海角大神

Jim Ward and his girlfriend were awash in cash thanks to their regular trips down south, where they would buy thousands of prescription opioid pills from unscrupulous doctors and sell them back home in West Virginia for $220 apiece. But when they found out she was pregnant, they stopped all that.

The only problem was, the money stopped, too.

Mr. Ward lost the house he owned. He began sleeping at abandoned homes, and though he enrolled in some treatment programs, he was never able to stick with it 鈥� sometimes abusing the medication they gave him to get high again. He overdosed so many times he lost count. He and his girlfriend broke up.

鈥淚t鈥檇 gotten to the point where my mom didn鈥檛 want to have anything to do with me,鈥� he says. Then one day in January his mother told him a few people had come looking for him.

They were from the Quick Response Team (QRT), a new initiative from the city of Huntington to follow up with every overdose survivor within 72 hours.

At the heart of the QRT model is a simple idea: compassionate outreach for those dealing with substance abuse 鈥� well after the sirens stop wailing. It has uplifted both first responders and those struggling with addiction, with each side able to see more humanity in each other. Those who have overdosed are amazed to see police officers or paramedics arrive on their front stoop not because someone called them with an emergency but because they wanted to check in. And those who have become wearied by the toll of 911 calls 鈥� being spit on, hit, or numbed by reviving the same people over and over 鈥� are now being met with gratitude.

鈥淔or so many years, we didn鈥檛 see the patients being receptive,鈥� says QRT coordinator Connie Priddy of Cabell County EMS. 鈥淎nd now, because we鈥檙e working on changing how we approach it, their way of accepting us has changed.鈥�

鈥淸First responders] are having people say to them, 鈥楾his is the first time that someone has cared enough to come and do this, you鈥檝e saved my life, thank you,鈥� 鈥� says Karen Yost, chief executive officer of the Prestera Center, which is partnering with Huntington鈥檚 QRT and implementing a similar program in Charleston, W.Va., beginning June 1. 鈥淣ow they鈥檙e beginning to see light at the end of the tunnel.鈥�

The program, together with Huntington's other initiatives, has caught the attention of the federal government.

鈥淚 came to Huntington because it鈥檚 one of the best stories in the United States in terms of recovery. If we can turn around overdose numbers here, we can do it anywhere,鈥� said US Surgeon General Jerome Adams on a visit May 10. 鈥淚鈥檓 here to learn about what's working so I can share it with Washington, D.C., and the rest of the nation.鈥�

鈥業 was very proud鈥�

Huntington鈥檚 QRT is composed of a full-time paramedic, Larrecsa Cox, and rotating shifts of police officers and mental health specialists.

Ward recognized Ms. Cox when she showed up at his mother鈥檚 house in January with the QRT; he鈥檇 first met her in an ambulance on one of his overdoses. This time, she was there to help him find a detox center. She drove him across the border to a Kentucky facility, the only place with an available bed, and drove him home again the following week. He聽says he hasn鈥檛 gotten high on opiates in the four months since, and he鈥檚 been a steadier presence for those in his life 鈥� including his 5-year-old son.

鈥淥ne of my friends 鈥� seeing me get clean made him want to get clean,鈥� says Ward, who texted Ms. Cox this week to tell her he鈥檇 just landed a job and worked 30 hours in his first three days.

鈥淚 was very proud,鈥� says Cox, noting that getting clean is only part of the battle. 鈥淭here are things the drugs have masked for so long, and once the drugs are gone you have to face them.鈥�

It鈥檚 not just Ward who is getting his life back on track. Cox and her QRT colleagues have gotten about a third of the聽more than 230 people they鈥檝e visited since December into treatment. Their work has helped Huntington 鈥� whose overdose rate had climbed steadily for years 鈥� cut that number by more than half since last year. Now, the model is set to spread across West Virginia, with the legislature allocating $1 million for a four-year pilot program. Communities have until early June to apply for funds, which will be administered by the state鈥檚 Office of Drug Control Policy.

Susie Mullens, interim director for ODCP, says they hope to see Huntington鈥檚 success replicated. 鈥淲e certainly hope to see that around the rest of the state 鈥� the decrease in the overdoses, and community enthusiasm for bringing hope to the communities through the Quick Response Teams.鈥�

The making of a QRT

Huntington made headlines in August 2016, when 28 overdoses occurred in one afternoon in the city of 50,000. Though first responders were able to save all but two individuals, the city concluded that wasn鈥檛 enough. They needed to help such individuals not only stay alive, but reclaim their lives.

Last year Bob Hansen, who had just been appointed director of addiction services at Marshall University in Huntington, heard about an interesting model in a community outside Cincinnati called Colerain. They had formed a Quick Response Team in July 2014 and had had an 85 percent success rate the first year in getting those they visited into treatment.

Colerain鈥檚 QRT only went out once a week, and their overdose numbers were only about a tenth of Huntington鈥檚, which is the main city in the hardest-hit county of the hardest-hit state in America. But the principle seemed sound, so Huntington decided to create its own program modeled on Colerain鈥檚.

It had no budget for it however. So the city applied for two federal grants in hopes they鈥檇 get one of them. By September, both came through and they had $1.3 million 鈥撀爀nough to fund a five-day-a-week team for three years.

鈥淭he thing I so admire about Bob Hansen鈥檚 leadership is they were able to develop a full-time team,鈥� says Shana Merrick of the Addiction Services Council in Greater Cincinnati, who helped implement the Colerain program and came to Huntington last spring to share their experience. 鈥淲e were never able to do that in our region.鈥�

A standard for the state 鈥� and maybe the nation

The team starts work at noon. Earlier than that, and they have trouble rousing the folks they want to help. They add the latest EMS records of overdoses to their chart, and set out on visits around the city.

On a recent Wednesday afternoon, Cox visited a homeless shelter with Prestera recovery coach Sue Howland and Lt. Eric Corder of the police department to try to find a man who overdosed a couple of days ago. This is their second attempt to locate him. Cox sits in the back seat of the cruiser flipping through her handwritten charts of everyone who has overdosed recently, but there is no address listed for him. Ms. Howland gets out to look for the man, but to no avail. She spots another individual they鈥檇 helped though, and goes over to chat with him, just as she would with a friend.

鈥淣obody is better than anyone else,鈥� she says, explaining her approach. 鈥淓verybody puts their socks and shoes on the same way.鈥�

Practically everywhere she and the QRT team go, they鈥檙e greeted by smiles and hugs from those they have helped.

But new cases can be tough.

After leaving the homeless center, they drive across town and knock on the door of a house they visited recently to see if the adult son is home this time. No, the mother says, peering out from behind the glass front door 鈥� he left at 6 a.m. for work and won鈥檛 be back until later tonight.

Is there a better time they can come? No, she says, still behind the glass door. He works seven days a week.

The QRT doesn鈥檛 believe her story, but there鈥檚 not much they can do other than reiterate their offer to help, and leave a card with their phone number.

It鈥檚 5 p.m. and there鈥檚 no one else on their list for today, so they head home through the flowering streets of Huntington, where the spring sunshine and freshly unfurled leaves give an aura of hopefulness even to the run-down homes and yards.

No one is ready to declare the opioid crisis vanquished. But they鈥檝e seen the community rally together to not only come to grips with the problem, but find solutions.

鈥淲hen this [crisis] started, we got bombarded with: 鈥榃hy are you wasting taxpayers鈥� money?鈥� 鈥� says Gordon Merry, director of Cabell County EMS, who is happy to tell them the overdose rates are coming down. 鈥淲hen I go to lunch now, people ask me, 鈥楬ow are we doing on overdoses?鈥� 鈥�

That community buy-in and willingness to work across all sectors 鈥� and most of all, to take on not only the opioid crisis but what Mayor Steve Williams calls the disease of hopelessness 鈥撀燾ould make Huntington a model not only for West Virginia but the country.

鈥淚f we find a way to be able to defeat this here,鈥� says Mayor Williams, 鈥渢hen that becomes a standard that can be utilized certainly throughout the rest of the state, but I believe that it [also] becomes a standard that the rest of the nation will be able to follow.鈥�