for those who have been saying we need them for the last uncountable years, but perhaps if we apply this reasoning to it, it will help us keep our objectives in perspective. Out of the 80 - 90 safe injection sites in operation around the world today, not one of them opened without a lot of thought; community involvement; planning; and funding to ensure it would be of best benefit and care to its users. That is exactly what is taking place in this instance as well. Don’t be discouraged. Patience and persistence will prevail. This is just the start. I will ensure that Jac’s voice continues to be heard.

Donna D May for Jac’s voice


Our Community’s Safe Injection Site Supporters

A very heart felt thank you goes out to all those who came and spoke in favour of Safe Injection Sites, which included representatives from the following organizations:

 Registered Nurses Association of Ontario[3];
Chief Medical Officer and Executive Vice President, St Michael’s Hospital;
Canadian HIV/AIDS Legal Network;
CAMH (Centre for Addiction and Mental Health);
Anglican Church, St Stephens-in-the-Fields;
Toronto Harm Reduction Task Force;
Breakaway Addiction Services;
LAMO Community Health Centre;
AIDS Action Now;
University of Toronto;
Jac’s voice, living with addiction and mental illness;
Canadian Harm Reduction Network;
Sandy Hill Community Health Centre;
Insite Vancouver; and
Toronto Drug Users Union, c/o South Riverdale Community Health Centre.

References & Resources:

[1] TOSCA (Toronto and Ottawa Supervised Consumption Assessment) See more at Study, 2012 http://www.toscastudy.ca/toscastudy.ca/Home.html

[2] Controlled Drugs and Substances Act – See more at: http://laws-lois.justice.gc.ca/eng/acts/C-38.8/page-1.html

[3] RNAO (Registered Nurses Association Ontario) See more at: http://rnao.ca/sites/rnao-ca/files/RNAO_Letter_to_Minister_Matthews_SIS_July_2013_final.pdf

Concerned …or Consumed?

Addiction, the only disease you can Love to Death!

Families are tough; after all they live together and experience everything life has to throw at them. And every family seems to have their own special brand of ‘cross’ to carry. They can struggle with divorce, cancer, obesity, heart disease, diabetes, anxiety, depression, abuse, mental illness and addiction, just to name a few.

As the old saying goes “Life is just one damned thing after another.”

Except with addiction, “It’s the same damned thing over and over again.

Now any of the above issues would be alarming and cause concern. But in families suffering from addiction, healthy concern progresses, just as surely as addiction does.

You don’t notice at first. It starts off as a niggling worry.

Is he drinking too much?

Is he stoned?

Why is he always sniffling?

And just like any predatory bird out hunting prey, you start to watch for it.

You develop the ability to hone in on this one individual, excluding all else.

Maybe you start hiding the bottles, or car keys, or your wallet. You begin feeling fidgety, worried, and anxious.

You’re at work and you can’t focus. Your child is tugging on your leg, “Mommy! Mommy!”

Your spouse asks you a question and has to repeat it. And all the while you can’t stop thinking…

Where is he?

Who’s he with?

Is he using?

You might find yourself continually ‘checking up’ on this person. Maybe you drive by his/her work, or check the cell phone, or the hood of the car. You watch his/her face for twitches or signs… they are on something!

And then one day, your suspicions are confirmed.

You try reasoning, bargaining, pleading, and threatening, all to no avail.

Can’t you see it’s killing you?

Just this one more time, I won’t give you money again.

Please stop, I love you.

If you don’t stop I’ll leave.

It falls on deaf ears and you are left alone, hurting, confused and in agony.

Others don’t seem quite as impacted as you.

Maybe it’s their fault? If they were better mothers/fathers/lovers/wives/children and family members, this wouldn’t be happening.

Your concern grows…

You feel angry and resentful. You can’t eat or sleep. Your well-being is now firmly entrenched in how the alcoholic/addict is doing.

You smile when they do.

Their bad days become yours. Your mission? To minimize those bad days.

Your job is demanding. The position is full time; the hours are never ending, and the pay, from your own pocket.

And still, you keep waiting.

Your world grows smaller. You avoid your friends. Family members attempt to support you, but you pull away. After all they don’t really understand.

Nobody knows him/her like I do.

You wake up, go to sleep, and spend all day, thinking about this one person.

Concerned has now crossed the threshold into consumed just as surely as problem drinking becomes addiction.

And now?

We have two very sick family members.

Both will keep waiting for the other to become well. One has an excuse; they’re using substance, which impairs their reasoning.

But don’t kid yourself. The non-addicted family members reasoning, becomes every bit as impaired. 

Addiction, the only disease you can love to death

To the left of where I sat, my daughter, Jac, was lying back comfortably in her hospital bed, resting after a grueling session of physiotherapy. The television was perched on a swinging arm on the other side of her bed and she had it tuned to some loud and boisterous reality TV program that I had absolutely no liking for. I sat back in my chair and I waited patiently while she became totally engrossed in the program before carrying out my plan. When I was sure she was, I bent down and picked up the running shoes that she had strategically placed beside her bed so that she could slip into them without too much effort.

I had purchased these shoes for her with the implied purpose of them helping her with her therapy. I did want for her to be able to walk again, but now that she could, these shoes also represented her freedom. They gave her the independence to take the steps I knew she was dying to take. As soon as she was physically able, her addiction would win her over and she would escape the hospital's care just long enough to meet up with allies late into the evening hours. There, I feared, she would obtain and use the drugs that I could see her body was so desperately craving.

So, with one eye on her and the other on what I was doing, I managed to slip the shoes into my bag without notice. My thinking was that by taking them I would impose my intended restriction on her. Then, under the guise of innocence, I placed a light kiss on my girl’s forehead, just like I always had, and wished her good night before making my getaway. I fought the feeling of shame and would not allow myself to be remorseful for taking them away from her even though I knew she would unquestionably be tormented by what I had done.

"The end justifies the means." I repeated the phrase to myself many times in hopes that it would help abolish the menacing feelings I held for what I had done to her.

The words spoken by her doctor had instilled the fear he had intended them to in me, but clearly had had little affect on my daughter.

"One more hit, of anything, is likely to be your last," he had explained to her. “Your body is clearly telling you that it can not withstand any more of the toxins that you have been injecting into it. You are dying. Now it’s only a matter of when.” I couldn’t chance that she would find a way to use again. I couldn’t allow her to die this way. Not before I was ready to let her go.

As my guilt for taking her shoes and the doctor's warning took turns at occupying my thoughts, I made my way up King George Highway in the direction of my hotel. Though the neighbourhood was in a less than desirable section of Surrey BC, the hotel itself was a safe and welcome refuge from my long days at the hospital with Jac.

My journey between the two locations was my time to reflect and ponder the circumstances I faced. This day was no different. I had been in this strange city with only one focus and sole purpose for so long by then that I had begun to consider it all as a familiar way of life.

The battle would be an arduous one. Her body would never be the same again; nor would her mind. Her addiction to opioids had been consuming both for over a decade already and now it had become undeniably evident that neither would withstand her abuse any longer. 

Your child is your child; no matter what age they are or what they have done. Even though there were many people in my life that thought what I was doing was asinine I couldn’t help myself. Part of me did agree with them when they said that at the age of thirty-three, if my daughter wasn’t capable of taking care of herself; it was too late for me to have any affect on her. However, if I were forced to admit the truth, I wanted and needed to have control over her. I had to have it actually. I was petrified that she had given up on herself and desired death over the life she was living, and, if she was choosing death then I felt I not only had the right, but the obligation and responsibility, to stop her. As far as I was concerned, from the night the phone had rung in my Ontario home, and they told me of her condition, no other purpose existed for me other than the one of fighting to keep my daughter alive for as long as I possibly could.

The doctor's explained it to me this way: My daughter had two underlying conditions that they believed were caused by her addiction. One was Agranulocytosis, which is a severe depletion of certain white blood cells likely caused by the cutting agent, Levamisole, commonly used to dilute cocaine and heroin. The second was Cryogobulinemia; which is an abnormal protein in the blood that sticks together and forms into gel like masses, effectively restricting blood flow through the arteries and veins. Both were contributing factors to the condition she had been hospitalized for, Necrotizing Fasciitis, better known as flesh eating disease.

She had gone to emergency with blackened patches of flesh encompassing both of her calves, as well as, her left thigh and buttocks. Shortly after I had sat down to dinner after staying late at the office to complete a project I had been working on my cell phone rang. I read ‘Surrey Memorial Hospital’ as it displayed across the screen and somehow I just knew that by answering that call my life was going to be changed forever. I left my home in Toronto to catch the next flight to the west coast of Canada not knowing what I would find once I had arrived.

Five separate surgeries debrided the dead and rotting flesh down to the bone, muscle, tendons and ligaments in the affected areas. To add to this I was told that she was Hep C positive, MRSA (Methicillin-resistant Staphylococcus Aureus - a bacteria resistant to Methicillin and very difficult to treat infection) and VRE (Vancomycin-resistant Enterococci - a bacterial strain of the genus Enterococcus that are resistant to the antibiotic Vancomycin) making her conditions that much harder to treat

Put into terms that I could easily grasp, I was told that my daughter’s body was a ticking time bomb of infections that she was too physically depleted to fight and that at best the infections could be fought off for a few more months and at worst, only a few more days.

My thoughts, which were usually preoccupied with the details of legal briefs, time lines and the day to day needs of keeping my boss’ law practice running had been wiped clean to make way for educating myself on the medical terms, therapies, treatments and medicines that I would need to understand in order to sustain my daughter’s life for as long as I could. I spent most nights researching rather than sleeping and I was feeling the affects of it as my adrenalin levels returned to normal.

I arrived at my hotel room chilled to the bone and too mentally and physically exhausted to be bothered with changing into a nightgown or even pulling the covers down on the bed. Removing the shoes from my bag I brought them with me as my body dropped, deadweight, onto the bed. I moved to find comfort amongst the pillows and the shoes found a place against my chest with my arms rapped tightly around them.

It seemed that as soon as my eyes closed the dream began. I was walking in circles, never getting anywhere or recognizing the people or my surroundings along the way. All the buildings were different, yet strangely seemed the same. It was also true of the people in them. It wasn’t until the third or fourth building in my dream that clarity won over my confusion and I began to realize that what I had been dreaming had been my daughter’s real life nightmare. I was being shown what it was like to go from one crack house to another and from one high to the next, over and over and over again, just like my daughter had been doing for years.

Not being able to wake from the dream only added to my anxiety and freight. I spun through the same sequences repeatedly until it had me completely out of control and begging for something or someone recognizable to cling to for security and footing. How fitting, I thought, that I would be experiencing this dream at this time.

Just when I knew I couldn’t possibly take anymore, the dream changed. I was brought to an abrupt stop; frozen in motion except for my sight as though being told to take a good look around. Without feeling the same fear, my eyes traversed through the scenes of the dream. As I took it all in my heart saddened and I cried out “What? What am I suppose to see in all of this?”

In answer, I felt hands grasp both of my feet and continue to secure them in place. My eyes shot down to see who and what was restraining me. On my feet were my daughter’s shoes and on her knees in front of me, was my daughter. She was holding my feet in place and showing me that this was her journey, and her shoes, and that I had no place in either of them.

As she released her grip, the tension that had been stopping me from moving also gave way and I sat down in front of her to remove the shoes. When I was free of them, I placed them between us.

She observed them for a minute and then reached out and placed a hand on her them and whispered “my shoes,” as though she was claiming them as hers again. It impressed me that a simple pair of shoes could hold such importance and so much significance. Just as these shoes were hers alone to walk in; so was the journey in the life she chose. Who in was I to interfere with that? It was not for me to choose her path or prevent her from walking it, nor – as much as I would have liked to - to walk it for her. My purpose was to show her the consequences of her actions, which I had done, and then to be there for her and give her the security of my love.

I reached through the distance between us and took her face in my hands and cradled it there while I explained: “there are two things that I want you to understand about your life and how you choose to live it and how you choose to leave it.”

I wouldn’t allow her to look away and she didn’t struggle against my hold as I continued, “I hate your addiction for everything it’s done to you and for everything it’s taken from you. I hate that it’s robbed us and that it’s affected so many things around you.”

We were both crying by then and I brought her to me and held her against my chest as I finished, “But you my baby…” I paused to catch a breath and to look her in the eyes before continuing.

Through my tears and with as much compassion for her as I had to give, I went on: “You I love unconditionally and no matter what. So, as you go where your journey is going to take you, just remember, that you never go alone. My love is always right there beside you.”